#FIE Fic

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 12 - 'Monaco’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You crawled into Trent’s bed that night, the weight of the party and the fading liquor settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. The room was still, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets as you burrowed into him, pressing your cheek to his chest. His arm wrapped instinctively around you, holding you close, and for a moment, it felt like nothing in the world could intrude on this quiet, safe space. But then, like a sharp snap, reality crept in. Thoughts you’d been pushing aside bubbled up, tugging at your peace.

“T…” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. He hummed, ready to listen, tired albeit. “Are we ever going to tell people?” You felt him tense slightly beneath you, his hand stilling on your back. You bit your lip, already regretting the question. It wasn’t that you didn’t love the secret moments with him—those were some of the happiest of your life—but lately, the lines between private and public were blurring and not in the way you’d hope.

“Baby,” he started softly, his tone careful. “We gotta think about this.” His hesitation sent a small pang through your chest. Trent wasn’t just stalling for the sake of it, though—you could see the storm of thoughts swirling in his eyes. The things Noah, Aiden, and Bailey had said earlier at the party lingered in his mind, mixing with his own worries about how this would affect you, him, and everyone around you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to meet his gaze. Your voice was light, almost naive, but you were desperate for clarity.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, pretty girl or that we won’t ever but you know what’s wrong,” he said, letting out a soft laugh as he looked at you with a smirk full of sympathy. “You’re not the one who’s gonna get your ass beat.” It clicked immediately, and you couldn’t help but smirk back. 

“Oh,” you murmured knowingly. Trent nodded, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm.  Your heart swelled at the tenderness behind his worry. “I’ll protect you though,” you teased sweetly, your lips quirking into a grin.

“And that’s well nice, but I don’t believe you for a second,” he shot back, shaking his head playfully. “I’ve seen you try to fight Jack. Not exactly convincing.” He cupped your cheek. You laughed, leaning up to kiss his jaw. 

“I’d try for you, though,” you whispered, your giggles subsiding into a softer, more earnest tone. The room fell quiet again, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Trent sighed, his hand shifting to cradle your cheek still, his thumb brushing softly over your skin.

“Soon, baby, okay?” he said, his voice steady and filled with promise. “I want you. I want you all the time. I don’t want to hide this way. His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the ache of uncertainty in your chest. You nodded, leaning into his touch as his lips found your forehead. Until, he spoke again. “But we’ve gotta find a way to do it right. I don’t want to hurt people.” He told you and while you understood, it broke your heart. He was hurting you, why didn’t he consider that. But you bit your tongue trying to be rational and understanding. 

“Okay,” you murmured, letting your eyes drift closed. You trusted him—how could you not? And for now, that was enough.

“Baby… Pretty girl… you gotta get up for me,” Trent murmured against your skin. His voice broke softly through the stillness of the room, warm and tender, but his words held a weight that didn’t belong to the intimacy of the moment. His lips brushed against your temple, an apology in the contact before the words even came. Trent looked at you with a pout loving how comfortable you were with him, how cuddly you were. It broke his heart but he had to do it. 

“No,” you mumbled, eyes still shut as you pulled him closer, clinging to the drowsy warmth of his body. “I want to stay with you, baby,” you murmured, your voice tinged with sleep and longing. His hesitation was immediate. You felt the shift in him before he spoke again, his arm loosening its hold on your waist ever so slightly. 

“Baby…” His sigh was almost imperceptible, his tone soft but guilty. “The lads are coming over soon.” Your heart sank. It was a familiar refrain—too familiar. The safety of the morning evaporated, leaving behind the sharp edges of reality. You stiffened in his arms, the weight of his words sinking into you like stones.

“Right,” you said quietly, voice brittle and void of emotion as you sat up too quickly, the ache in your chest making your movements feel heavy. “Got it.”

“Y/N…” Trent tried, his voice laced with regret, but you were already pulling yourself out of his arms, the warmth he’d provided replaced by a cold, creeping frustration. You threw the duvet off with more force than necessary, scanning the room for your clothes.

“No, it’s fine,” you snapped, your voice clipped as you grabbed your shirt from the floor. You yanked it over your head, your movements rushed and jerky, the tension crackling between you both. “Lads coming, so I’ll just—what? Link out? Like usual?” He let out a heavy breath, his hands running over his face and then his hair, visibly exasperated but more at himself than you. 

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, his voice soft, almost pleading. You froze, your back to him, before spinning around, eyes blazing. 

“Then what is it like, Trent?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels exactly like that. It feels exactly like every other time you’ve made me feel less important than everyone else is to you. You pick them over me.”

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly, stepping toward you, his tone filled with frustration and guilt. “You know how complicated this is. You know what’s at stake. It’s not like I’m doing this to hurt you.” He muttered as guilt ransacked him. You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed your jeans, the tears already burning at the corners of your eyes. 

“I’ve been patient, T. I’ve understood. But tell me—when does it stop being complicated? When do you stop hiding me like I’m something to be ashamed of?” His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find the right words. 

“It’s not like that,” he said again, but this time, his voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. “You’re being careful about us too. Don’t act like it’s just me. You know it’s not like that.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back, slipping your skirt on with trembling hands. “Because all I see is me sneaking out of your bed every time someone knocks on the door. All I feel is this constant push and pull—like you want me, but only if no one else can see it.”

“That’s not fair,” Trent countered, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours desperately. “You know how much I care about you.”

“Do I?” you whispered harshly, your voice breaking as you looked at him, the man you loved, the man you’d waited so long for. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, T. It feels like I’m the thing you’re too scared to fight for.” His hand reached out, brushing your arm gently, but you pulled away, the distance between you widening like a chasm. He flinched at your retreat, the rejection cutting him deeper than he expected.

“Baby, please,” he said quietly, his voice shaking. “Don’t walk out like this. Don’t do this. We’ve done this.” He said in a more irritated tone than he meant. You looked at him, standing there with heartbreak etched into his features, and it only made the pain sharper. 

“Don’t ‘baby’ me right now,” you whispered hoarsely, the tears threatening to spill as you grabbed your bag.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice breaking as he stepped toward you again, but you were already at the door, your hand on the handle. “I’m sorry I forgot some lad’s from the team had planned to come over. If you want to stay, that’s fine but it makes less sense for us to out ourselves to people before we sort everything out and tell the people closer to us. Why would we tell them before…” his words were course but then his tempter faded out. “Jack… please wait…” He whispered.  You paused for the briefest moment, your heart warring with your pride. 

“I’m tired of waiting, Trent,” you said softly, almost too quietly for him to hear. Then you pulled the door open and walked out, the slam reverberating through the room like an echo of everything left unsaid. Trent stood frozen, staring at the empty space where you’d just been. His hand fell limply to his side, the weight of your absence suffocating. He sank back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands as the silence swallowed him whole. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it was. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to chase after you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he didn’t know how to fix the cracks that had been growing between you for so long.

You left Trent’s house in tears, your chest tight with a swirl of frustration and heartbreak. He wanted to chase after you but he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t want to upset you but to a certain point how many times would he have to tell you both of you were doing the same thing. He was just protecting what you had. But you felt hurt. Why did he tell you to come home with him if he was going to kick you out. The walk to your car felt endless, your legs shaky as the cold air stung your skin. You couldn’t shake the ache in your heart, the overwhelming confusion. How could something so right between you feel so wrong when it came to the rest of the world? You wanted him, and he wanted you, but you both stayed trapped in this unspoken fear of making it real. Of bringing it to life. 

The drive to Layla’s was a blur. By the time you arrived and knocked on her door, the tears were streaming freely down your face. Layla opened it immediately, her expression softening with concern the moment she saw you. Without a word, she pulled you inside, guiding you toward her couch like she’d done so many times before.

“Okay, sit down,” she said gently, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder as you dropped onto the couch. “What happened?” She asked softly. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out in a rush of anger and sadness. 

“Maybe I should just stop it all. It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid.” You rashly told her explaining nothing.  Layla sat down next to you, her brows furrowed. 

“Erm… okay, but before we decide anything drastic, maybe you need to take a breath.” She grabbed your arms firmly, grounding you. You shook your head, your tears falling harder. 

“Lay, it’s so good. When we’re together, god fuck! It’s so perfect.” You dropped your face into your hands in frustration. “But then it’s so bad, and it happens so fast. I can’t do this anymore,” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you clung to her like a lifeline. Layla sighed, pulling you into her lap, her hand gently stroking your hair. 

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice soothing, “you two have to talk. This can’t keep happening. You can’t keep living like this—it’s not fair to you. You need to figure out what you both want and make a plan because seeing you like this upset? It’s really fucked up.” She looked at you,  her heartbreaking seeing you like this.   

“I don’t know how to talk to him,” you admitted, your voice muffled against her shirt.

“Why not?” she asked, her tone patient but desperate for you to fix it.

“Because what if I don’t know…” You frowned at her pleading for help. She just waited patiently for you to get to the realization that you knew what you wanted. It was obvious you did. You were just scared but that didn’t make it any less true. You wanted Trent. “What if he doesn’t want the same thing I do?” you said, your voice trembling. “What if I tell him I want more, and he doesn’t? What if this is all I get—sneaking around, hiding, pretending it’s not as big as it feels?” Layla’s brows knitted together in frustration, but her touch stayed gentle. 

“Have you told him you want it? That you want more?” She looked at you earnestly. 

“No,” you hiccupped with a sniffle. “I don’t know how to say it. And if I do, and he doesn’t feel the same…” You trailed off, shaking your head as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Y/N,” Layla said, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at her. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared, but you’re never going to know unless you say something. Even after all these years of so much being said in the silences… now you have to say something. He won’t know unless you do. And here’s the thing—I don’t think Trent’s playing with you. He’s not that kind of guy. But last night at the party?” Her expression darkened slightly. “That fucking bothered me. The way the boys talked about you, like you’re some kind of game or joke to him. It pissed me off, and I know it pisses you off that he lets it go on but he can’t stand up for you if he doesn’t know you want him to. So say something, ask him to stand up for you.” You nodded slowly, your chest tightening at the memory. Layla exhaled deeply, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Look, I get it’s complicated with Jack and everything, but that’s not an excuse anymore. You’re not a secret he should be ashamed of—you’re someone to be proud of. If you say something then it’s on him. He needs to step up. He needs to stop hiding you. You both need to make changes for this to work.”

“Why is he okay with it?” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Why is he okay with hiding me?” Layla pulled you close again, wrapping her arms around you tightly. 

“I really don’t think he is, babe. I think he’s scared too. But the only way you’re going to know is if you ask him. If you tell him how you feel and what you want. Otherwise, you’re going to keep hurting like this, he’s going to keep hurting you when I’m sure he doesn’t want to and you don’t deserve that.” Her words settled over you like a weight, and for the first time, you let yourself think about the possibility of laying everything bare. Of telling Trent exactly how you felt, no matter how terrifying it was.

Days had passed in silence, the kind that echoed loudly in Trent’s chest. Every time he reached for his phone, his fingers hesitated over your name before pulling back. He didn’t know how to fix this—not yet, at least. Summer loomed just around the corner, promising sunshine and indulgence, but the thought of his upcoming holiday to Monaco filled Trent with dread. It should’ve been exciting—yachts, the Grand Prix, endless parties. It was the kind of trip he used to count down to. But now? Now it felt like a prison sentence, especially with Jack coming along. Jack had planned the holiday with Trent, Noah, and a few other boys months ago, hyped about a well-deserved break from football. Trent knew exactly what it would be like: adrenaline-fueled days watching the races and wild, booze-soaked nights in Monte Carlo’s clubs. It had sounded perfect back then—a dream escape. But now? Now Trent could hardly stomach the idea. He didn’t want to be trapped on a yacht or in some overcrowded club, pretending everything was fine while Jack hovered nearby. Jack, who had no idea that Trent had been sneaking around with you for months. Jack, who’d likely kill him if he found out. Jack, who’d likely kill him if he found out he had made you so upset. And there was you. You, who hadn’t spoken to him since you’d left his house in tears. The image of your tear-streaked face haunted him, a gnawing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. He hated himself for letting you leave like that, hated the way he’d made you feel like some dirty secret. His own pride aside, he didn’t like that he made you cry so much lately. He ran a hand over his face, sinking back into his couch. What was he supposed to do? How could he fix things with you while being stuck on holiday with your brother? Trent stared at his phone again, heart pounding as he opened your messages. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. ‘We need to talk.’ He deleted it. Too formal. Too cold. ‘I miss you.’ No. Too vague. He wanted to say more than that. His mind raced, trying to find the right words, the ones that could pull you back to him. But every time he started to type, the fear crept in—the fear that maybe he’d already lost you for good.

The moment Jack’s name lit up your screen, you put on your best casual smile, trying to steady your nerves. As his face appeared, you leaned back, feigning an air of indifference.

“Hey, you! How’s Monaco?” you asked lightly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. Jack grinned, clearly in high spirits. 

“It’s unreal, honestly. Sun’s out, the cars are insane—it’s all proper vibes here.” He shoot you a genuine toothy grin that reminding you so much of your mum it hurt your heart.

“Nice,” you replied, trying to sound detached as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Race is tomorrow?”

“One more,” he said, glancing over his shoulder briefly. Your ears strained to pick up any faint sounds of Trent in the background—his laugh, his voice, anything—but all you could hear was the ambient hum of a busy room. Jack went on about the plans for the day, but then his tone shifted, a greedy grin spreading across his face. “Oh, and there’s this party tonight. Noah’s got some links here. Meeting up with a few girls.” Your stomach sank like a stone. 

“Really?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Jack raised a brow at your tone. 

“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just a bit of fun. Monaco’s full of, uh… opportunities,” he said with a laugh. You forced a tight smile, even as your heart twisted in your chest. Jack was waiting for you too call him out for being rude but to no avail… he was confused. 

“So lots of girls for you lot,” you said flatly, the edge in your voice betraying your attempt at nonchalance. He nodded. “Good,” you replied sharply, eyes narrowing as you fought to keep your emotions in check. Jack paused, his expression shifting as he caught onto your mood. 

“What’s with you?” he asked, half-laughing, half-confused.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, your voice pitching higher.

“Y/N…” Jack gave you a look. “C’mon, don’t be like that. It’s jokes. Not serious. They’re just lads going out, let them live. Stop judging.” He fell into a teasing smile. 

“I’m not!” you yelped, the words coming out too fast and too defensive. Jack shook his head, still smiling but clearly baffled. 

“Alright, whatever you say. I gotta get ready. Try not to stress so much, yeah?” The call ended, and you sat there, the silence in your room deafening. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts of Trent, of the girls, of everything unsaid between you. The distance between you both felt insurmountable, and for the first time, you wondered if it was even worth trying to bridge it.

Jack wasn’t stupid. He’d always been the first to sniff out secrets, and lately, something was off. It wasn’t one thing—it was a pile of little things that didn’t add up. You were distant, emotional even, on edge, and while you brushed it off as work stress, Jack wasn’t buying it. Then there was Trent. Once the quiet playboy, he suddenly hadn’t looked at a single girl since they landed in Monaco. Noah had been ribbing him about it for days, and Trent, usually quick with a smirk or witty comeback, just shrugged it off and stayed moody. It wasn’t like him. The real clue began two days before they left for Monaco. Jack had been doing laundry, trying to pack light, when he came across something unexpected—a business card. It was from a high-end restaurant, the kind of place you didn’t just stumble into. Jack’s brow furrowed as he turned it over in his hands. The name nagged at him.

“Where have I seen this before?” he muttered to himself. And then, flash forward to last night, he heard the name again… he and Trent were at the same end of the dinner table with Noah. They were all talking about random spots back home they’d eaten at lately. Trent had mentioned going to the exact restaurant. It took a moment to put two and two together but even when he did, he dismissed it. Jack didn’t want to think much of it other than it was odd—Trent was always out and about, meeting people, living the life of a big time footballer. But now… now it didn’t make sense. Who had he gone with? Trent was apparently seeing a new girl, the one Noah had mentioned. Maybe he went on a date there but then why did the card end up at your house. Jack tried to brush it off, but the pieces were starting to connect in his mind. Trent’s unusual moodiness, your strange behavior, and now this shared thread. No way, maybe it wasn’t from your clothes, maybe it had gotten misplaced, something lost amongst all the traffic of friends in the house. But if it was yours… who had you gone with? It all didn’t make sense.  The realization crept in slowly but undeniably, like a puzzle falling into place. Jack sat back on the couch, staring at his phone in his hand, replaying moments and conversations. Surely not. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing. 

A day or so on, deep in your doom scroll, and in your thoughts, you sat cross-legged on Layla’s couch, while she painted her nails beside you. As you pulled down on your screen, your Instagram refreshed, and there it was: Trent’s latest post. A full photo dump from Monaco. Your stomach dropped the second his name appeared on your screen, but it wasn’t until you saw the pictures that the scream escaped your mouth.

“What the fuck! Oh my God! What the actual fuck,” you yelled, nearly throwing your phone at Layla in shock. She jumped, smudging the fresh coat of polish on her thumb.

“Jesus, Y/N! What?” Layla exclaimed, wide-eyed as she tried to figure out if you were upset, angry, or just losing your mind. You shoved your phone in her face, almost shaking with emotion. 

“Look at this! LOOK at him! Is this some kind of sick joke? What the fuck is this?” The photos were ridiculous. Trent looked good—too good. He was wearing a pair of Prada dungarees, sunglasses, his smile lazy and effortless. Every shot was like a knife to your chest. Him walking around the grid with your brother and Noah, then laughing over drinks. A candid of him on a boat, the Monaco skyline glittering in the background. Another of him standing in a garage, tanned and glowing. Layla took one look and winced. 

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, okay… that’s obnoxious. I mean… what did you expect? It’s Monaco. He’s literally built for a place like this.” She shook her head in faux disbelief because she really could believe it. You groaned, running a hand through your hair, nearly tearing it out in frustration. 

“He looks so good, Layla. So good. What the fuck. And all I can think about is how many girls are probably seeing him right now, in real time, in person. Girls who probably feel the exact same way about him as I do. He never posts but of course he posts this. Fuck off!” You yelled annoyed. You collapsed back onto the couch, clutching your phone like it might explode in your hands. “Is he seeing girls while he’s there? Jack did mention Noah had ‘links.’ What if he’s flirting with them? What if he’s—” 

“Stop,” Layla cut in, her tone sharp but kind. She grabbed your phone out of your hands and set it on the coffee table. “You’re spiraling.” You stared up at the ceiling, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m not spiraling,” you argued weakly. Layla gave you a look. 

“You screamed like someone set the house on fire because Trent posted a couple of photos. You’re spiraling.” She smirked.

“I hate this,” you muttered, your voice breaking. “I hate not knowing what he’s doing, who he’s with. I hate seeing him like this, looking like that, when I can’t even talk to him.” Layla sighed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“Look, I know it sucks. But you can’t let a stupid Instagram post drive you crazy.  “Millions of people follow him babe but he wants you. You’ll talk to him when he gets back, okay? Just… try to focus on something else in the meantime. And if he is being an prat over there? Then he’s not worth your time, Y/N.  Then he wasn’t worth the risk to be honest. Simple as that.” But it wasn’t that simple. Not for you. Because no matter how much it hurt, all you could think about was how much you wanted him.

When you went home that night and you lost your jealousy but you fell into desperation and vengeance. You were so angry Trent seemed fine. In fact he looked better than fine. You cried on your bed as you pulled out your phone. You stared at Josh’s name. And then in a state of delusion and heartbreak you hit send. You started bawling immediately.  You felt sick, why did you just do that. Why were you so sure? You slammed your phone down on the bed, curling into yourself as sobs wracked your body. You felt your phone buz almost instantly. 

‘My my my… look who it is. Crawling back so soon?’

Your tears blurred the screen, but you could still see Josh’s mocking message, taunting you for your impulsive decision. You hadn’t thought it through—hadn’t considered the consequences of reaching out to him. You only wanted to feel something, anything other than the aching pit Trent had left in your chest. The second you hit send, regret swallowed you whole. Now it was all spinning out of control.Panicked, you grabbed your phone and called Layla. She answered on the second ring, her voice groggy but alert as she heard you crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” She hurriedly asked, scared. 

“Layla,” you choked out. “I did something so stupid. I—I texted Josh.” There was silence on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath. 

“You what?” She yelped. 

“I don’t know why! I was upset, and I wasn’t thinking, and now he’s replied, and I don’t know what to do!” you wailed, your voice cracking. Layla groaned in frustration.

 “Y/N, why would you—why would you even think that was a good idea? You know he’s not worth your time! You said you were going home to sleep not going to text a fucking sociopath!”

“I know, I know! I just—God, I felt so angry, and Trent’s off in Monaco with all these girls, and I thought…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. It sounded ridiculous even to you.

“You thought texting Josh was the way to get back at him?” Layla snapped, exasperated.

“I don’t know what I thought!” you cried. “I wasn’t thinking! And now I can’t unsend it, and he’s already replied, and it’s just… stupid! I’m so fucking stupid, Layla!” You cried. Layla let out a long, calming breath on the other end. 

“Okay. Okay, first of all, stop calling yourself stupid. You made a mistake, but you’re human, alright? And second…” She paused, considering. “What exactly did Josh say?” You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat before you read her the message. Layla let out a noise of pure disgust.

 “Ugh, of course he did. He’s such a tool.” She rolled her eyes but you couldn’t see. 

“What do I do now, Lay?” you whispered, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline.

“You don’t do anything,” she said firmly. “You don’t reply, you don’t engage, nothing. You made a mistake, but you’re not doubling down on it. Block him if you have to.” You sniffled, tears still running down your cheeks. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” Layla interrupted. “You’re not talking to Josh. You’re upset about Trent, and this isn’t the way to handle it. You need to focus on yourself, Y/N. Not on trying to make Trent jealous or trying to prove something to anyone.” Her words hit like a slap in the face, but you knew she was right. Still, as you stared at Josh’s message on your screen, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your stomach. The damage was already done.

The guilt was suffocating, gnawing at you every second. You hadn’t texted Josh beyond that one reckless moment, but the damage to your conscience had been done. You felt sick—physically ill at the thought of what you’d done, even if Trent didn’t know. The boys’ holiday was finally over, but instead of feeling relief at having Trent back, you were consumed by dread. Jack was hosting one of his infamous movie nights, and you knew there was no escaping it.

“Y/N, come on down!” Jack called from the living room. “It’s your favorite—you love this one!” You groaned quietly, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your face had lost its color, your eyes dull from days of crying and restless nights. You didn’t feel like facing anyone, least of all Trent. But Jack was persistent, and if you didn’t show, he’d come up to drag you downstairs himself. You hesitated at the living room door, anxiety twisting your stomach. The boys turned to greet you as you entered.

“Hey, Y/N!” Noah grinned, lifting his beer in your direction.

“Hey,” you mumbled back, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze. But then you saw him—Trent, sitting on the couch, quiet and reserved. His usual easy smile was gone, replaced by something you couldn’t quite read.

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, electrifying second. You froze, unable to respond. Your heart ached at the sight of him, at how badly you wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything and fix whatever was broken between you. But the weight of your guilt, of what you’d done and the way you’d left things kept your feet rooted to the spot.

“Come on, sit down,” Noah said, patting the space between him and Jack. You reluctantly made your way to the couch, sinking into the cushions and folding your arms protectively over your chest. The room felt stifling, and your awkwardness bled into your every movement. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel Trent’s gaze on you. You tried to act normal, but the tension was unbearable. Every time Trent shifted in his seat or glanced your way, your chest tightened. Your emotions boiled under the surface, threatening to spill over. Finally, the pressure became too much. Your eyes began to well with tears, and you couldn’t stop them. You risked a glance at Trent, and his expression nearly broke you. He looked… pained. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You couldn’t handle it. 

“I… I have to take a call,” you lied abruptly, your voice shaky as you stood up. Without waiting for a response, you darted upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. The second you closed your bedroom door, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks as guilt, regret, and longing consumed you. You hated yourself for getting mad about him waking you up before his friends came over, about what you’d done, about how you felt, and about how hopeless it all seemed. Downstairs, Trent’s eyes followed you until you disappeared. 

“Been so fucking weird lately”Jack nudged him, frowning

“I don’t know,” Trent lied, though the weight in his chest told him otherwise. He could feel the distance between you, and it was killing him.

Trent came upstairs not long after you fled, lying to the boys saying that he was running to the toliet, his heart racing as he hesitated outside your door. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring no one was paying attention, then knocked softly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely audible through the door. The moment you heard his voice, it was like a dam broke. A choked sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop yourself, tears were streaming down your face. Trent pushed the door open gently, stepping inside and closing it behind him. “C’mere,” he cooed, crossing the room in a few strides and pulling you into his arms. His warmth, his scent—it was all too much, and you dissolved into him, your face pressed against his chest. “Baby, please don’t be upset,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. “I don’t like making you cry.”  You shook your head, your words tumbling out between sobs. 

“I just want you to want me.” You cried. Trent’s arms tightened around you as he let out a shaky breath. 

“Please, baby, I do. I do.” He paused, his mind racing. “I’ll go down right now and tell them. Do you want that? Tell Jack everything?”

“No,” you whimpered, your voice small and raw.

“Baby…” he said softly, caution in his tone. He leaned back slightly, cupping your tear-streaked face with both hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Talk to me then. Be honest with me. Please.” He begged you. Asking the very thing Layla was telling you could help resolve it all. 

“I just want more than this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as more tears spilled over. Trent nodded slowly, his thumb brushing away your tears with careful precision.

 “I know. I know you do. We’re gonna do it, I swear.” He told you softly but surely. You looked up at him, the desperation in your eyes like a knife to his chest.

 “I just want you to like me.” Your words hit him harder than you could have imagined. His lips parted as if to argue, but instead, he pulled you back against him, his hand cradling the back of your head.

 “I do,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I really, really do, so much. Please don’t cry.” He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, swaying gently with you in his arms. He wanted to fix it all, to wipe away the hurt he’d caused, but your arms hung limply at your sides, and it shattered him. “Can you give me a cuddle, please?” he asked softly, his voice almost breaking. After a moment, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together. Trent let out a low hum of appreciation, resting his chin on your head. “I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m so sorry.” And in the quiet of your room, you both held on, trying to find comfort in each other even as the weight of everything unsaid loomed heavy between you. Trent went downstairs when it started to get suspicious. And then, after a long twenty minutes of regaining your composure upstairs, you finally mustered the courage to come back down. You moved through the hallway, hearing muffled laughter and the sounds of the movie playing in the cinema room. As you came to the doorway, Jack called out.

“Hey, can you grab me a drink?” He yelled. You stopped in your tracks and turned, your tone sharp. 

“Get it yourself.” You quipped. Jack gave you a look, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. Before you could keep walking, Trent’s voice broke through the tension, smooth and casual. 

“Actually, Y/N if you’re up, mind grabbing me a water?” You froze, his request catching you off guard. There was no way you could say no to him right now, not after everything. 

“Fine,” you mumbled, trying not to betray the softness creeping into your voice.

“Of course!” Jack and Noah mocked in unison, bursting into laughter. You shot them a glare, your cheeks burning. 

“It sounded like more people wanted something after Jack said something, so I thought I’d be nice,” you argued, though even you knew it was flimsy.

“Right, right,” Jack teased, rubbing it in. “You’ve never been this “nice” to us. Where’s our special treatment?” 

“Bro, we’ve never bought her a car. It’s just not gonna happen.” Noah added jokingly 

“She lives in my house!” Jack yelped dramatically trying to justify why you should be ‘nice’.  He was kidding because if he really took a moment you did everything for him. Rolling your eyes, you flicked their ears as you walked past them. 

“Idiots.”  You muttered strutting to the kitchen.  When you returned with the drinks, you handed them out silently, ignoring their smug grins. You settled into the empty seat next to Noah, which happened to be just at the end of the couch where Trent was sitting. As the others turned their attention back to the movie, you felt a gentle tap on your leg. You glanced down to see Trent’s foot nudging you, and when you looked up, he shot you a wink. A tiny smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, and you reached over to squeeze his foot lightly. The brief exchange felt electric, like your own private conversation in a room full of people. No one else noticed, already engrossed in the film. But for the rest of the evening, the space between you and Trent felt charged, his occasional taps a quiet reminder that you weren’t as distant as you feared.

The air felt thick with tension as you sat at the end of the couch, acutely aware of Trent’s eyes lingering on you. Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, though you tried your best to ignore it, keeping your focus on the film.

“You look cold,” Trent said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. Before you could respond, he pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it at you casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Yeah, put some clothes on, sheesh,” Jack, ever ready to tease you, quipped as he glanced at you in your tiny tank top. His joke made you shrink slightly, but your gaze quickly fell to the jumper in your lap. It was that jumper—the one you’d borrowed just the other day when you went to the beach. The one you had wanted so badly to keep, but knew you couldn’t. Yet, now it was here, draped over your legs like a gift. The other boys erupted into playful jeers as you hesitated, examining the jumper. Noah, of course, couldn’t let it slide, teasing and pinching at you like an annoying older brother.

“Oh, look at her blushing now,” he teased.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, waving them off as you pulled the jumper over your head. The scent of Trent enveloped you instantly—warm, clean, and entirely him. It felt like a secret hug, his presence wrapped around you even when he was sitting a few feet away. For the next half hour, you fidgeted in your seat, feeling distracted by the way the jumper clung to your body and how Trent’s foot occasionally brushed yours. Eventually, you stood, brushing your hands on your thighs. 

“I’m actually tired now and done with you lot so I’m going up,” you announced, pretending to be annoyed as you turned to leave.

Once upstairs, you shut your door and immediately grabbed your phone. Your heart thudded as you typed, 

'Thank you, T xx. Come give me my goodnight kiss pls'

You hit send before you could overthink it. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Trent standing there, his lips tugged into a small, bashful smile.

“Can’t say no to you,” he murmured, stepping inside and pulling you into his arms. You tilted your head up, your hands resting on his chest.

 “Good. I’d hate for you to start now,” you whispered before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your heart ache and soar all at once. But in the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom, the kiss between you became hungry and unrelenting. His hands moved over your body like he couldn't get enough, fingers curling into your hips, tugging you closer, as though even the sliver of space between you was too much. You clutched the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to your level, your breath hitching as the intensity of the moment consumed you.

"T," you murmured out of breath, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your chest rose and fell as you steadied yourself, your lips curling into a mischievous smirk. "You like movies so much, maybe we should make one." His brows furrowed slightly, the intrigue written all over his face. 

"What are you on about?" he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he tried to gauge if you were joking. Before he could process it further, you moved quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. 

"What're you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and amusement. But there was also a flicker of heat in his eyes as he began to realize where this might be going. You opened the camera app, thrusting the phone into his hand with a cheeky grin. Trent looked down at you, bewildered yet intrigued, as you began kissing along his jawline, trailing down to his neck. He tilted his head back, letting out a soft groan, the sensation overwhelming him.

"You're mad," he muttered, but his voice was thick with desire, his free hand gripping your shoulder as you sank to your knees before him. Your hands moved deftly, undoing the button and zipper of his trousers, your eyes locked on his. 

"C'mon," you teased, your voice sultry, "just press record." His lips parted as he stared down at you, caught between disbelief and complete surrender to the moment. And so he did. He stared through the screen watching you take his hardening cock out. Your eyes darkened staring up at him as you let a line of spit fall from your lips onto his pulsating cock. He winced. You placed your thumb over his slit leaking pre cum. You massaged over it hard and he groaned as you continued sliding your hand down his base. 

“Baby” he said the pet name as he took a few seconds watching the scene unfolding in front of him in two fold; one viewing on the screen reflecting the scene back at him, the other in real time. “So fucking good f’me” he whispered trying to bit back a groan. This was so beyond risky. He needed to be quiet. Giving him head while all his mates were just downstairs. Your mouth perfectly wrapped around his shaft, as it was meant to be there around him. The motion of your head bobbing up and down had him in awe trying to suppress his moans. He reached to grab your hair with vigor, guiding your movements as you hollowed your cheeks around him, the corners of your eyes now shining with tears as he gagged you with his length. “You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth baby” He cooed as you moaned at the compliment. You could feel your pussy flutter at the compliment. You stared at him through your lashes as you decided to take him deeper, hitting the back of your throat.  He fucked your face, his cock hitting deep in your throat with every thrust. You were drooling at the corners of your mouth gagging on him trying to breathe through your nose when he grabbed onto your face.

“Going to be a good girl and take all of me? Swallow for me?” He could barely get the words out when your tongue swirled around him as you nodded. He released into your throat coating it in his cum. He grunted at the feeling. You lazily continued sucking him until you milked him of everything. Finishing by gently kissing the head of his cock as you sat back onto your heels.

"Did you like filming me?" you asked with a cheeky smile, your voice breathless, your chin was slicked with trails of his cum and your spit. Trent’s hand with the phone was trembling a little and it made you smile, a small visual you did a good job.

“God baby … fuck. Yeah, I did.” Trent exhaled trying to regulate his breathing. “You’re so good f’me” he cooed. You smiled again as s he stopped the recording and pocketed his phone before he reached out pulling you up to him by your arms. He kissed your temple pulling you into his chest more as he breathed heavily. You smile continued to grow against his chest. 

There was an international break. Trent was away and it was hard on you even if he was only down south. You just wanted to be with him but instead you found yourself with the person you wanted to be with least. The person you were having the hardest time being around lately… your brother. The sun was dipping low, casting a warm, golden light through the car windows, but the atmosphere inside was anything but serene. You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly against your chest as if to shield yourself from the tension swirling around you. Jack was at the wheel, one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel while he animatedly recounted his Monaco stories, his voice filling the car with a steady hum. The air was heavy, though, and you felt like you were balancing on the edge of a knife. The soft rumble of the car engine mixed with Jack’s voice should have been comforting, but every word he said seemed to jab at the precariousness of your situation. Your heart raced, your palms felt clammy against your thighs, and the suffocating weight of the secret you carried seemed to double with every mile. The car smelled faintly of Jack’s cologne and the remnants of takeaway coffee he’d tossed into the cupholder earlier. You stared out the window, trying to ground yourself in the passing blur of countryside, but it wasn’t working. Jack’s voice kept pulling you back into the moment, into the conversation you weren’t sure how to navigate.

“… and so he was literally mobbed. All these little lads were losing their minds trying to get a picture so Trentski took one with each kid cause he’s Trent but then we were late for the boat...” Jack’s salad of words, you assumed was a story, continued on but you started to pay more attention when you heard his name. The car ride became a minefield of emotions. You tried to focus on the passing scenery, but Jack’s words stuck like thorns in your chest.

“That’s sweet though. I miss him a lot,” you had said, without thinking. The second the words left your mouth, you felt Jack’s sharp gaze on you.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. Your stomach sank. The heat of embarrassment and panic crept up your neck as you tried to recover, your voice scrambling for an excuse. 

“What?” you echoed back, feigning innocence. “I feel like he’s usually around, and now he’s away.” There was a tense pause, the weight of his doubt palpable in the confined space of the car. For a moment, you wondered if he was piecing it all together, but then Jack’s suspicion lingered for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shrugged and leaned back into his seat.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his suspicion fading. “You never miss me like that,” he snapped, though there was a teasing edge to his tone.You were already in freefall, the tension in the car mounting when Jack’s teasing words finally shattered through your fragile façade.

“You wouldn’t know if I missed you… you’d be away,” you quipped, trying to deflect, but your voice wavered ever so slightly. Jack laughed, a sharp sound that made your stomach churn.

 “Fine but Jesus, you’re actually so embarrassing for him. He hasn’t even been around much lately,” he teased, and though his words were light, they landed like stones. You forced a laugh, your heart racing as you tried to mask your discomfort. But Jack wasn’t done. “What are you going to do when he gets married, huh? You know he’s seeing someone, right?” He cooed teasingly. The ache was instant, spreading through your chest like wildfire. You rolled your eyes at him, feigning indifference. 

“Shut up, Jack,” you muttered, hoping he’d drop it. But the words haunted you. He’s seeing someone. It shouldn’t have mattered—it didn’t make sense for it to hurt the way it did because you were that someone. But it did. What if you weren’t that someone though…The thought of Trent with someone else, giving someone else the tenderness he gave you in secret, made your stomach twist. The car fell into an awkward silence. You stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else that might betray you. Jack, oblivious to the turmoil in your chest, hummed along to the music, his earlier suspicion forgotten. But you couldn’t forget. The weight of the lie you were living, the secrets you were keeping from your own brother, felt heavier than ever. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to push the ache down. And yet, you couldn’t shake it. The guilt, the longing, the fear—it all churned within you as you gripped the edge of your seat, praying that the drive would end soon. Jack laughed again, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you. You turned your gaze back to the window, hoping the conversation would end there, but the weight of his words lingered like an unwelcome guest. The rest of the ride was spent in suffocating silence, your hands gripping your thighs tightly. You kept your face turned away, willing the tears that threatened to prick at the corners of your eyes to stay hidden. The secret you carried felt like it was suffocating you, the walls of the car closing in as the miles ticked by. And as Jack laughed at his own jokes and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, you felt the crushing weight of the lie you lived—both to yourself and to him.

In the dressing room at St. George’s Park, Trent sat on the bench, lacing up his boots while the chatter of the England squad buzzed around him. They were talking fixtures, rivalries, and upcoming games.

“Man United’s coming up, yeah?” one of his teammates said, tossing his training top aside. “Should be a good one, mate. They’re in decent form.” Trent nodded, keeping his focus on his boots. 

“Yeah, big game. Away as well.” He chirped nonchalantly. His teammate glanced at him with a grin, reaching to find Trent’s competitive edge.

 “Don’t you have some personal stakes in that one? Doesn’t your best mate’s sister date that Josh lad?” Trent froze for half a second, his jaw tightening. He kept his head down, hoping his reaction wasn’t noticeable. The mention of your name made Trent’s stomach twist, even as he tried to focus on tying his boots. The casual comment about Josh left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping.

“Nah, bro. She’s not with him. Fuck that kid,” Trent shot back, his tone sharp and unfiltered. The group of players exchanged quick, surprised glances. His reaction was louder than it should’ve been, and he instantly regretted it.

“Woah, relax, mate,” one of his teammates said, chuckling lightly. “Only a match.” he said, holding up his hands with a laugh. Trent sighed, leaning back on the bench and rubbing a hand over his face. He could feel their curiosity thick in the air. Trent’s mood simmered, but he tried to play it off, reaching for his water bottle. He hated that people still thought there was anything between you and Josh. It made his blood boil. The teammate sensed some tension but was unwilling to drop the topic. 

“I thought you were seeing that Jess girl anyway,” another chimed in, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction—or maybe just stir the pot. Trent frowned, confused. 

“I don’t even know Jess like that. Where’s everyone getting this information from?” Trent asked frustratingly.

“Jess, mate! Megan’s friend. I saw them out in Manchester the other month.” His teammate grinned as if he was solving some puzzle. “Sorry, I just thought you were with her, and I thought Y/N was still with Josh. So… if that’s not true…” He raised an eyebrow, clearly fishing for more information. Trent felt the possessive heat rising in his chest.

“No!” Trent snapped, but it came out too quickly. He shook his head, trying to sound more composed. “No, bro. Just stop chatting nonsense about Jack’s sister, yeah?” Trent said firmly, his voice more serious than it had been all morning. The group fell quiet for a beat before one of them laughed awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension. But Trent’s mind wasn’t in the room anymore. He was thinking about you, about how much he hated keeping this secret, about how much it hurt to hear your name in someone else’s mouth, tied to someone else’s life. He was done holding back. Something had to give. The thought of you with Josh, of anyone else thinking they could have you—it made his blood boil. Trent didn’t want to share you anymore. Not with rumors, not with anyone. He was ready to let the world know. For the first time, caution didn’t seem worth it.

After training, Trent sat alone in his room, his phone in his hand, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe. The conversation in the dressing room earlier had stirred something deep in him, a gnawing need to reach out to you. His friends’ comments had irritated him, but what really got to him was how much he hated keeping you in the shadows. He hated the uncertainty, the idea that you might not know how much he truly cared. He stared at your name on his screen, the familiar pang of longing hitting him harder than usual. He swiped at the screen, hovering over the call button. His hand trembled slightly as he pressed it, his heart racing as the line rang. You picked up on the third ring.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice cautious, like you knew something was coming.

“Hi, baby,” he replied, his voice immediately dropping into something warm and gentle. It was so full of emotion that it caught you off guard. “What are you doing?” He asked sheepishly.

“Not much,” you answered, frowning at his tone. “Why? You okay, T?” You cooed gently. 

“I just…” He paused, trying to gather the courage to say what he felt. His hand ran over his hair as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. “I miss you.” The simplicity of his words stopped you in your tracks. 

“What?” you whispered, caught between suspicion and disbelief.

“I miss you all the time,” he confessed, his voice heavy with longing. “Everything, baby. I miss it all; your smile, your laugh… the way you look at me like I’m the only one who matters. I miss having you in my arms.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it made your heart ache.

“T,” you murmured, your voice shaky.

“I know this might seem out of the blue,” he continued, pressing forward. “But I’ve been sitting here thinking, and I can’t stop. I don’t want to wait till I’m back. I need to see you.” His vulnerability was disarming. You had heard him sweet before, but this was different. His words weren’t casual or playful; they were raw, unfiltered.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, trying to piece together the sudden intensity.

“I just… I need you,” he said, his voice breaking a little. You couldn’t believe how sad he sounded. “Come down to London tomorrow. Please. I’ve got the day off, and I want to spend it with you. I want you. No hiding, no excuses. Just us.” Your breath hitched at the desperation in his voice. You tried to stay logical, reminding yourself that traveling down to London wasn’t exactly practical. But the way he sounded—like he was holding on by a thread—made it impossible to refuse.

“T, baby, I don’t know,” you said hesitantly, your emotions warring with your logic.

“Please,” he pleaded, the word coming out softer, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just… I miss you so much, baby. I just want to hold you and talk to you without feeling like we’re running out of time.” The raw emotion in his words broke down your walls, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were scared—of what this meant, of what it might change—but you also wanted him just as badly.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Yeah?” he asked, hope lighting up his voice.

“Yeah,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears in your eyes. “I’ll book a train for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, relief flooding his tone. You could practically hear the smile through the phone. “I can’t wait to see you. Promise me you’ll text me when you’re on the train, yeah?”

“I will,” you replied, your heart pounding. As you hung up, you sat back on your bed, your phone still clutched in your hand. A mix of excitement and anxiety churned in your stomach. You opened the train app, booking your ticket with shaky hands, all while replaying his words in your head. The thought of seeing him again, of being close to him, filled you with both hope and fear. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like things might finally be moving forward. And as much as it scared you, you couldn’t deny how much you wanted it.

The moment you stepped into the London hotel suite, you felt like you’d entered another world. The soft glow of dimmed lighting reflected off the rich wood paneling and modern gold accents, creating an atmosphere of intimate luxury. Plush furniture, sleek and inviting, filled the spacious room. A bottle of champagne sat chilling on the marble bar, a silent invitation for celebration. Trent was already there, waiting for you. He leaned against the doorway to the bedroom, his casual outfit—just a fitted black t-shirt and joggers—looking comfortably him. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and a warm smile spread across his face as he opened his arms.

“Come here, pretty girl” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection. You crossed the room to him, slipping into his embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around you like he never wanted to let go. The scent of his cologne enveloped you, clean and intoxicating, and you melted against his chest. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his fingers running gently through your hair. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his breath warm against your temple. You leaned back to look at him, your hands resting against his chest. 

“I missed you,” you replied with a pout, your voice soft but full of emotion. He cupped your face gently, his thumb stroking your cheek as he studied you, like he couldn’t believe you were really there. You slipped in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the week melting away in his presence. The city buzzed far below, but up here, it was just the two of you in a cocoon of peace. The night unfolded gently. Trent ordered room service, insisting on your favorites. You laughed as he fed you little bites, both of you teasing and playing but never breaking the intimacy of the moment. You fell into the shower later on, taking the meaning of hot and steamy to new heights with him until the early morning creeped in. 

You found yourselves sprawled across the massive bed, wrapped up in each other and the sheets, talking about everything and nothing. His fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as he listened to you, his gaze never wavering. In the quiet hours of the early morning, you lay tangled together, his arms strong and steady around you as he held you close. The faint sound of the city below hummed through the glass, but you felt safe, cherished, and completely at home.

“Wanted to be with my girl,” Trent mumbled against your skin, his voice low and lazy as he held you close. The sheets of the hotel bed cocooned you both, your bodies tangled in the soft warmth of the early morning.

“Your girl, huh?” you teased, a smug grin tugging at your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you.

“Yeah,” he murmured with certainty, his words melting into the curve of your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Always have been.”

“Yeah?” you challenged playfully, your voice light but carrying just enough curiosity to coax more out of him. “Even with my ex-boyfriends? Still yours?” You teased him with a smirk. A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrating against your skin.

 “They didn’t exist,” he muttered, his tone laced with stubbornness. You giggled, running your hands slowly up his back, feeling the smooth expanse of his muscles beneath your fingertips.

 “No? That’s funny because I’m pretty sure they did, T.” You cooed as you ran your hands up and down  on his warm bare skin. 

“They didn’t,” he insisted, his voice firmer now, though you could hear the hint of a smirk creeping into his tone.

“You’re delusional,” you laughed softly, your fingers playing with the short coils on the top of his head. 

“No, baby,” he said, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze was so intense, so full of conviction, it made your breath catch. “You’ve been mine. Always.” He confirmed as if almost a command. His words carried a weight that left you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just being playful—he was staking his claim, and you could feel the raw emotion in his voice.

“Okay, T,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. But Trent wasn’t finished. His fingers trailed down to the delicate Van Cleef butterfly necklace resting against your collarbones. He toyed with it for a moment, his thumb brushing the charm before he spoke again.

“You knew,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin. “You wore this necklace. There’s no way you didn’t think about me with other guys while you had this on.” Your eyes widened, a warm flush creeping up your neck. You opened your mouth to respond, but he smirked, cutting you off before you could say a word. He was right though. “My baby… You used to come home from dates,” he continued, his voice low and teasing now, “and still be all over me.” His smirk widened, and you could feel the curve of his perfect, plump lips against your skin. The memory of those days—of how tangled everything had been, how impossible it had felt to stay away from him—flooded your mind.

“You’re so smug,” you murmured, but your cheeks burned as your hands slid up his back again, seeking some sort of grounding.

“And I’m right,” he teased, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw. You sighed, a mix of exasperation and surrender. 

“God, you’re impossible.” You feigned a sigh.  

“But you wanted me,” he whispered, his voice softening as his kisses slowed, becoming tender instead of playful. “And I wanted you… and now look how good, baby, hmm?”  You couldn’t argue with that. Instead, you pulled him closer, your arms wrapping tightly around him. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his temple. “It’s good.” And in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and his words echoing in your ears, you felt it—there was no one else. There never had been. 

Reflecting back, the memories played like a reel in your mind, each frame more bittersweet than the last. You could still picture the way you used to come home from dates. Your heels clicking against the floor, your shoulders slumped, and frustration practically oozing from your pores. Jack always seemed to be holding court in the living room, his friends sprawled across the couches and floor, a casual chaos you didn’t have the energy for.

“How was it?” Jack would ask, his voice tinged with mild amusement as he glanced up at you.

“Shit, if you’re back already,” Noah would add with a grin, never missing the chance to tease. And then there was Trent. Always there, perched on the couch, looking entirely too smug for someone who hadn’t said a word yet. His eyes would meet yours, dark and knowing, and just before you could make it out of their sight, he’d send you a wink. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it was enough to halt your steps and make your stomach twist. You’d plop down on the couch with a dramatic grunt, trying to deflect their teasing, but you never could escape Trent. Not really. The teasing would persist, Jack and Noah laughing and throwing out half-hearted insults, but Trent’s presence was magnetic. He didn’t join in. Instead, he always found a way to tether you to him, his touch subtle but undeniable. A pinch at your side that made you jump, a squeeze on your thigh that sent warmth crawling up your neck, or even a gentle swipe at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that felt misplaced—but only because it wasn’t meant to. And then there were his words, deceptively kind but maddeningly ambiguous.

 “Not the right one,” he’d say softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. You remembered wanting to scream every single time. You wanted to tell him that you already knew. You’d known for what felt like forever. The right one wasn’t out there, somewhere in the endless sea of mismatched dates and wasted time. The right one wasn’t a stranger you had yet to meet. The right one was him. The right one was sitting next to you, his knee brushing yours, his smirk curling at the edges of his lips, and his fingers ghosting over your skin like he was leaving breadcrumbs for you to follow. And you did. God, you followed him every time.

But Trent never went further, and neither did you. So, you’d sit there, your heart in your throat and your mind spinning with all the things you couldn’t say, while he acted like he hadn’t just unraveled you with a look, a touch, or a single maddening phrase. And you hated it. You hated how much you wanted him and how deeply he had you tied in knots, yet you couldn’t hate him. You never could. Because every time he touched you, every time he said something that felt like a breadcrumb but never a full map, you hoped. You dreamed. And you stayed.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 13 xx

[atiny-piratequeen]

𝐹𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑊𝑎𝑦 𝐻𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐶𝘩.𝟹 (𝟸/𝟸)

𓆩⟡𓆪Summary: Wooyoung is a culinary student and he and two of his best friends have been brought along to Namhae to learn and study the farmers out in the countryside and disconnect a bit. Reluctant at first, he just wishes he could’ve been back in the city and close to his long-time crush Yeosang. Things change when he lays his eyes on the dimpled country boy staying with them that show them around and teach them more about Namhae’s way of life, all with a spine-tingling Satoori.

Maybe things aren’t so bad out here in the sticks, after all.

𓆩⟡𓆪Pairing: WooSan + Endgame WooSanSang

𓆩⟡𓆪Genres/Aus: Non-Idolverse, Fluff, Romance, Humor, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Fish Out Of Water Tropes, Au, Mutual Pining, Country Boy San, Culinary Student Wooyoung, Poly Endgame

𓆩⟡𓆪Tws: Swearing, Miscommunications, Jealousy, Mentions of Homophobia, Light Instances of Unwanted Advances (from non mcs)

𓆩⟡𓆪Sws: Wet Dreams, Threesomes, Blowjobs, Handjobs, Risky Sex, Biting, Scenting, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink, Creampie, Cock Sharing, Dirty Talk, Bareback Sex, Riding, Doggystyle, Cum Swallowing

𓆩⟡𓆪Rating: Explicit/Mature (18+)

𓆩⟡𓆪WC: 16+k

𓆩⟡𓆪A/n: This is the final part of  @schone-lie’s commission! Thank you so much my dear! We're not gonna talk about how long it took me to post this, please remember to like AND reblog if you enjoyed, and have a great timezone!

𓆩⟡𓆪AO3| Taglist Form (Please make sure your urls are updated and able to actually be tagged) | Commission Sheet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪Network Ping- @kwritersworld | @kdiarynet | @k-vanity | @cultofdionysusnet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪©atiny-piratequeen. do not repost, translate, or use my works𓆩⟡𓆪

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     3pm

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“So…”

San blushed, looking over as Wooyoung emerged from working on their costumes. He could tell from the way Wooyoung’s sentence trailed off, he probably wanted to attempt having that aforementioned talk. 

“So…” San parakeeted back, cheeks darkening at the way Wooyoung arched a single brow at him. 

“‘So fucking pretty for us?’ I don’t think I’ve seen you with such a feral look in your eyes before.”

San let out an inhuman squeak and looked away after an unintelligible jumble fell from his mouth. 

“Is that how we’re really going to lead this conversation off?”

Wooyoung’s eyebrow inched higher and San covered his face. 

“I just…I think he’s neat.”

“...pfft.”

“WOOYOUNG!”

“I’m sorry! It was cute!”

San covered his face, absolutely flustered while Wooyoung snickered behind his hand, though he couldn’t deny the flutter in his chest as he teased his boyfriend. 

“He’s…really nice to be around. In this quiet, kind of mysterious way. I’ve never met anyone like him before. So…I get it. I get why you like-or, rather, why you love him. At least, I see a bit of it. I think he’s walking a bit cautiously around me because we’re together.”  He mused. Wooyoung hummed and nodded, his cheeks rose tinted. 

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

The two stood in a flustered silence. 

So they both liked him. Cool. 

Now what?

Neither seemed to have the answer, if the long stretch of silence was anything to go by. Just because they liked him didn’t mean the three of them would run off into the sunset. Yeosang didn’t feel romantically for either of them. 

Right?

Clearly the long stretch of silence had become unbearable, and San was the first to break it, clearing his throat. 

“How about we go check out the pop up shop near Yeji’s book store? We passed it yesterday and it looked like it had some cute things inside.” 

Wooyoung perked, smiling as he turned on his heel, disappearing down the hall shouting about wearing ‘couple’s outfits.’

San let out a small exhale and headed down the hall, a small smile tugging at his lips.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

          x

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“With this limited edition plushie, you’ll be entered in a raffle for-”

“If you buy all of the albums, you have a higher chance at getting your bias and-”

“Wait, let’s open them here and then we can trade-”

The duo walked through the pop up shop, the idle chatter and murmur of the room melting into the background as they admired their surroundings. 

It ended up being for some boy group, and while San wasn’t sure who they were, he did appreciate the artistry that went into the popup. Apparently they had a comeback of some sort approaching and some of the pieces on display beyond the glass cases had been hand made by the leader of the group. 

San stopped in front of a posted with all of the men on it, looking up. Wooyoung kept his arm looped in his, putting his chin on San’s shoulder and looking up with him. 

“Do you know them?” San inquired. Wooyoung made a sound of confirmation behind him, hugging him to his chest. The move made San glance back shyly, though he didn’t try to shift out of his grip. 

“I actually designed our halloween fits after one of their comebacks.” He murmured, head cocked to the side. San’s lips parted as he looked up, seeing some of them wearing crop tops and leather pants, while others were decked out in pants that hugged every curve of their lower regions. 

“Is that so?” he inquired. He could feel the way Wooyoung’s lips curved up in delight at the cautious edge in his tone. 

“Wooyoung, I don’t know if I can pull off somethin’ all fancy like that-”

Wooyoung looked at him like he’d grown a second head, narrowing his eyes for a moment to see if San was playing. When he saw that he wasn’t-as evidenced by the tiny, innocent blink he was met with-Wooyoung let out a small exhale through his nose. 

“Boy, what the hell-” He shook his head and grabbed San’s shoulders, tugging him over to a mirror. 

“You are the most attractive person to ever walk out of Namhae, look at you.” He cupped San’s jaw as he stood beside him, turning the older man’s face until he made eye contact with his own reflection. 

“You can easily pass as an idol yourself. You can sing, you have a soothing smile, and you’re literally my happy vitamin.” He smiled and kissed his cheek before pulling him away, lacing their hands together as they exited the pop up. 

San wasn’t sure if his feet were actually carrying him, or if he was floating at this point. He wanted to know where Wooyoung learned to be so…smooth with his words. 

As they left the pop up, they watched a pair of young women leave the book store, giggling amongst themselves about the ‘hot man’ being back again. The two exchanged a look before glancing through the window. 

There, with an apron tied around his waist, was Yeosang, his hair a fluffed lion’s mane around his head and his eyes holding a distinctly soft look in them as he sat down in a half circle, reading something from a picture book to a small group of kids, all while Yunho sat at his side, occasionally ducking his head down to let a child pet him. 

Before they realized, the two of them slowed to a stop, staring through the window at Yeosang. 

“He has a nice smile, doesn’t he?” San murmured, the chill of the autumn air making him press a bit closer to Wooyoung. He let out a soft laugh, nodding. 

“He always used to do that when he wasn’t training. Smiled in this soft, air headed way that made his cheeks bulge like…a cute little hamster.” he laughed to himself and San felt his own smile falling a bit. 

Again, his mouth worked a bit faster than his brain. 

“When did that change?”

Wooyoung looked at him, pursing his lips for a moment before he looked at the ground. 

“Before I left for Namhae. He didn’t tell me if anything had gone awry at home. I offered for him to come with me to Namhae, but he declined and ever since I’ve gotten back there’s been this…air around him.” He sighed. San rubbed his back and kissed his temple. 

“Well, let’s give him something to smile about. The Halloween party is a good place to start, yeah? It’s not my place to pry into his life, especially since he’s only known me for only but so long, but I can certainly get someone to crack a smile. That’s the first step to healin’, right? A good smile and a laugh?” He inquired. Wooyoung smiled and stole a kiss from his lips, grabbing his arm and guiding him down the block. 

“My boyfriend’s got the biggest, sexiest brain, I swear~”

San rolled his eyes playfully and let Wooyoung drag him down the block so they could grab ingredients for dinner. 

Neither noticed Yeosang glance up from the circle of kids he was sitting in, his brow furrowing as he watched their backs disappear down the block. 

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

     October 31st

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Holy shit, your hair.”

Yeosang blushed and paused, his hair bleached and dyed to be platinum blonde. San let him in and looked at him, lips parted. 

“It’s so…fluffy.” 

His own hair was back to black, with a pattern shaved into the back of his fresh undercut that looked like moon phases.

Yeosang shifted from foot to foot slightly as he slipped into a pair of house slippers. San was looking at him like he’d seen people look at Yunho’s head. 

‘Does he want…to pet me?’

Before Yeosang could say anything, Wooyoung appeared behind San, his hair a brilliant shade red as he let out a loud, fox-like yip that startled San and made him jump nearly a foot in the air. 

“Hehehe! Happy Halloween, boys! Oh wow, that color looks even better on you than I had in my head.” Wooyoung paused, looking at Yeosang with eyes full of admiration. 

Yeosang found himself bowing his head without a second thought, humming as Wooyoung stepped in front of him, running his hands through his hair and grinning. 

“You used the conditioner I recommended.”

“I don’t know if you know, but you tend to be a diva if I don’t go along with your schemes.”

Wooyoung gasped and paused, his fingers tangled in Yeosang’s locks as he looked him in the eye. 

“How dare you, I am not scheming, I am simply…plotting for us to look the sexiest in the entire place.” 

Yeosang sent him a deadpan look. 

“Not only are ‘scheming’ and ‘plotting’ synonyms, I doubt I’m going to look better than anyone else at a party that literally has fashion models at it.” Yeosang muttered flatly. 

San spoke next. 

“Why not? You’re really handsome.”

Yeosang blushed. He blushed. 

“I-”

“Which one of you wants to start first?” He interrupted the car crash happening in Yeosang’s mind with a bright smile, gesturing to the impromptu dressing room he’d turned his living room into. 

San smiled, seemingly wanting to spare Yeosang of more fussing as soon as he walked in, and made his way to the living room, his footsteps nearly silent. 

“I’ll go first. What do we need to start with-”

“Go change into this and wash your face with the products I put on our bathroom sink. Yeosangie, go on and sit down and I’ll brush your hair so I can figure out how to style it.” 

Yeosang’s feet moved on their own and he found himself seated on the couch, scrolling on his phone as Wooyoung carefully brushed his hair, muttering to himself about styling. 

“Your hair has gotten so long…” Wooyoung muttered, catching a tangle while he mused and tugging Yeosang’s hair. Yeosang let out a sound akin to a growl, inhaling sharply. 

Wooyoung froze. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry!”

Yeosang felt his head get engulfed in warmth as Wooyoung hugged him from behind. The familiar scent of his cologne filled Yeosang’s senses and he nearly closed his eyes to sink into the feeling, even if it was laced with a new, interesting scent. 

Must be San’s.

They…complimented each other well. 

Yeosang’s musing was cut off by Wooyoung placing a kiss to his head in apology. Yeosang inhaled sharply for the briefest of moments, fingers twitching slightly. 

“I’m back.”

Wooyoung took his time looking up, though when he did and Yeosang followed suit, both of them were at a loss for words. 

“Crop top.” Yeosang muttered without thinking. Sure enough, San had on a black cop top, his lean abdomen in full view. His pants clung to every curve and muscle of his legs and-

And…?

And he’s been staring at his best friend’s boyfriend for way too long. 

“God, I’m a genius.”  Wooyoung nodded, standing and walking over, admiring him openly, grinning from ear to ear. Yeosang watched them, glancing between the two. 

“Isn’t the crop top going to be cold? Are you going to be okay? Don’t catch a cold.” 

Smooth, Yeosang. Surely, that’s what they’re concerned about. Especially after Wooyoung worked so hard on this and-

“Are you worried about me?” San sent him a charming smile and sat in the dining room table across the room. 

“I promise I won’t get sick.”

“If he does, help me take care of him, yeah? He’s pouty when he’s sick.” 

“I am not.”

“You’re pouting right now. Sit down, babe.”

San playfully rolled his eyes and sat down, letting Wooyoung get started with his makeup. Yeosang turned half way on the couch, watching as Wooyoung began applying makeup to San. 

Watching Wooyoung work was an…experience. 

He focused, whether it was cooking or fashion, he always narrowed his gaze in this…intense manner that made Yeosang pay close attention. 

He was…so handsome. 

“We’re going with a black and pink look for you, Sannie. Tilt your head up, baby.” Wooyoung spoke under his breath, his fingers diligently working. 

“Keep your eyes closed, I’m doing your lids.” 

Yeosang walked over, his feet carrying him without a second thought. He stood beside Wooyoung, watching as he added a shimmery pink to the smoky eye he was doing for San. 

“He looks like an idol…” Yeosang spoke before realizing what he was saying and went beet red when San opened his eyes half way, sending him a slight smoldering look as he locked eyes with him. 

Yeosang froze. 

“Thank you-”

“Close your eyes so help me god if you mess up my hard work-” Wooyoung hissed, lightly nudging his leg with his knee. San chuckled and closed his eyes again, relaxing back in the chair. 

Yeosang tried to keep himself still while he watched, but he found his gaze wandering. 

San’s face, the curve of his jaw, and the upturn of his lips as he tried to hold back a laugh when Wooyoung began putting lipstick on him, his hands idly coming to rest on Wooyoung’s hips as he stood between his legs.

Yeosang’s attention shifted over to Wooyoung, watching the subtle way he shifted from foot to foot, his eyes scanning San’s face. A gentle smile came to his own the more he worked and got closer to completing, muttering small praises under his breath and thank yous for San sitting still for him.

He didn’t have any makeup on himself, but Yeosang couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, his leg bouncing ever so slightly as he watched Wooyoung stand to his full height. 

“Okay, we’re done here. We’ll wait for the ears and tail till the end when I do everyone’s hair. Yeosang, you’re next darling, go wash your face, your facial care products are to the left. Your skin is a bit too sensitive to use the one San and I use. There’s a light yellow towel in there, too, you can use that to dry your face.”

Yeosang smiled and nodded, trudging down the hall. Wooyoung watched him leave, smiling before he turned to San, admiring him with his finger tapping to his own lips. 

“God, you really do look irresistible. I’m gonna have to beat folks off of you with a stick.” 

San arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow and chuckled, tilting his head to the side. 

“Everyone?” 

Wooyoung blushed, glancing behind him, where he still heard running water from the half bathroom down the hallway. 

“You little pervert- what if he hears you?”

“Makes it a bit easier for us to get to seeing if it’ll work, no?” 

Wooyoung stared at him, baffled at how bold the country boy was. San didn’t break his gaze, brows going up as he waited for Wooyoung to contest his train of thought. 

“Behave yourself, you can’t just go hey, my boyfriend and I kind of like you.”

San slow blinked at him, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Wooyoung nodded, seemingly in the process of relaxing. 

“-I would say we definitely like you.” 

“CHOI SAN.”

“I’m done-hm?” Yeosang looked back and forth between the two men, blinking as they stopped immediately, looking at him. 

“Everything okay?” He inquired. They smiled in an instant, sparkling and charming as they nodded nearly in unison. 

“Yep”/”Uh-huh.”

Yeosang narrowed his eyes slightly. He couldn’t prove it, but they were definitely scheming. At least his gut told him they were. 

“Nevermind that! Sangie, you’re in the seat next!” 

Yeosang moved and sat down where San was before, looking up at Wooyoung as he came closer, leaning down into his space. 

San wasn’t too far off, leaning on the kitchen counter beside them, watching in the same manner Yeosang had done previously. Yeosang glanced at him, meeting his gaze for a moment. 

San sent him a boy next door smile, eyes turning into crescents. Yeosang felt something in his chest flutter for a moment before his chin was grabbed and turned, his eyes widening for a moment as Wooyoung made him look up. 

His lips parted, he didn’t say a word, just keeping his eyes fixated on Wooyoung’s. 

He’s so close. Really, just a gentle brush and they’d be kissing-

“Close your eyes, Sangie.” 

Yeosang’s hands shook in his lap as he closed his eyes, letting Wooyoung get to work on him. San didn’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyes longingly drifted down to Yeosang’s lips before he bit his own, getting to work on his best friend’s makeup. 

“San will be pink…you’re green…and I’ll be red.” He whispered, the faint scent of something sweet still lingering on his breath. Yeosang tried not to laugh or move as one of the brushes ran over his skin gently, though he perked when he felt Wooyoung touch his thigh. 

“Can you spread your legs for me?”

Keep your mind out of the gutter, Yeosang.

Its makeup, Yeosang.

He doesn’t mean it like that, Yeosang.

Yeosang parted his legs, willing himself to keep his eyes closed as Wooyoung came closer, his warmth once again flooding Yeosang’s senses. 

“Like that, good. Keep your head up.” Wooyoung murmured under his breath, his fingers brushing along Yeosang’s neck for a brief moment as he adjusted the angle of his head, not wanting to smudge the foundation on his face. 

Wooyoung, despite his calm breaths, was just as dizzy as Yeosang was. He didn’t do Yeosang’s makeup often-he often went natural whenever they went out with friends or together- so he hadn’t had too many instances of him being in this very position. 

Now that he was here, he was worried he’d fucked up. 

He was too close. Yeosang could probably hear his heart, hear the erratic and frantic beating nearly tumbling out of his chest. Or worse yet, the occasional way his breath caught as he and Yeosang’s thighs brushed against each other. 

“Okay, can you open your eyes?”

Yeosang did as he was told and San leaned close, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Holy fuck that looks amazing.” 

Yeosang’s makeup was less intense compared to San’s, though his eyes stood out boldly thanks to the green and gold smoky eye Wooyoung had given him. 

“I like that you left his birthmark out.” San mused, smiling sweetly. Yeosang felt his cheeks darken as he looked over at Wooyoung. Wouldn’t one want to cover a blemish like that when doing makeup?

“Yeah, it’s cute and accents his face. I’m not gonna cover it.” He huffed, adamant. Yeosang picked at his sweatpants, shyly glancing away as he smiled despite himself. 

Wooyoung, satisfied, moved away from him and down the hall to finally wash his own face and get started on his own makeup. 

“Have you been to a party like this before?” San caught his attention and Yeosang shook his head, rubbing his neck gently. 

“I’m…not the extroverted one out of the two of us. Wooyoung usually starts the conversations, makes the friends, and I get…invited along, and if we get along well, then we become friends.” He admitted, rubbing his arm. San looked at him and walked around the counter, grabbing something from the fridge behind Yeosang. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. With you being more reserved. It…makes it really nice from the outside in when you smile at them, consider them a friend, go out and about with them. At least, that’s how I feel.” San hummed, washing something in the sink. Yeosang looked over his shoulder, hearing something getting slid across the counter. 

A bowl of fruit. 

“We asked you to come early…I don’t know if you’ve eaten. Here.” 

Yeosang looked down at the bowl and reached, smiling softly. 

If…if…anyone had to be the one to have Wooyoung…Yeosang was glad it was San. 

He bit down on a strawberry, mind wandering while San tossed a chunk of pineapple in his mouth. The two stood in silence for a bit, until the sound of boots coming down the hall drew their attention. 

If there was a thought in either of their heads, it was gone. Packed up and rolling a suitcase down the block, gone. 

“Can someone tie me up?”

In the time spent away, Wooyoung had put on a button-up shirt on, tucked into a pair of tight dress pants that hugged his ass. 

He wasn’t wearing underwear, was he? There wasn’t a single outline for anything underneath as he turned his back to them, the strings to the corset dangling down. San glanced at Yeosang and shied. 

“I uh, I don’t really know how to tie one of those up.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. San had never tied a corset before. It probably wasn’t the hardest to learn. He would’ve offered if it wasn’t for him catching the way Yeosang’s eyes had clearly trailed down to Wooyoung’s ass. 

He was helping, surely. 

“I h-have hand tremors.” Yeosang tossed the ball back, the tips of his ears red. Wooyoung glanced between the two of them and rolled his eyes. 

“If neither of you want to tie it, I’ll just call Yeonjun to-”

“No, I- I got it.”

San glanced over at Yeosang as he spoke up, clearing his throat and moving over to Wooyoung, standing on a few centimeters taller than the man. Wooyoung looked at him, meeting his gaze with a small, almost flirty smile before he turned and left his back to him. He realized his shirt was see through and Yeosang’s eyes landed on the dark letters at the base of his neck.

‘I am never alone, and I will never be.’ 

Yeosang’s gaze softened as he looked at the dark lines, his fingers moving without him thinking, tracing. He’d been there when Wooyoung had it done. Held his hand and rubbed his knuckles every time he squeezed from the pain. 

“We’re gonna be late, Sangie. Unless you wanted to stay in instead?” Wooyoung quietly reminded him. Yeosang startled and cleared his throat, slightly shaking hands grabbing the string of Wooyoung’s corset vest, tying it carefully. 

“You’ll have to give it a good tug at the end, okay? I don’t need it coming unlaced in the middle of the party. 

Yeosang didn’t want that either, didn’t like the idea of him being stared at too intensely by a bunch of people who didn’t know him. 

Wooyoung was so much more than his looks. 

Yeosang huffed, annoyed at the idea as soon as it popped up, and pulled, tightening the strings with a sharp tug. Wooyoung let out a sound of surprise and stumbled ever so slightly, backing into him. 

“Eh-”

“Sorry-”

Don’t think about his ass against you, Yeosang. Don’t think about it, don’t focus on it, leave those thoughts alone-

“I’m glad you’re so well-built or my clumsy ass would’ve knocked us both over.” Wooyoung joked, still pressed up against him. Yeosang swallowed shakily and blushed, glancing down to see no space between them. 

He should probably move before he gets hard. 

“It was my fault for pulling so suddenly. S-sorry.” 

He took a half step back, glancing over and blushing as San stared at them, still leaning on the island counter, feline eyes calm and half lidded as he combed them up and down Yeosang’s form. 

Yeosang, then Wooyoung. 

The dog trainer could only describe it as ‘that one look in romantic dramas where one person is eyeing their partner from the bed and clearly is thinking of dragging them back into it to show them euphoria’. 

Or maybe Yeosang is already entirely too flustered and he’s seeing things. There’s no way Wooyoung’s boyfriend would look at him like that. He didn’t even know why the idea of him doing so made a pleasant shiver run down his spine. 

He’s losing it, that’s the only reasonable response. 

“Okay~ both of you sit still while I get the ears on you and we’re all set!” 

Yeosang shyly moved away, watching as Wooyoung carefully pulled out the three sets of ears and tails he’d made to go with their outfits. 

Deep orange with black tipped fox ears for himself, blonde with soft pastel blue accents for Yeosang’s cat fit, and dark, midnight black rabbit ears with hot pink accents for San. 

They all looked…quite stunning. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” San mused, looking at himself in his phone’s camera, eyes up in surprise at the end result of Wooyoung’s handiwork. Wooyoung grinned from ear to ear, hands on his hips. 

“Probably not. I am pretty damn great.” 

Yeosang rolled his eyes and playfully nudged him. 

“Let’s just go before his head gets any bigger.” 

The three of them pour out into the night, piling into Wooyoung’s car and heading deep into the heart of the city, the light conversation and impromptu karaoke in the vehicle helping settle Yeosang’s erratic heartbeat. 

They met up with their friends outside of the venue, with Yeji, Chan, and Changbin dressed up as Miruko, Hawks, and Dabi, from BNHA, respectively. Yeji perked as soon as she laid eyes on San, pointing energetically. 

“Hello my fellow bunny friend, join the club!” She grinned, looping arms with Soobin and pulling him in. He blushed, his hands obscured by large rabbit paw shaped gloves as he shyly waved. 

“Oh? So you and Yeonjun ended up doing One Piece after all?” Wooyoung piped up beside San and Soobin nodded, his ears bouncing with the movement. 

“He’s Zoro…I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me be Luffy. Or Ace. Or literally anyone who didn’t require me to wear a dress. I had to fight for my life to convince him I would not survive the night with a dress on and to let me just gender bend it and wear pants.” 

San blinked and looked over, finding Yeonjun pouting not too far off, his hair a deep green color and three swords strapped to his hips. 

“Because you look cute as shit as Carrot. Also I only gave up because I will literally use these swords if someone tries playing grab ass with you.” He grumbled. Soobin pursed his lips, crossing his arms. 

“All of the dress shops stop at a medium anyway and I don’t know if you remember this or not, but I am very tall and dresses intended for feminine bodies that are about three sizes too small would only lead to my ass and balls being out.” 

“And then I’d go to jail for stabbing someone.”/”And then you’d go to jail for stabbing someone.” both of them chimed at the same time. San and Yeosang blinked while Wooyoung snorted beside them. 

“Some things never change. They finish each other’s sentences.” He chuckled before turning towards the entrance of the venue Jiyong had rented out for them. 

When they got inside, they found the group of guests a lot smaller than expected. San even recognized a few of them as some of the workers who would occasionally drop by Namhae to bring gifts to the little ones or have lunch dates with Chaerin and Jiyong. 

It looked less like a high stakes social gathering where everyone was at each other’s throats, trying to become the ‘next big thing’, and more like a larger-than-average Halloween themed house party. 

Unfortunately for Yeosang, he tended to be a wallflower at parties his friends didn’t throw, so he found himself trailing after Wooyoung and San instead, smiling politely and greeting others when he was greeted first. 

Everyone here looked…stunning. 

He hadn’t noticed he’d been falling behind his friend group until his attention snapped into focus, feeling a warm arm lace under his, squeezing in reassurance. 

When he looked to his left, Wooyoung smiled at him, nose scrunching ever so slightly. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

Yeosang flushed, looking over and seeing San had walked over to Jiyong and Chaerin, chatting to them as they stood dressed like Morticia and Gomez Addams. Beside them were Jongho, Eric, and Gahyeon, dressed as Sora, Riku, and Kairi, respectively. 

In a way, it comforted Yeosang, to see the little ones looking around with their wide, doey-eyed smiling faces, running around between the adults-all of which they assumed were close friends of the two throwing the party. 

That, and Wooyoung’s warmth at his side, grinning at him from ear to ear as he guided him through the crowd, greeting people and introducing his introverted friend as he went. 

Yeosang could see a few wandering eyes as they passed, some that combed over Wooyoung’s frame in appreciation a bit too long. 

Without thinking, he tensed his arm, pulling Wooyoung closer to him, until not even a silk thread could squeeze between their bodies. 

If Wooyoung noticed the way his body began to wind itself tight, he politely didn’t tease him, simply stepping with him as he guided Yeosang back to their friends, the fur of his tail occasionally brushing against Yeoang’s pants, tickling through the material. 

“Hyung! Oh-”

The two looked down, finding Eric staring up at them with big eyes. He looked left, then right, then left again. 

“Puppy.” He pointed at Wooyoung and the man grinned, nodding. 

“Mhm. And you look so cool, Eric!” 

Eric nodded, still looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Hyung?” 

“Yes, Eric?” 

“Did you break up with Sannie-Hyung?” 

The sound that left both Wooyoung and Yeosang was truly beyond human comprehension. The two stared at him, slack jawed and flabbergasted. Eric snorted himself at their responses, rocking to and fro on his heels, his temporary silver dye making his hair stand out more than ever. 

“Wha- Eric??? No?” Wooyoung recovered, eyes as wide as saucers. Eric hummed and nodded, looking over at Yeosang. 

“So you gots two boyfriends like Yeji-Noona? That’s cool! Can I pet your puppy again, Hyung?” 

Wooyoung went beet red, Yeosang blinked in surprise, stammering as Eric looked around, seemingly for Yunho. When he realized the mastiff was nowhere to be found, he pouted and turned on his heels. 

“Aw…no Yuyu…that's too bad he would've been a cool Arcanine!” He toddled off, seemingly bouncing back from the heartbreak of Yunho’s absence fairly quickly, if the way he took off towards Changbin and Yeiji as they sipped on brightly colored drinks made to look like lab experiments.

“WOAH YOU LOOK SO COOL-”

The two men stood in silence for a moment before looking at one another. 

Both were cherry red. 

Yeosang didn't make any flustered denials to the child.

Wooyoung didn't correct him, either.

Both men seemed to realize this, if the way they shifted from foot before opening their mouth in unison was anything to go by. 

“I-”

“Do you-”

They stopped instantly, peering at one another before Wooyoung coughed and shied more.

“I'm gonna head to the bathroom.” 

And there he went, his tail swaying with every step as he maneuvered through people. Yeosang rubbed his neck and shied, clearing his throat and looking around.  

Chan, Changbin, and Yeji were entertaining the children a ways away from him. 

Soobin and Yeonjun appeared to be in a deep conversation about modeling prospects. 

And San was….

“Seriously, you look really good. Are you sure you don't want to buy us a drink and chat more?”

San looked flustered, glancing between a group of three women who clearly were not afraid of the interest in their eyes. 

“No thank you, I have a partner already.”

“And~? She left you all alone at this party looking like that? Clearly she doesn't know the catch she's got in front of her.”

San smiled politely, though there was the telltale pull in his eyebrow that Yeosang could read clear with the rest of his body language. 

Confusion. Perplexion. Damn near panic.

He found his feet carrying him without a thought, the bodies in the room mere blurs as he took step after step, eyes fixed on San.

“I think I should go-”

“Aw, but we're having fun teasing you~ Surely one night won't be the worst thing, right?”

“There you are, darling. I've been looking for you.”

San perked, turning his head and finding Yeosang standing just past the crescent the three women had mad around San. They all blinked in surprise, but Yeosang stared past him, eyes locked onto San’s.

“I went to get us a drink but it looks like you wandered off while I was being indecisive. Can we choose together?” He extended his hand to him, waiting.

San moved instantly, lacing their fingers together and clearing his throat. 

“Sorry about that, Sangie. Let's go.” He let Yeosang take his hand, pressing flush against him and quickly ejecting himself from the area. 

Yeosang didn’t let his hand go instantly, instead giving him a reassuring squeeze and pulling him to the table that had various juices and sodas laid out for people to take on their own. 

San looked at their hands, gently squeezing back as he followed the outline of Yeosang’s tone arm all the way up past his shoulder and to the back of his head. 

He was tense. 

“Thank you…I have a hard time being rude to people and I’ve never…had that happen to me before…” He rubbed his arm. The folks back in Namhae didn’t look on him too fondly after he’d been outed to the entire village. San wasn’t going to go into it right now, though. Yeosang probably wasn’t interested in his life like that anyway-

“It’s not rude. They made you uncomfortable.” His tone was on the more even side, his jaw set firmly before he sighed a bit harsher through his nose and looked at San. 

“....do you want that drink now? Are you sure you’re okay?” He inquired. San blushed slightly, nodding before he glanced down between them. 

They were still holding hands. 

Yeosang realized where his line of sight had gone and quickly let go, clearing his throat and turning towards the table. 

“Banana Milk….ramune, sikye, citron tea, cola,McCol-”

“Tea…I’d like the citron tea, please.” San politely pointed and smiled in thanks when Yeosang handed him over the prepackaged tea that had been sitting in a tub of ice along with the other drinks. 

“Ah, I found you. I knew making those ears neon colors would come in handy.”

The two turned and found Wooyoung standing victoriously with his hands on his hips, smiling from ear to ear at them. San-and Yeosang’s-shoulders both relaxed as the man sauntered over, draping himself over both of their shoulders and glancing at the table. 

“Anything good?”

“There’s Cola, but it’s not your favorite brand.” Yeosang muttered, broadening his stance so Wooyoung wouldn’t fall. The man pouted a bit before shrugging and grabbing a can. 

“It’ll work. Are you two having fun?” He inquired. Yeosang pursed his lips and San shifted from foot to foot. 

“Some women were saying some really uncomfortable and flirtatious things to me a second ago but Yeosang got me the hell out of there. Thank you again, I really appreciate it.” San sent Yeosang a grateful look and the man cleared his throat, flustered. 

“I-”

“Who was it?” 

Both heads snapped over to Wooyoung, an air of annoyance and rage dripping off of him. They glanced at one another before shaking their heads in unison. 

“Wooyoung, my baby, it’s okay. Really, it’s over.” San rubbed his shoulder encouragingly. 

Yeosang shook his head. 

“It was shameless but I got him out of there. Don’t let it ruin your night.” He told him softly, the tightness in his jaw loosening the moment he saw how pissed Wooyoung had gotten. 

The man narrowed his eyes before straightening his back. 

“There’s music playing. Let’s go dancing. See if anyone wants to try some shit now that I’m here.”

Yeosang’s smile faltered. Oh…it made sense, that Wooyoung would make it know that San was his and his alone. He hated his brain, though, unable to shake the disappointment of being left here to dry while the two danced-

Oh, oh that’s Wooyoung’s hand in his. 

Oh, there they go, both of them getting dragged to the dancefloor with Wooyoung leading the charge, marching to the beat of his own drum. 

Yeosang stumbled for but a moment before he caught his balance, following Wooyoung. San recovered quickly, too, smiling so brightly, his eyes disappeared into joyful crescents, his dimples deep and pronounced. 

“The music is good, cmon boys. Can’t have anyone else getting bold with my two favorite boys, right?” Wooyoung grinned, moving with the music as if it were a song he’d heard time and time again. San and Yeosang looked flustered, but the former recovered first, dancing with Wooyoung amongst the small crowd of party goers that had gathered on the dancefloor at the center of the hall. 

Wooyoung noticed Yeosang hadn’t budged a minute into his mini dance session and made a point to twirl over to him, his tail spinning along with him before he settled with his hands around his best friend’s shoulders, sending him an inviting smile. 

“C’mon Sangie. I know you can dance. You’re one of the best I know.” He swayed with him, hips moving in a near hypnotic fashion. 

Yeosang wondered if this was going to be the end of him. Right here, in the middle of a dancefloor on Halloween. In front of his best friend and his best friend’s boyfriend. 

Yeosang looked over Wooyoung’s shoulder at San, but just like all of the previous times he’d found himself unconsciously doing so, he was only met with San’s gentle, inviting features. 

A gentle smile, a step closer, his hands on Wooyoung’s hips, dancing intimately, yet respectfully (they did have three little ones scurrying around…somewhere). 

He never seemed to hold any…uncomfortable or self conscious air around Yeosang, even during times like these. 

So…Yeosang finally put some of his apprehension aside, and just…went with the music. 

His fingers brushed against San’s as he held Wooyoung’s waist, eyes locking with him while they danced, moving to the rhythm. A brilliant smile stretched across Wooyoung’s face as he continued to dance, alternating between facing Yeosang and facing San.

“Mmm, the three of them are getting along well.” Chaerin muttered over her glass of sparkling cider, watching the way Wooyoung brought both her son and the soft spoken dog trainer they had met the other day out of their respective shells. 

“Looks like it. Hope it goes well.” Jiyong chimed in, watching as his daughter learned some Kpop dance with the help of Yeonjun and Yeji. 

The party lasted longer than expected, with no incidents past the initial trio of women trying to romance San. San and co stayed behind long after the party-goers had left, making sure the place was tidy and carrying the little ones out to Chaerin’s car.

Yeosang yawned, taking a look at his watch and grunting at the ‘12:50am’ staring back at him. He was impressed they stayed up so late, but wondered if him staying out for so long was wise in it’s own right. 

He’d had a pretty consistent sleep schedule and by this time usually, he would have been asleep. The way he nodded off was a dead giveaway for Wooyoung, and he gently nudged San. 

“Sangie is all tired.” He whispered, smiling as Yeosang let out another yawn. 

“Should head home…”Yeosang rubbed his eye and Wooyoung laughed gently.

“How about you come back to our place, I help you with the makeup, and you crash there? It’s kind of late and you look like you’re going to fall asleep standing.” Wooyoung teased him. Yeosang opened his mouth like he was going to refute the statement but inevitably he nodded, simply following them to Wooyoung’s car after waving goodbye to everyone else. 

The ride back to Wooyoung and San’s home was quiet, the silence padded out only with the sounds of the vehicle in motion and Yeosang snoring in the back seat. 

Wooyoung held San’s hand as he drove, thumb brushing along his knuckles. Neither filled the silence with conversation, only each other’s presence, while occasionally smiling to one another or laughing softly when Yeosang’s snores got a bit louder than usual. 

By time they’d arrived home, Yeosang was in a deep sleep, and not even San bending to pick him up bridal style roused him. Wooyoung looked at them, head tilted. 

“A buff bunny and a buff cat, mm?” 

“Fanasize later, I don’t want him to catch a cold.” San lightly scolded, hustling over to the door. Wooyoung moved ahead, passing him to unlock the door. 

“Take him to the guest room. I’ll be there in a second, I just need to get some things.” 

San nodded, carrying Yeosang down the hall to the aforementioned room. He stood in the center of the room holding him, however, when he realized the small conundrum he was in. 

Was he to…just put him in bed? It was inappropriate to change him, right? 

“Oh sweetheart, you look flustered.” 

San looked over his shoulder at Wooyoung as the man pulled back the covers. 

“I'll leave some clothes aside for him and he can change into them if he wakes up in the middle of the night.” he calmly instructed, removing Yeosang’s shoes as San passed with him.

“You really are overworking yourself, mmm?” He tutted, watching as his friend didn't rouse in the slightest with all the movements and jostling of San carrying him. 

Once he was in bed, Wooyoung pulled the blankets up his chest, taking out some of the makeup wipes he’d brought with him and meticulously taking off the makeup he’d applied to Yeosang. 

He hovered over him, hands steady and breath fanning over his face as he made sure every bit was gone. San leaned against the doorframe, quietly watching the two with his arms crossed. 

“Sleep well, you little hardass. I can’t have you collapsing from exhaustion, y’know.” Wooyoung murmured, reaching to grab the small rag he’d brought in along with the wipes. It was in a small bowl of warm water and once he wrang it out, he returned to Yeosang’s face, gently washing it with the warm rag. 

Yeosang cracked his eyes open part ways through the pampering, half lidded and unfocused with sleep as Wooyoung hovered over him, cupping his cheek. 

He looked up, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze. 

“Hey sleepy head. You up?” The younger man whispered. Yeosang made a noise akin to a grunt in the back of his throat and closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into his hand, nuzzling. Wooyoung exhaled softly, kissing his forehead and guiding his head back to the center of the pillow. 

“Right, of course. Good night, darling.” he muttered, standing and taking the items out, leaving with San as the two spoke in hushed tones. 

Yeosang slept on, until he felt the call of nature tugging at him an hour later. His brows furrowed and he sat up, rubbing his eye and looking around the room. 

He found the pile of clothes sitting at the foot of the bed and blushed, realizing someone carried him in. 

Wooyoung was strong, but he was almost certain it would have been San, if anyone. 

Yeosang’s heart squeezed, a flutter of something making him shiver at the thought of San carrying him. 

Has he finally lost it? What’s gotten into him?

Shaking his head, Yeosang grabbed the clothes, changing and making his way down the hall towards the bathroom. He knew Wooyoung’s home like the back of his hand. Guest room was furthest from the stairs while the bathroom was across the hall from the Master bedr-

“N-nn wait, slow down-”

Yeosang blinked, hand pausing on the door handle of the bathroom, looking at the closed door to his best friend’s room. It took all of two seconds for him to realize what was happening beyond, and he felt his heart nearly tumble roll down his chest. 

He should probably go, he was sure this wasn’t appropriate for him to be watching-

“Pretty baby. Did it feel good? Having Yeosangie come to your rescue? Holding your hand? It felt nice having both of your hands on me. Wah~ Sannie, are you paying attention?”

Yeosang’s eyes grew. He turned and stared at the door, as if the longer he did, he could see inside. It was Wooyoung, clear as day. 

What on Earth….?

“H-hot…nn it was hot I liked it-Ah! Fuck, right there please!”

Yeosang thought it was silly, all the media he’d consumed in his life mentioning pinching in order to make sure one was not dreaming, but he suddenly understood the sentiment as he heard San’s moans increase in volume before suddenly they were muffled. 

Beyond the door, Wooyoung covered his mouth, eyes narrowed in delight at the way San trembled below him, his rabbit ears still situated on his ears, albeit a bit haphazardly. He couldn’t settle on where his gaze would stay, switching between watching his flustered face, and watching the way his cock slid in and out of the country man. He practically purred at the way San clenched, desperate to keep him from slipping out of him. 

Wooyoung rolled his hips, speeding up as he growled sweet nothings and filth into dimly let room. 

“You look so pretty like this, darling. All splayed out, taking cock like the cute little rabbit I made you into. I wanna share this sight with Yeosang, y’know.”

“Please, Wooyoung. I c-can’t take it-”

“You can, baby. I know it. Look at how excited you are, gripping me tighter every time I thrust in. Do you think Yeosangie would take his time with you? Or would he claim you, make sure those chicks from the party know exactly who you belong to?” he shuddered, having to adjust himself before his desire got ahead of him and he ended up accidentally pulling out. 

Wooyoung moved his hand away from San’s mouth, running his fingers down San’s throat, admiring the little bites he had placed all over the tanned canvas. 

“You’re so pretty, baby. You wear my love bites well. I wonder how many Yeosangie would leave on you if we told him how we felt. He does have such pretty canines~”

San clenched, back arching as he held onto Wooyoung’s wrist, grinding down to meet Wooyoung half way with each thrust. 

Outside, Yeosang stared at the door slack jawed, his heart beating nearly out of his chest as he heard the two have sex, his name being dropped quite liberally between the two of them as they got closer and closer to their collective climax. 

He startled into focus and quietly made his way downstairs to the guest bathroom, eyes wide as the situation rolled around in his mind. 

His best friend, and the man he’d been in love with for years had been having sex with his boyfriend, and both of them had tossed his name around in the bedroom. 

Yeosang stood over the sink after he washed his hands, staring at his reflection for a moment before he peeked out of the bathroom, straining his ears to see if the men were still going at it. 

Both of them were quite energetic…were they the types who preferred to go for multiple rounds? 

Yeosang blushed and shook his head, trying to knock the inappropriate thoughts out of his head. 

He quietly made his way back upstairs, casting a sidelong glance at the master bedroom as he passed. 

He could hear muffled talking, thought it wasn’t nearly as loud and clear as it had been before. Perhaps they’d settled down. The dog trainer found himself staring at the door for much longer than he’d intended to, fidgeting for a moment before he quickly made his way back down to the guest room, the small part in his brain that was afraid of the door spontaneously opening while he was there carrying his feet much faster than they had been going before. 

Inside the room, however, Wooyoung lay with his arms draped around San, exchanging slow, languid kisses and tired smiles. 

“You alright? Do you need any water or anything? You were a lot more vocal tonight than usual when you’re bottoming~” he teased. San hid his face in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, his face hot with embarrassment. 

“‘M fine.” 

Wooyoung grinned and pressed a kiss to his head, closing his eyes and nuzzling him. His brain was full of domestic and warm thoughts of what he’d make tomorrow morning, something to see his two favorite men smile.

Before he could settle on breakfast, he felt the tug of sleep dragging him under. Somewhere, in his tired haze, he could have sworn he heard the faint creak of a door opening and closing. 

Must have been more tired than he thought. Probably nothing. 

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

     November 1st

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Yeosangie~ Darling~”

Yeosang’s eyes opened in an instant, with him startling for a brief moment when he realized he wasn’t in his home. It took him a few moments still for everything to flood back into his mind, clicking into place. 

The party, the women hitting on San, his hand in his, their hands on Wooyoung-

Wooyoung growling his name into the air as he and San made love and the pleased purrs he’d gotten in response. 

Yeosang blushed, felt his blood rushing even through his sleep addled brain, when suddenly the door opened and a blur of furr entered. 

A pair of cocoa brown eyes stared at him and he looked up in surprise as Yunho sat at the end of the guest bed. 

“How did you-”

“I woke up really early and figured your baby missed you so I got up before sunrise and went to your house to bring Yuyu here. I took him for a walk and cleaned up already, so don’t worry! I’m making breakfast for everyone so take your time and rest more if you need to do so. You were dead asleep when San brought you in so sleep more if you need to, baby.” Wooyoung stood in the doorway, speaking to him in what can only be considered a ‘sweetheart’s voice’. 

Yeosang blushed slightly and nodded, watching as Wooyoung turned and walked away after that, leaving the door cracked so Yunho could come and go as he pleased. 

Yunho glanced at his master, tail wagging as he subtly scooched closer, lowering his head for pets. He got them as Yeosang continued to gather his bearings. 

Once he did and begun to make his way down to the kitchen, he was met with San at the stove, stirring something with his bare back to him. Yeosang felt ridiculous at the way his eyes instantly locked onto the telltale bites he could see at the sides of his neck. 

“You’re so pretty, baby. You wear my love bites well. I wonder how many Yeosangie would leave on you if we told him how we felt. He does have such pretty canines~”

Yeosang found himself unconsciously licking at his canines, blushing once he realized what he was doing moments later. His eyes drifted down to San’s ass, a pair of nefarious sweatpants hiding the true shape of it from view, unlike the outfit from yesterday Wooyoung had put him in. 

“G-good morning, San.” 

San perked and turned around, sending him a dazzling smile, though Yeosang could see a clear dusting of pink across his cheekbones as he cleared his throat. 

“Good morning. How did you sleep? Are my clothes comfy? We’re around the same size so I wanted to grab something comfortable.”

Yeosang looked down at his own attire, nodding once. So it was San’s clothes they’d given him. 

“It’s comfortable. Thank you.” He muttered, looking back at the ex farm hand. San smiled at him and turned back around to the stove, seemingly fine with Yeosang seeing him half nude like he was. 

Then again, they were moaning for him last night, it was seeming less and less likely for them to actually mind him seeing them in any state of undress. 

“Ah, both of my babies are here, perfect. One of you come taste my cake.” 

Wooyoung cut into a small, flan-shaped cake, and the two watched as warm chocolate oozed out of it, much to his delight. San put a hand on his hip, sending him a gentle, good natured, yet exasperated look. 

“We’re supposed to have dessert after we eat.” 

Yeosang walked over despite the pout on Wooyoung’s face. The move seemed to make him perk in delight. He smiled at his friend, moving to hand him the dessert fork. 

Yeosang grabbed his wrist, instead.

He wanted to blame his actions on sleep. On the grogginess of his mind with all the emotions swirling around him. 

The man could unpack that later. For now, he leaned in, lips closing along the prongs of the fork and almost agonizingly slow, pulling the slice of cake off of it, a dribble of chocolate running down his bottom of his lip. 

Wooyoung, for his credit, stayed still, looking into Yeosang’s eyes with a smile on his face. 

“How is it you make a mess even when I’m holding the fork?” He teased, moving his hand up to wipe the chocolate off with his thumb. 

Deciding to press a bit more, Yeosang flicked his tongue out, licking him in the process and licking off the chocolate as soon as Wooyoung’s hand got close enough. 

“You know I’m a messy eater.” 

Wooyoung looked slightly taken aback, blinking owlishly, his hand stuttering uselessly midair before he brought it down, shyly searching Yeosang’s face. 

Without a doubt, his mind went somewhere southward. 

“Alright, messy eating or no, no one needs to go spoiling their appetite by eating chocolate before the actual bulk of breakfast.” San scolded, turning the stove off and pointing his cooking chopsticks over to the duo. 

“We already fed Yunho, you two go sit down and no more chocolate until you eat breakfast.” He lectured, going into the cabinet to get bowls. Wooyoung glances at Yeosang, curiously searching his face and body language before he put the lava cake on a heated plate in the center of the table, moving to help San with distributing breakfast. 

Yeosang sat down, pulling his hair back into a low ponytail so his bangs were out of his face, watching the two move about subtly. 

Whereas San had plenty of skin to show this morning, Wooyoung was in an overgrown t shirt and pj pants, his neck also littered with bites and marks, along with the faint lines of nail marks Yeosang could see thanks to the ill fitted shirt whenever it shifted to show more of his back and shoulders. 

Yeosang found himself picking up on everything now that he was actually looking for it. Wooyoung had always been the touchy feely type of man, but Yeosang found San also touching him a lot as they got everything situated on the table. 

A brush against his arm as he leaned over to set a cup of tea down, a graze across his shoulders in passing, his hand touching his back as he rested it there to ask how much of what he wanted for side dishes. 

The two of them touched him as much as they touched each other and he found his mind wandering easily. 

“Okay, everyone eat up and enjoy~” Wooyoung encouraged, eagerly digging in. San and Yeosang followed suit, with the three of them eating in comfortable silence. 

Yeosang only wished his mind would be as quiet as his mouth. 

Instead, it kept bringing him back to what he’d heard. What he’d seen. It made him think back to past behaviors, have the two of then honesty been seeing him in this light, or had it been some kind of…one off roleplay?

“Your brows are furrowing, Sangie. You alright?” Wooyoung voice called his mind into focus and he looked up. He’d been sitting with his chopsticks hovering near his mouth, zoned out. He blinked. Once, twice, before clearing his throat. 

“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.” he apologized and both of their expressions soured. 

“Is there anything we can help with?” San offered. Wooyoung pursed his lips, leaning on the table to eye him closely. 

“I saw your eye bags when I washed your face last night. You’re not sleeping well, do you want us to make you dinner so you don’t have to stay up cooking after training? Or deliver it to you for lunch?” He spoke a mile a minute while San nodded from beside him, rubbing his thigh and staring at Yeosang. 

….fuck it, right? 

“I would like that, actually.” 

The two of them blinked, seemingly not expecting him actually to take the offer. It took only a moment before they nodded, chattering quickly to themselves. 

“San, darling, I think I can come up with a nutritional meal plan for the next three weeks and we can alternate lunches and dinners and work around our schedules at the kitchen to make this work.” Wooyoung murmured, tapping his chin. San nodded, smiling as he looked over at Yeosang. 

“Just let me know what your favorite foods are, and I’ll do my best, okay? I still have plenty of garlic that's ready for use, I just hope you don’t get tired of it in the dishes…” He trailed off, tapping his chin. Yeosang spoke softly. 

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” He gently offered. The two of them looked at each other before grinning. 

“Great!” 

-

Yeosang would be the first to admit he was often too aloof for his own good when it came to anything not regarding his trainees. 

However, when he focused, his mind and eyes were as sharp as they came. 

When San and Wooyoung would stop by to see him training, eyes fixed on his every move, perking as he gave orders to both dog and human trainees, he noticed. 

When they stopped by the bookstore on his days in and would occasionally peer at him while pretending they were engrossed in a book they hadn’t turned the page of in five minutes, he noticed. 

When Wooyoung would plop down halfway in his lap after bringing over dinner and San would put his arm over the back of the couch, fingers gently touching the nape of Yeosang’s neck every time he stretched his arm, he noticed. 

The way their eyes followed him on days their friend group had time off to work out in the gym Chan, Changbin, and Soobin worked in, he noticed. 

And here, with Wooyoung’s arms crossed as he stared Lee down, eyes narrowed as an unamused look settled on his face, hostility rolling off of him in quiet waves while San stood at his side, lips pursed, displeasure on his face, Yeosang noticed. Lee didn’t back down, narrowing his own gaze right back at him.

“I don’t know why it is you two always pop up when I’m trying to talk to him, but it’s getting on my nerves, if I can be brutally honest. Who even are you two? His friends? That’s kind of toxic. Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to him privately?” Lee glared and San slightly put his body between Wooyoung and the man, seeing Wooyoung perk in agitation. 

“We’re sorry-”

“No, the fuck we are not.”

San cleared his throat. “-but we’re just trying to keep Yeosang on schedule.” 

Lee looked at him incredulously. 

“By cock blocking him? Unless the two of you are his boyfriends, why are you so up his ass huh? Not a dog in sight and yet here you are every other day, pining after him like a bunch of school girls. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

Even San took offense this time, his brows twitching and his lips pursing. 

Wooyoung grit his teeth, pushing past him and opening his mouth to tear into Lee when a loud, resounding bark startled the three of them (and the pomeranian in Lee’s arms). 

Their attention turned to the left, finding Yeosang’s quiet, yet angered gaze fixed in their direction with Yunho standing on giard, eyes fixed on them and tail straight up, alert. Wooyoung looked away first. Lee puffed his chest up and huffed. 

“Oh good, you’re here. These guys picked a fight with me and-”

“Everyone is dismissed today. Lee, I will be speaking to you before our next class, so be there early. San, Wooyoung, come.” Yeosang jutted his chin towards the door and turned on his heel, not waiting for any response from any of the men. Lee blinked in surprise, seemingly baffled that he was getting scolded while Wooyoung and San sent him a sidelong glare before falling in line behind Yeosang. 

They walked all the way to Yeosang’s house, in a tense silence that made the men feel more and more like they were kids in trouble. 

San squeezed Wooyoung’s hand, watching Yeosang’s back as he walked ahead with Yunho right at his side. Wooyoung glared at the sidewalk, face flush with embarrassed. 

They didnt pick a fight…mostly. They simply…stopped him from bullshitting. That’s all. 

….maybe it was a bit fight-picky. 

But also fuck him, he was trying to slink up and steal Yeosang. 

Wooyoung’s head tumble rolled in agitation. Yeosang wasn’t his, but he was his best friend and at the very least he would be damned if he let some sleazy asshole slink in and-

“Wooyoung. San.” 

Both of them perked, looking up as Yeosang opened the door to his home. They came inside, avoiding his gaze and toeing their shoes off. 

Wooyoung took a deep breath once the front door was closed and locked up.

“I wasn’t picking a fight with him, I just don’t fucking like him.” 

San rubbed his arm. He didn’t seem to have any explanation for his side. Yeosang stared at the two of them for a long while, crossing his arms. 

“Why don’t you like him?” 

“Because! He’s fucking weird.” 

His eyes narrowed at his friend and his boyfriend, face betraying none of the thoughts in his head. 

“And?”

“And he’s always flirting with you and that’s so inappropriate and fuck him, Yeosang.” Wooyoung hissed. San rubbed his back. 

“Maybe we should calm down a bit-”

“I don’t very much think either of you would appreciate me fucking him.”

The silence that stretched between the three of them was palpable. Yunho looked up at the men before making a gruff noise in the back of his throat and disappearing deeper into the home, seemingly sensing this was not a conversation his presence was needed for. 

San went beet red and Wooyoung nearly choked. Yeosang looked from either man and then dropped his arms. 

None of this really had a ‘smooth’ way of transitioning into conversation wise, did it?

“You both are sexually attracted to me, right? And Lee’s constant flirting bothers you?” 

He didn’t think their eyes could grow any wider. If it weren’t for the severity of the situation, he might have broken face and laughed at the expressions on their faces. 

“We…Yeosang-” San tried to recover first but ended up stumbling, his eyes darting all across Yeosang’s face, seemingly searching for disgust or anger in the man’s expression. 

On the contrary, Yeosang’s face was a perfect poker-worthy one as he looked at them both. Wooyoung shifted from foot to foot, stammering before he tightened his jaw. 

Well, if it’s all going to go down in flames, it might as well have some fireworks, right?

“I have been in love with you for years. If this is how it comes out, I’d like you to get that one part right, please. I am not just sexually attracted to you. I have been in love with you for as long as I can actually remember, thank you very much.” 

Yeosang’s expression finally shifted, brows going up in surprise before he looked to San. 

“I…s’pose you could say I’ve gotten sweet for ya, too. It’s not just a physical thing, I swear it-”

Yeosang moved to stand in front of them both, looking for any signs of deception, but of course, there was none. Just the understandably panicked expressions of the two men in front of him. 

“Is it going to be a problem, Yeosang?” Wooyoung quietly asked, his voice much softer than his normal tone was. Yeosang shook his head and let out a shaky laugh. 

“No, it makes it easier for me, actually.” 

Wooyoung blinked and felt the cogs in his mind grind to a stop when Yeosang cupped his face. His eyes grew once more and his lips parted as he looked up at him. 

“Is it okay? Can I finally kiss you instead of wishing I could?” He spoke softly himself and Wooyoung found himself nodding numbly, closing his eyes when Yeosang leaned in. 

He was grateful for both Yeosang and San, in all honestly. Had they not have been there, he was sure his knees would have given out and he would have folded the moment he felt lips against his own. 

Yeosang put an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, subconsciously keeping him from backing away and falling. When they broke the kiss, Wooyoung touched his lips, stunned into silence. Yeosang glanced beside them at the deer-in-headlights expression on San. 

“Come on. We might as well lay all of our emotions on the table tonight so we’re not misunderstanding, right?” 

San moved without needing to be told twice, leaning in and initiating the kiss with Yeosang, cupping the back of his neck with a callused hand, kneading and squeezing. Yeosang softly groaned, his free hand finding its way to San’s hip, now touching both of them, keeping the three of them tethered. 

When the kiss broke, Yeosang hummed and smiled softly, as if a weight had been lifted. 

“Well, that was a lot easier than expected.” he laughed, clearly the nerves he hadn’t been showing them before pouring out with his giggles. 

“C’mon. We can eat the leftovers from dinner yesterday and talk.” he offered, moving into the home and leaving the couple stunned. Wooyoung glanced at San and the country man looked just as dumbfounded as he did. 

They quickly recovered, darting deeper into the home and following behind Yeosang. 

“S-so….this is….sudden….?” Wooyoung tried to sift around and figure out what had brought this on. Yeosang dipped into the fridge, passing them all a bottle of package tea before leaning on the counter in his kitchen. 

“Halloween.”

They looked back at him in confusion. 

“H…alloween?” San parroted. 

“You two were having sex and talking about me.”

This time, Yeosang did laugh at the comical way both of them tensed, eyes wide as they stared at him. Wooyoung was the one to stutter through the response first. 

“Y-You were awake-”

“I had to go to the bathroom and I overheard you both. And it made me think back. All the touches, gazes, the way you kiss my cheeks and my face, Wooyoung. The way you didn’t tell Eric he was wrong you with having ‘two boyfriends like Yeji’, the hostility towards Yeji…I started noticing, paying attention better. You both want me.” 

They simply stared back, cheeks beet red, flushed and flustered. Yeosang could feel himself blushing too, his hands shaking more than his usual tremors could be blamed for. But, he had to continue. He had to proceed. 

“So…I’ll ask you upfront with no uncertainty, no miscommunication, do you two of you want me to be your boyfriend?”

“Holy fucking shit is this real-”/”Absoutely, yes.” 

Wooyoung and San responded instantly. Yeosang blushed and cleared his throat, smiling softly despite the blush creeping all the way to his ears. 

“It’s real, Wooyoung. That’s not a response, d-darling.” the term of endearment left his lips with a flustered stammer, though that didn’t seem to turn Wooyoung off. He smiled softly, seeming to recover much faster than the other two. 

“A response? I’d love to call you both my boyfriend, darling. Is that better?” He inquired. Yeosang rolled his eyes, blushing slightly. 

“Whatever, just help me with warming the things up so we can have dinner.” 

The two of them moved instantly, and Yeosang realized fairly quickly, they were a dangerous duo. 

Suddenly he was treated to kisses to his jaw as Wooyoung passed, San’s calloused hands on his hips and his chest to his back when he turned to the counter to slice some fresh fruit for dessert, hands combing through his fluffy blonde locks, roaming over his arms and the chuckles that came after the goosebumps. 

They were going to be the end of him. He was sure of it. 

Even when he sat down to enjoy tv and unwind with….his new boyfriends (he was going to have to get used to that), he found that Wooyoung was a lot more devious when he wasn’t holding back. 

He had plopped down with Yeosang in the middle. He grabbed his hand, squeezing and holding it, tracing his fingers over his knuckles, running his thumb along the outline of the veins. San sat on the other side of him, head on his shoulder, seemingly already relaxed and acclimated to the new dynamic, his body tucked under the blanket that had been on the couch. 

Wooyoung’s hand found its way to his thigh eventually, kneading him like a cat as he pressed kisses along the right side of his neck, smiling at every little groan and gasp that had left his lips when he did. 

“You’re n-not watching the tv-”

“I’m not.” Wooyoung affirmed, squeezing his thigh even more, purring at him. Yeosang looked at him, heart thrumming in his chest. Wooyoung met his gaze and smiled softly. 

“Want me to stop?” 

Yeosang glanced down, his excitement had manifested itself clear as day.  

“...we should probably move to a more comfortable room.” was the response. San perked from beside them and sat up, the drowsiness that was in his body suddenly gone. 

Yeosang stood first, hissing at the telltale throbbing between his legs, and took the first step towards his room. 

Wooyoung and San were right behind him, and from the occasional bump into furniture and the sound of kissing, he could tell they had already started behind him. He opened the door to his room, turning and hooking his fingers into the waistband of their pants, pushing them both to the bed. 

“You two are insatiable.” He muttered, though he didn’t seem to mind when San turned, running a hand up the underside of his shirt, feeling his abs up before kissing him. 

“Can you really blame me when Wooyoung is our boyfriend? You’ll understand soon enough.” he chuckled against his lips before coaxing him into a deeper kiss. Yeosang groaned softly, pressing back and kissing him enthusiastically, though he choked when he felt the cool air of the room touch his dick. 

His eyes dropped down towards the bed, flustered as Wooyoung grabbed him, stroking him slowly while pressing kisses up the length. 

“Just give me a moment. Poor baby~ Must’ve been cold, mm?” He inquired, alternating between stroking fast and slow, a victorious smile stretching across his face. 

San knelt down beside him, kissing and nibbling at his abdomen. 

“H-How long…mmm…how long have you two wanted to do this with me?” Yeosang inquired. Wooyoung looked up at him, responding only by sinking down on his cock, holding his gaze. Yeosang growled, fingers twitching as Wooyoung slowly bobbed his head. 

San glanced beside him and then tutted. 

“Good luck focusing. He’s really greedy, y’know.” He moved around behind Yeosang, taking his hands and pinning them lightly behind his back, pressing against him. Yeosang didn’t tense, in face he leaned back in his grip, using the other man as a crutch while they both watched Wooyoung bob his head, working his way lower and lower.

“W-Wooyoung-” Yeosang moaned, thighs flexing as the man sunk lower, kneading and fondling his thighs before reaching to cup the back of them. It was to ground himself as he pulled himself forward, bobbing his head faster to take him deeper down his throat. 

“Can I touch you more, too?” San murmured into his ear, his free hand running over Yeosang’s arm. He nodded, shuddering as the lewd noises coming from between his legs from Wooyoung increased in volume. 

Wooyoung was making quite the mess, spittle running down his chin as he worked to take Yeosang further down his throat, eyelids fluttering closed despite his occasional gags. San ran his hand down Yeosang’s chest, fingers brushing over his nipples and smiling when he heard the sharp inhale come from him. 

“Here? Does it feel good?” He whispered, lips trailing over the shell of his ear, circling his nipple teasingly before lightly pinching, his dimples appearing when he drew a shuddering “fuck, yes” from the older man. 

“Can you promise to keep your hands here so I can use both of mine on you?” San coaxed, his cock undeniably hard against Yeosang’s ass as he flexed his fingers along his wrists. Yeosang nodded, deciding to let the two of them explore his body however they liked. 

San gently removed his hand from his wrists, turning his head to the side to kiss him languidly, pressing his bare chest to Yeosang’s back. 

Yeosang grabbed his own forearms as he kept his arms behind him, his body swaying as Wooyoung pulled his thighs, making him thrust and hit the back of his throat. San fondled his pectorals, lightly raking blunt nails down his chest, pulling soft, raspy groans out of him. 

“S-slow down, Wooyoung. You'll c-choke.” He stuttered, knees wobbling as Wooyoung looked up at him in defiance. He moved his hands from Yeosang’s thighs and cupped his balls with one, grabbing the base with the other as he pumped him in time with the bobs of his heaf, his eyes dark and focused. 

San looked over his shoulder, eyes half lidded as he continued teasing Yeosang’s nipples and chest. 

“There's no stopping him when he has that look in his eye.” San let out a faux sigh, though Yeosang was in no condition to respond to him, his breathing increasing in frequency until he was panting, grabbing his arms so tightly it left indents in his arms. 

“W-Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung eagerly swallowed every drop of cum, a pleased spark of chaos in his eye as he pulled up with a slow, lewd ‘pop’.

“I've been wanting to do that for years, my love.”

Yeosang opened his mouth to say something, but it fell short when San's callused hand reached around, stroking his messy cock as he spoke to Wooyoung, his satoori dripping into his speech. 

“You’re still hard. Have you been pent up, Yeosang-ah? Mmm? When was the last time you got to let it out?” He inquired, nibbling and kissing the soft spot behind his ear. Yeosang’s knees buckled and he slipped from his grip, thankfully landing on the bed. 

Wooyoung sat up and pulled him closer, kissing him and sharing the taste of his release with him. Yeosang growled and kissed him feverishly, pushing him back and crawling on top of him. 

Wooyoung purred and smiled devilishly at him, licking at his lips. 

“Turn around for us, Yeosangie.” 

Yeosang held his gaze for a long, heated moment, and nodded, turning around. He soon found out why when Wooyoung made himself comfortable, hugging him from behind as San knelt down to nuzzle Yeosang’s cock, looking up at him. 

“Can I have it?” 

God, these two are going to make him fall apart, aren’t they? This is how he was going to die.

Yeosang nodded, watching the smile that stretched over San’s face as he sat back on his haunches. 

“Do you have lube?” 

He blinked. His face went beet red and Wooyoung made a small noise behind him, clearly pouting. 

“I will go to the store right fucking now” 

“I-its in the drawer behind San.” 

San moved in a flash, opening the drawer and shying when he saw a few…interesting toys in the drawer, as well. 

“So you have toys, you just haven’t been using them?” 

“I-I’ve been busy!”

Wooyoung reached down and stroked him, pouting against his ear. 

“My poor baby….Our poor baby. We can fix it baby. Don’t worry, your pretty cock won’t be pent up by time we’re done with you.” 

Yeosang’s heart thrummed in excitement as San came back, biting his lip. 

“He’s kind of…big, isn’t he?” He mused, eyeing Yeosang’s cock. It throbbed in response, and he inhaled sharply. Wooyoung didn’t seem perturbed, squeezing his cock and thumbing the head, smearing spittle and precum over it shamelessly. 

“Hung like a horse, yes. If you’re worried, I can go first. You can have my mouth.” 

“Wooyoung, oh my god-”

Wooyoung grinned victoriously at the shy outburst, Yeosang’s lisp more pronounced. The two of them traded places and Wooyung got himself situated, putting a pillow under his own hips and perking his ass up high, going nearly cross eyed as San stood in front of him, his cock in his face. Wooyoung grabbed and stroked his cock, teasing his head with his tongue as San reached over him to pour the lube directly over his rim. 

Yeosang watched the two of them, eyes fixated on Wooyoung’s hole as San pushed two fingers into him, purring praises above him as Wooyoung clenched around them. 

“C’mon baby, make sure to loosen up for our Yeosangie. Be a good boy for him, yeah?” San purred, his hands steady as one worked him open and the other spread his cheek so Yeosang could see every lewd detail. 

Wooyoung’s muffled moans went straight to his cock, the lube running down past his rim and down his balls as San gradually sped his fingers up, scissoring him open. 

“Come closer, Sangie. Touch him, he loves having someone touch and caress him.” He purred, though he jolted and swore under his breath when Wooyoung swallowed hard around his cock. 

Yeosang obeyed, coming closer and running his hands over Wooyoung’s thighs, up to the globes of his cheeks, and then moving down past his spine. 

He gripped one of his shoulders, kneading the muscle there firmly as his cock sat flush against his ass. 

“Good boy. Are you almost there? Is Sannie’s stretching you so good, isn’t he?” He purred, leaning in to kiss San, chasing his lips. Wooyoung whimpered below them, rolling his hips back to try and grind his ass on Yeosang. 

When Wooyoung kissed him, Yeosang felt like it was a battle for who was controlling the kiss. One pushes, the other pushes back, it had years of repressed emotions in it, unleashed in a not so silent clash between the two. 

When he and San kissed, the trainer felt the tentative feeling behind it, the cautious, yet eager exploration, feeling out the new man while leaving himself open for Yeosang to do the same. 

Yeosang felt like a pervert for thinking it, but the two of them made him want to ruin them. 

That would…probably be a conversation for a different night. Tonight had been more adventurous than Yeosang ever expected his sexual encounters to go already. 

“H-Hurry, fuck, please hurry.” Wooyoung complained, popping his mouth off and whimpering. Yeosang broke the kiss with San and moved to slick himself up properly, looking down at him with an affectionate, quiet gaze. 

Wooyoung looked back at him, giving his hips a shake. 

“I love you.” 

Yeosang held his waist with one hand, purring in gratitude at San for holding Wooyoung’s cheeks spread. 

“I love you too.” 

Finally sinking into Wooyoung nearly made him fall apart in an instant. The smaller man moaned loudly, clenching the blanket tight in his fist before he shuddered, back arched tight like a bow. 

“You okay baby?” San whispered, gently kneading and massaging his cheeks. Wooyoung nodded and tried to move his hips desperately. 

“Move, move, move please I need it.” 

Yeosang slowly rolled his hips, grinding deep into him. San smiled when he heard the way Wooyoung sighed in delight, kneading his thighs and moaning for Yeosang.

The dog trainer reaffirmed his grip on his hips and set a deep, rhythmic pace, watching the way Wooyoung clung to San for dear life. 

“R-right there nn like that, please, please-” He moaned looking up when San cupped his face, tilting his face up. 

“Go on, tell me how good he feels. You’ve been waiting so long for him, tell us.” He encouraged, licking at his lips. Wooyoung shuddered, eyes fluttering as Yeosang began grinding faster, perking in interest. 

“Cmon, Woo. Tell me. You had so much to say to San on Halloween. Let me hear it.” He reached between his legs stroking him as he kissed over his tattoo. 

“Fuck! N-Nnn feels…fuck he feels so good I’ve wanted it for so long. S-Sannie he’s so good, y-you and him make me feel so fucking good I’m going to go nnn-mmm~!” Wooyoung’s babbling was cut short by a feverish kiss, San’s hand threaded in his hair, tugging his head back as he kissed him. 

Yeosang watched the two of them, not realizing he’d left finger-sized indents on his hips as he sped up, rocking the bed as he thrusted faster into him. 

“Good. T-that’s good baby, I hear you. I’m sorry for making you wait. Hold onto Sannie. Let him ground you.” He spread his knees apart, hooking his hands around Wooyoung’s thighs, pulling him back to meet his powerful thrusts. Wooyoung cried out and shuddered, mouth falling open, eyes unfocused as Yeosang’s cock pressed even deeper.

“Yes! Yes, please, please nn hold me S-San fuck, ah!” Wooyoung clung to him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. San smiled, looking over at Yeosang, holding his gaze. 

“D-don’t think I’m leaving you out. You mm…can have my mouth, o-okay? I’m not as good as-fuck, don’t clench like that-mmmm…fuck, I’m not as good as Wooyoung but I can t-tryyyy oh fuck-” Yeosang grit his teeth, brows furrowed as Wooyoung moved his hips back and forth, fucking himself on Yeosang’s cock, eager to milk another orgasm out of him. 

“You don’t have to be Wooyoung. You just have to be you. You’re my boyfriend, too.” San let Wooyoung lean on him and scooted forward, pinning him between the two of them before kissing Yeosang, this time with a more claiming urgency in them. 

“Your mouth feels good as it is. Just…mm like you are~” he smiled. 

Yeosang shuddered, though he stilled when Wooyoung tugged at his hand, shakily muttering a ‘w-wait-’ under his breath. He paused instantly, panting like a wild animal before he looked at Wooyoung in confusion. 

“D-Did I hurt you?” He inquired. Wooyoung shook his head. 

“Mmm, no baby, I just want to ride you.” 

Yeosang felt his heart skip. He moved around to lie down, holding Wooyoung steady as he came over to straddle him, knees at either side of his hips. He purred, running his hands over Yeosang’s body. 

“Much better. Now you and I can both share Sannie’s cock. He’s been such a good kitten for us, right?” He grinned. Yeosang panted and pressed into him, groaning and letting his head fall back, licking his lips. 

“I mm…seem to remember him being a rabbit.”

Wooyoung sat fully, grinding his hips in a circle.

“He certainly fucks like one, isn’t that right, Sannie?” He purred, grinding and bouncing on his cock after getting his bearings. San scooted closer, standing beside them and yelping when the two childhood friends yanked him closer, each with a hand on his thigh. 

Yeosang leaned in first, gently rubbing his cheek along the heated length of San’s dick, nuzzling before he slowly looked up at him, eyes dark with newly unlocked want. San swallowed thickly, biting his lip when Yeosang took an experimental lick. He held his gaze and continued his licks, eventually turning into kisses that lasted longer, and longer, until he wrapped his lips around the crown of his cock. 

San shuddered, seeing Wooyoung grin wildly, his hands splayed across Yeosang’s abs, riding him at his own pace. The bed creaked and shook, though it held firm while Yeosang closed his eyes, slowly bobbing his head. He took his time, realizing he wouldn’t be able to slide San fully down his throat quite yet. San didn’t rush him, instead drawling sweet nothings to the two of them, his and finding a place on the back of Yeosang’s head. 

Not pushing, just grounding himself. 

Wooyoung purred and bent down, his chest flush against Yeosang’s, as he licked around the seal of his lips, looking up at San before leaving messy tongue kisses to the length of San’s cock Yeosang couldn’t fit, his ass still slapping against Yeosang’s thighs to the beat of some unheard song. 

The two city boys alternated between Yeosang blowing San and Wooyoung doing so, then both of them sharing a sloppy kiss with the head of San’s cock between their lips. 

All of it was…nearly desperate, uncoordinated, yet the most electrifying situation any of them had been through. 

The climax was, by all intents and purposes, messy. 

Both Wooyoung and Yeosang panted, their faces covered in San’s cum. Wooyoung sat firmly, having milked Yeosang’s second orgasm out, a pleased shudder running up and down his spine before he made a mess of Yeosang’s abdomen, a few pearls of cum even landing on his chest. 

The three took a bit longer than they were each used to to focus back on reality. When they did, Wooyoung let out a tired laugh, smiling from ear to ear. 

“There we mm…go. Holy shit if I knew that was going to go so well, I would have asked you to be our boyfriend sooner.” He chuckled. Yeosang ran a hand through his hair and laughed tiredly. 

“I…I don’t think it would have quite gone the same without all of the lead up but sure.” 

San blushed and leaned down to gently move Yeosang’s bangs out of his face, kissing at his birthmark. 

“T-Thank you. I’m sorry I made such a mess of you two. I-I’m sorry, where is the bathroom, I should clean ya up and-”

Yeosang pulled him into a kiss, shutting him up with a quiet, deep claim. When he finally broke the kiss, he purred, smiling softly. 

“Let’s take it easy. One step then the other. We can clean up with a shower, change the sheets, and we’ll be okay.” he smiled and looked over at Wooyoung, smiling at the adoring look in his eyes as he quietly ran his hands over Yeosang’s abdomen. 

“Yeah, let’s do that and hurry back. I want Yeosang in the middle tonight.” He suggested, slowly raising his hips and groaning at the mess that spilled from him. Yeosang went beet red and picked him up, arms flexing. 

“Y-You should have stayed there, y-you’re gonna make a mess!” 

“You can always put it back inside of me~”

“Shut the f-”

The two bickered as Yeosang rushed him down the hall, a chuckling San following right behind them. 

It took a while to make sure everyone-namely Wooyoung-was clean and it was made no easier in part because of the roaming hands-again, Wooyoung- but once the trio had returned and changed the sheets, they climbed back inside, situating themselves with Yeosang in the middle, his arm around Wooyoung and San’s leg tossed around his waist. 

It was…comfortable, warm. And in a weird way, the three of them slotted together like puzzle pieces. Yeosang felt gentle nibbles to his neck and glanced over at San, surprised that he found him tiredly biting and kissing him. 

“San?” 

“Mm…didn’t leave enough…mm…marks….”He trailed off, clearly nodding off. Yeosang smiled and closed his eyes, lifting his neck up. Wooyoung seemed to get the message, too, and both of them began to gently kiss and nibble at his neck.

The door opened a crack on its own, and moments later, there was the sound of audible hiffles. Yeosang glanced up and found a pair of familiar eyes staring at him. He laughed tiredly. 

“Yes, Yunho. Coast is clear. Sleep.”

The three shared tired chuckles as the bear of a dog climbed up, situating himself at the foot of the bed. 

After one last round of gentle kisses, the three fell into a comfortable night’s rest, the first one of many. 

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

   November 26th

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Happy birthday!”

Wooyoung smiled at the center of the table, his cheeks hurting from how much he had been smiling. San finished lighting the candles on the cake before him. Yeosang shifted from foot, anxiety reading clear on his face. 

The cake before them was something he and San had come together to make without Wooyoung’s help. Both of them were worried, but Yeosang more than him. 

He wasn’t…the greatest cook and he certainly couldn’t touch Wooyoung’s cooking. 

Eric, Gahyeon, and Jongho peeked up from the other side of the table, wiggling in their seats as Wooyoung blew his candles out. 

The was met with a series of clapping and cheers. Chaerin came over cut the cake, taking her time and handing Wooyoung the first slice of his chocolate hazelnut cake. 

They waited in anticipation while he nibbled. 

Then his eyes lit up, sparkling.

“It’s so good!” 

The two let out a relieved sigh, exchanging kisses and a smile. 

“We did it! It’s not horrible!” 

Wooyoung smiled and beckoned them closer, kissing each of them, grateful for their effort. They were surrounded by their friends and a few coworkers, and the moment the cake was cut, the music began to play, a light, whimsical atmosphere falling over the dining room. 

Two hours later, when the festivities died down, Jongho made his way over to Wooyoung, face covered in chocolate as he looked up, holding his dragon plushie close. 

“Hyung? Did you make a wish on your candle?” he inquired softly. Wooyoung blinked, having been in the middle of condensing his presents into as few boxes and bags as possible. He blushed and rubbed his head. 

“Yeah.” 

Jongho rocked back and forth on his heels.

“What did you wish for?” He inquired. 

Wooyoung looked over his shoulder, finding San petting Yunho, ruffling his fur before he stood up straight and grinned at Yeosang, kissing him before motioning to something for Yeosang to help him with in the kitchen. Wooyoung exhaled softly and stood, his hands on his hips. 

“For my love to find it’s way home. I think I got what I wished for long before I blew out those candles, though.” He ruffled Jongho’s hair and walked away, smiling from ear to ear.

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T a g l i s t

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@kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @angel0taiyo @jacksons-goddess-gaia @gettin-a-lil-hanse @smallfrye @daniblogs164 @yunhofingers @eversionic @itsatinyworld @unatempesta-dipensieri @lonely10vely @yunhosblackgf @not-majestic-bluenicorn @moonmin-miya @snowstaytiny @delphinium3000 @just-a-starfruit @skmoonchild @allthestarsrcloser @im-what-iam @stayatinyfics @kirisimpma @chaos-ground-writing @stormiestories @billboard-singer @asyamonet22 @perfectlysane24 @drunk-on-hwa @shingisimp @xuxibelle @twistedsiren @dreamyinception-world @justatiredhuman @horizonmoonfics @shymexican @stardragongalaxy @sunny-yourbuddy @eribear23 @seomisaho @spooo00oky @babyhailey819 @eribear23

[ebonybow]

Reblogging to add that it did not work because I then had a friend who played Fallout 76 with me for five hours.

Get you a friend who will kick you from the Minecraft server when they know you have fic to finish writing

[queenofallimagines]

Bruce Wayne x Fem reader

Shuffles in nervously 👉🏿👈🏿 hiii

A/N: listen,,, I’ve been writing fic fie the requests and then I was dragged kicking and screaming into Bruce Wayne’s arms. Nothing I love more than a tired depressed Dilf✨ got a lot more things sitting in the drafts because it’s SO good to do a character study on them and Damian is next I think he should have a cool stepmom. Bruce Wayne I can read your mind🗣️

Cw: ambiguous age but not explicable age gap so imagine what you will, the batfam are WEAK to black women but it’s pretty ambiguous in writing, fellow vigilante reader, Bruce is shit at feelings and can’t communicate, Fem reader, Bruce thinks with his dick before his trauma, his kids are nosey as fuck. oh and like mentions of aphrodisiac chemicals used but only once or twice.

Summary: Bruce could only internally groan at his predicament. He wasn’t to say he’s not sure how he got here but he knows exactly how he ended up here. He’s too grown for a one night stand.

Bruce Wayne:

"—told you they stayed the night!"

Bruce wakes to the muffled voices of giggling adolescents. Terrible timing. Dread settles into his gut as his bleary eyes snap open.

Bruce's biggest mistake was bringing you home. Blaming it on the chemicals he and his fellow vigilante crashed into last night would be convenient. But truthfully, both of you consented before those substances burned through your inhibitions, landing you in his king-sized bed, engaging in activities that his hyper-aware mind keeps replaying. Now is not the time to reminisce, not with the voices of his kids echoing outside. He swallows a groan. You'd think he trained all that boyish cheek right out of them, because that is not how one conducts reconnaissance. He'd do the shameful thing and sneak out, but alas, this grand manor belongs to Bruce.

….Maybe he can politely kick you out without incurring Alfred's wrath and enduring hours of lectures on dignity and respect—two things Bruce has little of at the moment. The scent of coffee and toast wafting in from the doorway indicates that Alfred set up a snack cart outside his door—a subtle reminder to behave. Bruce grimaces. Damned Englishmen and their inane concept of manners. Shifting on the bed, he keeps his eyes fixed on your head and not the bare expanse of your skin that he touched. A lot. He left—his dignity won't allow him to call them 'hickeys' because grown men don't do hickeys—various passion marks on your skin.

This time, Bruce can't quite stifle his groan. He's too old for a one-night stand.

"Christ," he grunts quietly, knowing divine intervention won't be coming.

No one said Bruce Wayne ever had a proper love life. Still, he'd take any endless rant from Gordon about Nightwing's countless motor vehicle violations over his children confronting him. At your groan, Bruce's tense shoulders relax slightly. Part of him expected you to be one of those people who woke up ready to take on the world—another reminder of Bruce's age. When you shift, his muscles tense again. Bruce clears his throat, voice gruff. "Morning," he rumbles, before he's tempted to do something less than honorable. The noise, followed by shifting sheets, pulls attention to you stirring. In the soft light, you look soft and relaxed in his bed, like you belong here.

He knows that's a dangerous thought to entertain.

Bruce says and does nothing as your eyes flutter open, blinking blearily and trying to piece together the circumstances of the previous night. He looks at you for a moment, contemplating whether he can get away with offering you money to keep quiet.

“Mmmmorning..”

That yawning stretch is both distracting and endearing. It's unfair. Bruce watches your movements, taking in every detail from the slight dip of your spine to the flutter of eyelashes. It's a sight he'd become intimately acquainted with.

"Sleep well?"

He asks, already knowing the answer. Even if you slept like a log, your body would be sore from being tangled in him all night.

“Mhm.”

If you weren't so drowsy, you'd notice his jaw clench at the sight of the sheets pooling around your hips, exposing your bare chest. Like most things, it's unfairly alluring to Bruce.

"You've got a choice of coffee or orange juice," he says, nodding at the cart a couple steps from the bed. His voice is still gruff.

“Orange juice please.”

Bruce rises from bed, unashamed at his own nakedness. He crosses to the cart, ignoring the faint twinge in his muscles, and pours you a glass of orange juice. A glance back reveals you sitting up against the pillows, wrapped in his sheets like a makeshift toga. He's never seen a more enticing sight in his life. Bruce ignores the impulse to push you back down and take you again.

"Here."

He returns to the bed and offers you the glass.

“Thanks.”

Bruce watches you drink. Another mistake. He can't help imagining how that mouth felt on other places, wrapped around and- Gods. Not the time. He should've given you a robe or something. Those sheets aren't hiding much and your sitting against the pillows has the fabric slipping lower and lower- He clears his throat, trying to rid his mind of dirty thoughts as he sips his coffee.

"You're welcome," he mutters. There's a satisfied, primal part of his soul that preens knowing that you're still in his bed, his sheets draped over you like a claim.

"Did you...have fun last night?"

He cringes almost immediately afterward. Bruce's pillow talk is abysmal.

“what…?”

The events slowly coming back to you, playing behind your eyelids like a movie. A noise of realization leaves your throat as you nod. Under usual circumstances you’d would be embarrassed beyond belief but after having slept so good and still being tired you can’t really find it to care

“oh yeah. I did. ‘t was ‘fuckin amazing.”

Bruce can't help it when his lips curve in response to your praise. You're still in his bed, still wrapped in his sheets, and now telling him he was amazing in bed—damn his ego for being so smug.

"Mm, I'm glad," he hums, taking another sip of coffee. He sets the cup on the bedside table and leans back against the pillows, eyeing you appreciatively.

"Are you... sore anywhere?"

“Nah, just all over.” Bruce can't help the satisfied smirk that crosses his face at your answer. Knowing he left you in a state of boneless bliss has that primal part of him preening again, like a pleased cat.

"Good," he murmurs, a hint of male pride in his voice as he gazes at you. "It... wasn't too much, was it?" Bruce swallows thickly, the urge to touch you growing. The kids are just outside the door. He shouldn't. He won't.

But maybe he can have just a little taste.

“It was, but in all the ways I like it so you’re good.”

Bruce can't stop the quiet groan that rumbles in his throat at your admission. You look a bit like a fallen angel, all debauched hair and sleepy eyes. The sight is almost too much for his self-control, more than you realized. He shifts subtly, adjusting himself under the sheets.

"I suppose that's a good thing, then."

He keeps his tone even, casual, but his gaze is hot and intense as he drinks you in. Bruce's gaze darkens at your answer. If it weren't for the kids and Alfred, he'd be on you in a heartbeat, pressing you into the bed, and leaving marks all over you that claim you as-- His jaw ticks at the possessive thoughts. No. Not the time. Later.

"Good," he repeats, voice gruff. Still, he makes no move to leave the bed. "You... don’t have anywhere to be?"

Bruce already knows the answer. It's a Saturday, after all.

“Aside from the mission last night my schedule is fully clear to my knowledge.”

Bruce nods in understanding, taking another sip of coffee. The image of your previous mission- that you both stumbled into- flashes in his mind: chemicals, a haze of lust, the taste of you on his lips. He pushes the memories aside as his gaze flicks to your exposed shoulder, then back to your face.

"So you can stay for breakfast," he says, keeping his voice steady even as he desperately fights the urge to pull the sheets off you and devour you. "Alfred is making pancakes."

“Mmm, I haven’t spoken to him in a while it will be nice to see his face again.”

Bruce's smile is a subtle, soft thing as you mention Alfred. The older man has served as a sort of parental figure in Bruce's life. Alfred and Bruce are like family, and hearing you mention his name sparks a warm sense of familiarity.

"He'll be happy to see you."

Bruce hesitates for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. "Do you... want to get up?" he asks, his meaning clear: ‘or do you want to stay in bed a bit longer?’

“….Not gunna lie I’d rather stay in bed a little longer. It’s so warm and comfortable the thought of getting up and putting on clothes sounds like torture.”

Bruce gives an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as you speak. Part of him expected you to get up the minute he mentioned getting dressed. But you don't. You didn’t. You want to stay in bed, and you have no idea how happy you just made him. With a smirk, Bruce reaches out, sliding his hand under the sheet, and grabs your hip, pulling you closer. He doesn't miss the way the fabric slides farther down your torso, revealing more tantalizing skin.

"You are very articulate in the morning."

“Mmm I’m like barely awake right now honestly. Less of a filter or any sort of shame.”

Bruce smirks at your admittance. You're clearly still half asleep, your guard down, and more unfiltered than he expected.

"You're normally more stoic, less open," he muses, tracing his fingers lightly over your hip. "I like it. It's refreshing."

His eyes take in every inch of skin visible to him, making a mental note of the various passion marks he left behind. It makes him want to see how far down they go.

“I’m more relaxed now. And in a hell of a good mood.”

Bruce chuckles, the sound deep and rich. His hand continues to explore your skin, mapping every curve and contour with gentle, yet possessive touches. His thumb brushes over a mark on your skin, and his gaze darkens a fraction.

"And whose fault is that?" he muses, his voice a low rumble, the sound more intimate without the Batman modulator.

“Yours obviously. Haven’t felt this sore in a while. didn’t know I needed an attitude adjustment that bad.”

Bruce's smirk spreads into a wolfish smile as you mention your soreness. A sense of pride swells in his chest. Knowing he made you feel so good last night that your entire body aches from it makes that possessive part of him purr.

Bruce's touch wanders to your thigh, his hand trailing higher and higher up your skin, his eyes fixed on yours as he speaks:

"I’d be happy to give you another one."

“Yeah? jeez going to tire me out before it’s even noon? Didn’t really expect that from you, B.”

Bruce’s expression is somewhere between a cocky smile and an affectionate smirk. It's almost like he's challenging you. The way you say his nickname in such a low, sultry tone is driving him insane. He continues stroking your skin, his fingers tracing a path up the inside of your thigh.

"If it gets you moaning and crying my name again," he murmurs, his voice dropping in register, "then I think it’s worth it. Besides..."

Bruce's other hand reaches out, his fingers gently grasping your chin as he looks you in the eye.

"You underestimate me.” he rumbles, his hand still stroking your thigh. "I have excellent stamina."

“Ooh wow just like that huh? Ready to go in the morning again? Can’t even enjoy the next morning soreness before you need to start all over again. I won’t be able to walk downstairs to breakfast if you’re that insatiable….Never expected you to be the frisky type. Aside from the sexual tension breaking in the air last night I never got that vibe from you.”

Bruce laughs lowly in response, his hand still tracing over your skin. The sound vibrates through his chest. When your hair falls into your eyes, he gently moves it out of your face. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and intense. Your words make him smile, and he leans closer, his thumb brushing over your jaw.

"You're a tease," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "You have no idea how much restraint it's taking me not to flip you over and show you just how frisky I can be..."

“Lord, don’t say that. My insides are getting flashbacks.”

Bruce’s laugh is sultry and almost sinister. Your words only feed his hunger. You’re right in front of him, skin bare and marked by his mouth, and still he can’t touch you the way he wants. The way he craves. He can’t give in. Not now. His lips brush over your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Mmm,” he purrs, nipping at your pulse point. "I can still taste you. All over my mouth. It's driving me feral."

“Jesus Christ B. You sure those weird chemicals we got hit with aren’t still in effect?.”

Bruce smirks against your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. His hand continues to stroke your skin, his touch like a caress. His voice is low and rough with desire:

"I can promise you, it's all me."

He nips at your earlobe before pulling back, his gaze roaming over your marked body. He wants to add more. Leaving you marked, bruised, sore…

“With you talking like this, it’s a wonder we made it back here last night.”

Bruce releases a low, dark chuckle at your comment. The memory of last night, of stumbling into the manner, shedding clothes and tearing at each other’s skin, flashes in his mind. He doesn’t reply immediately, instead leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses up your neck. His voice is a warm, gruff whisper against your skin:

"It was a close thing, I won't lie."

“It still feels unreal almost, but you’ve got that same look in your eye you did last night. starving. I didn’t think my teasing would make you snap like that not gunna lie.”

Bruce hums against your skin, his lips trailing over your shoulder. The way you tease him is going to be the death of him. The sounds of your chuckles only add fuel to the fire. He can still feel the ghost of your nails digging into his skin, your moans echoing in his ears. He pulls back, eyes dark and glittering as he speaks.

"It took a lot of control, trust me," he says, his voice a low rumble. "If it were up to me, we never would have left that lab."

“Pfft, if it were up to you we’d never leave this bed.”

Bruce chuckles, his hand continuing to roam over your skin. The thought of spending hours, days, in bed with you is incredibly tempting, but he can't. The kids are right outside, and Alfred is waiting in the kitchen. Besides, he has work to do. He sighs, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on your thigh.

"I'd love to stay here forever," he admits, his voice low and rough, “But I'm afraid there are other responsibilities to attend to."

“There usually is-…. There are children behind that door.”

Bruce hears the hushed giggles and whispers on the other side of the door. He knows exactly what’s going on. He can feel the kids’ heartbeats through the wood, like a bat detecting its prey. They’re excited, curious. And they’ve likely been listening for the past hour despite him doing his best to keep his voice low to mask the conversation. Bruce sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he acknowledges the reality.

"Yes," he says, his voice dry. He glances at the door, then back to you. “There are kids behind that door.”

“I guess we have to get up then. Wonder if I can actually find all my clothes…”

Bruce’s lips twitch into a smirk at the thought of your clothes. His eyes trail over your naked form, taking in every tantalizing inch, then glance down to the floor. There is a trail of crumpled clothes leading to the bed. No doubt, you’ll have to walk through the minefield of evidence at some point if you want to get dressed. He sighs, sitting up in bed.

"Considering how fast we undressed, I’d say it’s going to be difficult.” He chuckles.

“Yeah I bet.”

Bruce’s eyes rake over your naked form, unabashedly appreciating the view as the sheets fall away. God, you’re beautiful. He has to force himself to look away before he snaps, ripping the sheets off the bed and pinning you back down. His voice is a gruff rumble as he responds.

"No fair," he mutters, reluctantly sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he tries to reign in his need to touch you all over again.

Chuckling you glance over your shoulder at him as you pick up your costume and start putting some pieces back on.

“Hey,don’t start pouting now. I agreed to stay for breakfast yeah? Can’t get rid of me that easily Bruce.”

His name rolls off your tongue teasingly. It had definitely been a surprise to find out Batman was Bruce Wayne last night but in the haze of trying to rip each others close off the surprise was lost. Even now looking at him like this you can’t help but see Batman and want to tease him. Saying his name felt forbidden in a way,making you want to say it more.

“Anyway, you should get dressed too.”

Bruce's shoulders tense slightly at the sound of his name falling from your lips. Hearing you say it is an odd juxtaposition. At this moment, sitting on his bed, he is Bruce Wayne, but the mention of his name has hints of Batman, Gotham, the mask. He glances over his shoulder at you as you get dressed. Bruce bristles at your teasing tone, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. The way you say his name in that sultry tone makes him want to throw everything aside and drag you back into that bed. But he doesn’t. He stays sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, his eyes fixed on the floor. He takes a deep breath before responding, his voice low and rough.

"Trust me, the last thing I want is to get rid of you.” he mutters, his jaw clenching. “I’m getting dressed.”

Bruce listens to the sound of clothing rustling, his back still to you. Part of him resents the fact that you’re getting dressed, leaving him here alone. He watches as you put on your clothes, covering up the marks he left on your skin. It sends a primal pulse of possessiveness through him. But he resists the urge to reach out and pull you back into his lap, or at the very least, make sure his mark is still clear on your neck. His jaw clenches as he speaks:

"I’m surprised they haven’t tried to barge in yet.”

“Hah! Even in a drug induced haze of lust I still remembered to lock the door. I wasn’t about to take that chance.”

Bruce huffs out a quiet laugh, a small smile on his lips. You’re as smart as you are beautiful. Locking the door was a wise decision. If you hadn’t, the kids would have been listening to a very different conversation for the past hour. He glances over his shoulder at you, taking in your now clothed form. It seems less appealing now that you’ve covered up the results of their night together.

"Impressive," he rumbles. You had the presence of mind to do that? While his brain was full of nothing but the smell and taste of you? He almost finds it adorable that you think you have such self-control. His lips twitch with a smirk, his voice a low rumble:

"You definitely have more control than I do."

“Once you have a situation happen like that once the anxiety never lets you forget. And doing it inconspicuously while not ruining the mood just was dumb luck on my part.”

Bruce snorts, a chuckle escaping his lips. You’re not wrong. One time was enough to learn that lesson. He knows that from experience. He should be grateful that you’re more reasonable than he is. It’s no wonder things with his previous conquests always ended the way they did. There’s a long, heavy silence as Bruce considers his next words. Instead Bruce sighs, standing up from the bed. He stretches his arms over his head, his bare chest on full display for you. He can feel the marks you left on his skin, stinging slightly in the air. He smirks at the memory of your nails raking down his back. He’s going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you in front of the kids, especially now that he’s had a taste of how good you feel. He groans quietly, running a hand through his messy hair.

“What’s up? I can tell you’re thinking thoughts with that look in your eye. Say whatever it is you’re thinking so hard about.”

Bruce notices your stare, the way your eyes drink in every inch of his exposed flesh. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on his body, appreciating the view. His lips twitch into a smirk, a flash of possessiveness coursing through him. But he’s snapped out of his thoughts as you ask your question. He knows exactly what you’re asking. He looks at you, his gaze intense. He’s thinking of all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he wants to touch you. But instead of saying any of that, he simply responds with a low hum. He should be grateful that you’re more reasonable and straightforward than he is. It’s no wonder things with his previous conquests always ended the way they did. There’s a long, heavy silence as Bruce considers his next words. He finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, his back still to you:

"You… You didn’t expect to see me again after this, did you?”

“Eh? I… don’t know what you mean?? We work together as vigilantes so it would be kinda stupid not to mention difficult to avoid you especially when you could find me anywhere I managed to hide in Gotham. You’re not exactly easy to run from. Even if it was some awkward tension i wouldn’t let that stop me from doing my job. I feel like that’s a dumbass question even for you B.”

Bruce clenches his jaw at your response. He knows you’re right. Working together as vigilantes would make it near impossible to avoid each other, especially in a city like Gotham. And even if you did manage to run, he’d find you. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at you, studying your nonchalant expression. He can’t tell if you’re being oblivious on purpose or if you’re just dense. His eyes searching your face for any hint of… something. What? He doesn’t know. But the way you answer his question with such plain honesty throws him for a loop. Usually, the women he sleeps with would want to forget about him. It was less messy that way. But here you are, talking about the work you do together like a conversation about the weather. Either way, his tone is a little sharper than he intends when he speaks.

“You’re not getting what I’m hinting at.”

“Please elaborate then because I didn’t understand that at all.”

Bruce huffs, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. You’re being intentionally obtuse. It’s pissing him off, yet he can’t stop the surge of jealousy and possessiveness that he feels towards you. You’re still standing there, looking at him like you don’t understand what he’s saying. Part of him wants to grab you and push you against the wall, to make sure you understand his point clearly. But he doesn’t. You’re forcing him to be direct, to be open and explicit, and he doesn’t like feeling this vulnerable. He turns to face you fully, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes are intense as he looks at you, his voice a low, tense rumble:

“You didn’t expect to still be speaking to me after tonight, at least not for anything other than work-related business. Right?” He lets out a long sigh, struggling to keep his voice even as he tries to make you understand.

He can just barely make out you tensing up in surprise for a second before shifting your weight to the other foot, expression not giving anything away.

‘You resist the urge to grit your teeth or give away any other actions on how you’re really feeling. It’s silent for a second before you exhaustedly roll your eyes.’

“Do we run into each other at all outside of work? I’m not changing my schedule.”

You’re internally sighing at the back of your mind. You’ve know better than to push against his typical self sabotaging nature. If he was going to push you away. You’d let him until he eventually comes back before the guilt of his actions eat him alive. You have seen him do it enough times to the people around him including the justice league and his kids. Mindful not to start an argument with his kids having their ears pressed up against the door probably trying their best to hear despite you both speaking lowly. You respond back in an equally sharp none keeping an air on nonchalance to mask the hurt.

Bruce clenches his jaw, a mix of frustration and jealousy coursing through him. You’re being infuriatingly stubborn, just like usual. He knows he should back down, let it go. But he can’t. Your words are like a barbed wire around his heart, tightening the more you speak. Your nonchalant attitude is irritating the hell out of him but also causing a wave of desire to shoot through him. How badly he wants to reach out and press you against the wall, to make you understand. But he doesn’t. Is it this annoying for others when he close’s himself off?

“No. You’re right, we don’t-“

“So then that answers your question. Wow you sure do overcomplicate everything.”

Your response only pisses him off more. He wants to grab you and shake you, to make you understand the point he’s trying to make. Yet, a part of him is surprised, impressed, and amused by your stubbornness. It’s just like you to take everything he says literally and not get the hint. His eyes narrow, a hint of annoyance and humor in his tone:

“You’re being deliberately obtuse. Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look.”

“Boy, If you don’t speak plainly and make your point already.”

Bruce scowls back at you, not backing down from your glare. A part of him wants to back down, to avoid a fight. But the more stubborn part of him, the part that wants you to understand, won’t budge. He lets out an annoyed huff, his voice low and intense:

“I meant that, after tonight, I wouldn’t expect to see you again - on a personal level. As in-” He hesitates, struggling to find the right words. “Not just for ‘work related business.’ ”

“Wait you- Jesus Christ you are needlessly confusing and it’s so aggravating. That wasn’t my intentions at all. Like not even a little bit. At what point did you come to this conclusion in your own brain if I never said anything like that? I know your ass can’t read minds so who gave you this information? Because it’s wrong.”

Bruce scowls, his irritation peaking, his body tensing under your glare. His eyes narrow, the sharp edges of his jaw clenching. He’s annoyed by your stubbornness, by your inability to see what he’s trying to say. Your frustration makes his heart ache and his irritation flare. But your question catches him off guard. He doesn’t think before he speaks.

“No one had to give me that information. It’s just logical. How many of your one night stands do you see again afterwards?”

“Do you think you’re the same as them?? because this is a vastly different situation if you haven’t noticed.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow further at your response, his irritation growing. Part of him knows you’re right, that this situation is different. But his doubts and insecurities are flaring up, causing him to be more defensive and closed off than usual.

“It’s still a one-night stand, isn’t it? They usually end up not talking afterwards for a reason.”

“Bruce. This isn’t a regular one night stand. You’re jumping to hella conclusions, because I’m already thinking of the next time I can wake up in your bed.”

Bruce freezes, his body tensing at your words. He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but also secretly pleased, excited even. He can feel something stirring in his stomach at the thought of you wanting to be in his bed again. He tries to hide it with a scowl, to keep himself under control. But your statement makes him want to grab you, to feel your body against his again. He doesn’t want you to see how much he’s affected by your words, so he grunts gruffly:

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Aawww, don’t go shutting me out now! We just had a lovely night together followed by a soft morning after. Don’t start getting scared of being vulnerable now. I’ve already seen every inch of you nothing left to hide from me, love.”

Bruce huffs in irritation, his scowl deepening. He knows you’re right - you’ve already seen him in his most vulnerable state. His body, his scars, the pain and pleasure he’s felt in your arms. But he can’t shake off the feeling of vulnerability, of baring his soul to you. It’s not something he does lightly.

“I’m not scared, I’m being practical. It’s not healthy to get emotionally attached.”

“Ugh and here you go with that again. Humans aren’t meant to just go through life alone superhero or otherwise. It’s okay to admit you care about people. And too bad I’ve already gotten attached. After my attitude adjustment I’m going to be in the most pleasant mood for the next 5 business days.”

Bruce glares at you, his irritation growing with your nonchalant attitude. He’s frustrated by your stubbornness, your damnable optimism. He wants to push back, to make you understand the danger of getting attached. But your words cause his heart to skip a beat, his chest tighten with emotion. He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep himself in control.

“This isn’t a joke. Relationships don’t work for me. I can’t afford the risk-“

“Blah blah blah. Yeah, I know and I’m not letting your paranoia self sabotage yet again. Go ‘head and schedule me in for 11:30 on Tuesday by the way. You can’t escape me or my affections, not that I was stingy in giving it to you anyway.”

Bruce lets out a frustrated huff, his scowl deepening at your dismissive wave. How easily you just brush off his concerns, ignore his past experiences. He doesn’t want to admit how much he’s tempted to give in to you. To hold you against him, to taste your skin again, to feel your body writhing under his touch.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s experience. It’s logic, practicality. The city need-.”

“The city needs you to get laid. You think people wouldn’t immediately vouch for Batman to get his dick wet?? Like why jinx it? You and your annoyingly exhausting self sabotage destructive tendencies are truly tiring for everyone around you to constantly be the victim of. And then you feel guilt which makes you repeat the cycle all over again. You deserve to be happy too?? Not sure anyone’s told you that before.”

Bruce’s irritation turns to frustration as you list off his flaws. As if he’s not fully aware of his own issues, as if he doesn’t hate himself for them. As if it’s a choice. He clenches his jaw, his body tensing further as you continue your lecture.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know I’m the one that causes problems, that hurts people? You think I’m not living with the guilt every goddamn day?”

“Yeah and it’s making you go through this exhausting cycle. Allow me to at the very least snap you out of that for a while. Normalcy would be good for you….Also me and Alfred have been talking about you needing it for ages now-“

Bruce’s irritation immediately turns to surprise and embarrassment as you mention Alfred. Of course Alfred would be behind this. He can’t help but wonder what you’ve been saying to him and what you’ve been scheming. The thought of you two talking about his personal life causes his heart to skip.

He scowls, his voice frustrated, defensive, and mildly defensive as he crosses his arms over his chest:

“What exactly do you two talk about?”

“You and your shenanigans.”

Bruce lets out a huff, his irritation growing once more. It’s bad enough that you’re pushing his boundaries and questioning his decisions. But the fact you’ve been talking to Alfred about it, that you’re both ganging up on him behind his back, makes him feel outnumbered, vulnerable.

He glares at you, a mix of frustration and vulnerability evident in his voice:

“I do not have ‘shenanigans’.”

“Yes the hell you do. Also do you like dark blue? Or black better?”

Bruce’s scowl deepens at your persistence. He doesn’t like being ganged up on, and now you’re talking about colors? He looks at you, slightly bemused, still frustrated but also curious.

“What does it matter to you what color I prefer? How did that even come up in conversation?”

“Because I’m thinking of what to wear for Tuesday. So what color?”

Bruce’s irritation eases slightly at your question. He’s momentarily thrown off guard by the realization that you’re already planning for the next time you see each other. He looks you up and down, taking in your appearance, his gaze lingering on your curves longer than it should.

“Black.” he grunts out, trying to hide the hint of desire in his voice.

“Got it.”

Bruce swallows, his gaze not leaving your body. He notices the way your curves fit your clothes, the way your muscles move under your skin. He can barely restrain himself from wanting to reach out, pull you close, and feel your body pressed against his again. His voice is low, a hint of desire in it as he speaks:

“Why are you even asking me about colors?”

“Because. I want to wear nice lingerie under my clothes so I figured I’d ask what color before I go choose an outfit myself.”

Bruce’s heart skips a beat, his body tensing at your words. The image of you in black lace under your clothes is almost too much for him to handle. He swallows, trying to keep his composure but almost failing.

He scowls, trying to hold on to his stubborn resistance, his voice gruff and strained:“Why do you care what I think?”

“Huh? Because if I’m going to show up to get fucked stupid I want to at the very least look nice.”

Bruce lets out a huff of frustration, his annoyance returning in full force. He can practically hear the eye roll in your voice. How are you so damn confident and stubborn at the same time? It drives him crazy.

“You always look nice. You don’t need to wear fancy lingerie or anything for me.”

“Yes, but I rarely have a reason to wear them so let me have this and just enjoy it when you see it. And thank you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, still trying to resist giving in to you. But the image of you in black lace is still stuck in his mind. It’s making it increasingly more difficult to not act on his desire for you.

“Fine. I’ll look forward to it. But don’t get too cocky just because one night together went well.”

“I’m confident the next night will be equally if not more electrifying.”

Bruce lets out a huff, his irritation fading once more. Your confidence and stubbornness are exhausting, but he can’t deny they’re also endearing. He’s starting to question his own resistance to this situation.

“Cocky, aren’t you?” he grumbles softly. His heart is beating too fast for comfort, his thoughts swirling with images of you, bare and writhing under him in lace.

“Absolutely. If you think I can’t feel your eyes burning a hole through clothes from here you’re dead wrong.”

Bruce doesn’t answer immediately. He’s caught, guilty as charged. His gaze has indeed been roaming over your body, taking in every curve, every muscle. He can’t deny he wants you again, badly. Your confidence just makes him want you even more, and it’s driving him crazy. He scowls, pretending to look away as if he wasn’t just mentally stripping you with his eyes.

“Shut up.”

“mhm, let’s go get breakfast. I’m actually hungry now and teasing children will not deter my stomach.”

Bruce grunts, still a little flustered and frustrated with your confidence and stubbornness. But he admits that he’s a little hungry too.

“Fine. We can go to the kitchen. The brats will be there and we’ll have to deal with their stupid comments.”

He stands and starts heading out of his room, with you following behind him.

“And quit calling them children. They’re like 18-26 years olds.”

“And yet they were outside the door giggling and whispering like 7 year olds.”

Yeah, this will be a long morning indeed..

This was the cute version. The other versions is longer and Bruce fucks you like a man possessed😔✊🏿 wasn’t sure if I should post that one or this so here’s a little snippet of that:

“Mkay…. next time leave it in when we go to sleep. Feels ‘snicer that way.”

Jesus Christ-.

Bruce's breath hitches, a low growl slipping past his lips before he can stop it. He forces himself to focus on your sleepy glance, watching you nuzzle into his chest like a content puppy.

He shifts his body, trapping your hips with one muscled thigh, his grip on your hip tightening.

His voice is roughened, filled with desire.

"That an invitation, sweetheart?"

“mhm. You can do it even when I’m asleep I trust you.”

Christ, you're going to be the death of him.

Your sleepy admission to trust him makes his chest ache, a pang of something he refuses to acknowledge hitting him right there. You sound like you mean it, too. Bruce lets a low, strangled moan slip, nuzzling your hair and wrapping his free arm around your middle.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand going even lower, possessive and greedy.

"Can I, right now?"

“Yeah.”

God.

He’s going to start calling you a vixen instead of sweetheart, with those bold little words. Every breath of yours against him feels like a flame to the gunpowder that’s his body. He lets out a hoarse sound, part of him still in disbelief that this is happening.

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles, his low voice filled with unbridled desire. But even after everything, even after a night of letting instincts take over, a night of being completely open and vulnerable with someone, Bruce hesitates.

He needs for you to be sure, for you to want this, even if you’re only half awake.

He keeps his hand on your hip, his other hand gently tilting your chin up so he can look at you, his eyes meeting yours.

“Tell me you want this, sweetheart. Tell me you want me.”

“Bruce if you don’t fill me up and stop waking me up from sleeping I’m going to be real irritated.”

His breath hitches. Hard.

Bruce grits his teeth as he growls, feeling the last of his self-control drain away. He can’t hold in his possessive desire anymore, not with you looking up at him, needy for him.

He’s not a good man, he might even be a bad man. But you look at him like he’s your everything, and it drives him over the edge. His grip on your hip tightens, his breath hot against your ear.

“Can’t have you irritated, sweetheart.”

His voice is deep, roughened, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

He grabs your leg, slinging it further up against his body. His eyes are dark, nearly feral as he kisses right below your ear, his teeth nipping your skin. His voice is deep, roughened, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna make sure you feel good.”

He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand tilting your chin up. His lips brush your ear as he growls between ragged breaths,

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel good .”

“Bruce’s heart clenches at your sleepy little nod. How did he end up here, this morning, in bed with you, feeling more real than he has in years? He doesn’t know, but he’s not going to question it.

He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand tilting your chin up. His lips brush your ear as he growls between ragged breaths, “Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your surrender, even in your sleepy state, makes his chest tight. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this wanted.

He presses his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses across your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“Good girl. Stay just like that.”

His hands glide and roam across your body, touching and caressing you, wanting to re-familiarize himself with the curves of every inch of you. He’s possessive, a bit rough, even. He needs to remember every inch. He needs to touch you, to make sure you’re real and not a mere dream that’ll disappear the moment he wakes up. His mouth never strays far from your skin, as if starved for the taste of you. He’s almost feverish in his desire, his hands and mouth working to find every sensitive spot that makes your breath hitch and your body arch. He’s hungry, needy, desperate to keep you in his arms, to make everything else fade away besides the feeling of your skin against his.

Feeling a familiar ache in his core he sucks more bruises into your skin. keeping your leg resting where it is he shudders as he reaches down to press into you. an unholy sound crawls out of his throat as his entire body shudders. it feels like his entire body is engulfed in flames and he doesn’t mind burning up. Biting down on his lip hard as he feels you react in your sleep, he distracts himself with kissing your scalp and holding you close. He can’t comprehend how you’re so cute and So sinful hair a mess on his pillows and you dead asleep.

His teeth leave dark marks on your skin, claiming you as his. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you close, anchoring himself to you as the fire burns hot between his legs. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer.

“I can’t… I need…” He doesn’t even finish his sentence. He just moans, low and guttural, his breathing ragged and rough. His teeth leave dark marks on your skin, claiming you as his. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you close, anchoring himself to you as the fire burns hot between his legs. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer.

“You’re so good, sweetheart. So perfect. So goddamn mine, whether you realise it or not.”

He nuzzles your hair, his eyes closed as he relishes the feeling of your warmth against him. He nuzzles your hair, his eyes closed as he relishes the feeling of your warmth against him.

[jeonggukieverse]

Number One Fan - Teaser

Pairing: Writer Y/N x Yandere Jungkook 

Genre: Yandere/Horror Fic 

Warnings: This is gonna be a pretty dark one, so I’m going to put content warnings and disclaimers each chapter. There aren’t any in this one :)

Word count: 1.5k

Synopsis - After a serious car crash, novelist Y/N is rescued by former nurse Jeon Jungkook, who claims to be her biggest fan. Jungkook brings her to his remote cabin to recover, where his obsession takes a dark turn when he discovers Y/N is killing off his favourite character from her novels. As Y/N devises plans for escape, Jungkook grows increasingly controlling.

- Ryeon <3

Teaser

Your feet were aching. The torn-up flesh on the souls of your bare feet pound on the mossy patches of the forest floor. The foul mixture of half melted snow and mud seeped into your wounds. It hurts. But you don’t care. 

Your lungs feel as though they would shrivel up at any moment. Each inhale feels like fie and acid pooling in your chest. Your poor heart is doing all that it can to keep going. As are you. 

Your skin was damp with sweat. The once warm perspiration that seeped out of you now clung to your clothes, making you cold. You felt as though you had been running for hours.

But you couldn’t stop. You mustn’t stop running. You had to get away from him. 

You only had one chance to escape and this was it. 

You knew that if he caught you, that would be the end of the game. And you will have lost.  

A game. 

That’s what this was. 

That’s what everything in your life was and always had been. 

And you’d always lost. Cause you never paid attention. 

Even now, as your life is in peril, you couldn’t help but think back to a moment in your past. Where distraction had gotten you in trouble. 

You couldn’t have been any older than thirteen. 

You must have been. Because your teacher was Mr. Kim. The teacher whose breath smelled like coffee and Newport cigarettes. A vile combination. 

You remembered so distinctly because in this particular instance, this breath blew into your face as his was about 10 centimeters away from yours.

He was scolding you, pretty severely, because you had been caught jotting down stories while in his math class. 

You were always doing that. Always doing the wrong thing at the wrong times. Always going left when everyone else was going right. And it almost always got you in trouble, but this time was different. This time was worse. 

Mr. Kim was adamant that you had done this one too many times. You remember he had said: 

“Y/N get your nose out of your book. Writing these silly little stories is going to get you nowhere. You need to learn to pay attention, young lady. Since you aren’t taking my warnings seriously, it may be time to escalate the matter”.

Your palms began to clam up, as you knew what this meant.

“I’ll need to contact your mother” 

At that moment everything seemed to move in slow motion. Panic began to set in as you knew a phone call to mother would be a step beyond a death sentence. 

“Take this note to the principal’s office, I shall be in shortly so we can organize a discussion with your mother” 

Your mother was not a nice woman. Not nice at all.

Nothing good would come of this and you knew what fate awaited you in the grim future. 

So, you did the only thing you knew how to do. You ran. You ran as fast as your little legs could carry you. 

Mr. Kim handed you the note and as soon as the door closed, you were off. 

You ran to the only place you knew solace. A woodland area behind your school. 

Your school was built in 1898. The old girl had seen some things. Horrific things. 

Back in the 1900s these woods were used as a hunting grounds. The older students would come out here and hunt deer and rabbits. Now, it was just a place where the older girls would come out here and smoke cigarettes at lunchtimes. The ones that were brave enough, that is. 

There was something dark about these woods. There was nothing about the woodlands that looked outwardly abnormal, there was just too much of it. Like a smile with too many teeth. Not to you though, to you it was freedom. Solace. Peace. 

Maybe you were just drawn to dark things. 

You ran deep into the coppices. Past the brook and beyond the abandoned mill. You perched yourself under the large oak tree. Inhaling and exhaling hard as the running mixed with the panic had your heartrate going a million miles per hour. But now you could rest at lease for a while. 

It’s funny really. Even when your life was in danger your mind wondered away. You guess Mr. Kim had every right to be concerned. 

“Y/N! Why Are you running, baby?!” 

Fuck. His voice sounded so close. Too close. 

His footsteps hammering on the same crushed, now blood-soaked, snow, leaves and moss-covered ground. 

“You know I’m going to catch up with you. Why are you doing this?! I thought you were happy with me!”

Christ. Why was he doing this?

“Look Y/N. I’m sorry if you weren’t comfortable, we can make changes baby just please come back.”

Through the trees you can make out a light ahead of you. Not much further to go. 

“Baby, we don’t have to tie you to the bed anymore! Please, Y/N, you’re still injured! It’s not safe for you to be running when your feet haven’t healed properly”

‘Because of you, you sick fuck’ you screamed inside your head. You wanted to scream at him but all your focus needed to be on running. 

“Just stop now and your punishment won’t be too bad” 

Oh god. He sounded just like her.

The earth and muck beneath your feet had changed to concrete. A road! You’ve don’t it, you reached the road. 

You try to take another step onto the cold wet asphalt but your feet fail you. True to his word, your feet hadn’t heeled yet and the adrenaline keeping your pain at bay had worn off. 

You collapsed on the floor, the dull pain in your ankles paralyzing you. 

You hear his footsteps and his heavy panting behind. In horror, you drag yourself further onto the road. You can’t give up; this can’t be the end. 

“I will say Y/N, I admire your spirit” his slightly exasperated voice still sounded sickly sweet. 

“I’ve always admired that about you. You never give up on anything. But yet you gave up on us. I don’t think that’s very fair, do you, my love?” he walks towards you, at a petrifyingly slow pace.  

This is it. You’ve lost. Certain this was your last moments; you close your eyes. A tear, you hadn’t released had been at bay rolled down your cheek. 

You listed to the birds in the distance and the soft patter of rain and you couldn’t help but think back again. You couldn’t help but think back to how you got here. How it came to be that you would die like this. 

At the hands of Jeon Jungkook. Your number one fan. 

This is gonna be a wild ride! Im so happy to be back writing again~ Hope you all enjoy!

This fic is loosely based on one of my favourite movies: ‘Misery’

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list 🤍

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[static-symphony-fm]

you are in love (true love)

now playing: you are in love (taylor's version)

pairing: magnus chase x fem! reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: 5 people who knew magnus was in love with you before you did + 1 sword

an: FIRST FANFIC LETS FUCKING GOOOOO this took so long to write! I love how I accidentally made it blue themed even though that's magnus's least favorite colour 😭 its ok we all know he's canonically a 1989 girly

fun fact i actually took the first picture! i shit you not I was on a road trip with my family READING MAGNUS CHASE and I look up and see THAT SIGN and i SCRAMBLED to take a picture

content/ warnings: 5+1 things, background blitzstone bcs c'mon they're basically canon, shitty writing, kissing ooo spooky, magnus being a simp, there actually isn't a whole lot of reader in this x reader fic, minor allusions to sex stuff, a lot of swearing, weird use of perspective, i was trying to go for third person limited but magnus is the one it's limited to not reader? but reader is referred to using second person? sorry if it's confusing.

1. samirah al-abbas

  if someone had told magnus a year ago that in a couple month’s time, meeting for coffee weekly with one of his best friends and not getting kicked out of the overpriced coffee shop was going to be the most normal thing in his life, he wouldn’t have believed them. probably would have flipped them off, too, and stole their wallet as he walked away. but he’d like to think that he was a changed man, seeing as he was, in fact, in a hipster café in boston, trying not to make fun of all the fancy menu options. like, seriously? who orders a dragon fruit, pomegranate, and kale smoothie?

he realized he’d been thinking for too long and returned his attention to samirah, sitting across from him and discussing wedding plans for her upcoming marriage to amir as she sipped her latte. he noticed the way her eyes seemed to get brighter, and her entire body language conveyed how excited she was as she talked about him. magnus had a fleeting thought about how good it must feel to love someone so unconditionally like that, and have them love you back just as much. 

as if reading his mind, samirah finished her sentence and studied him, tilting her head as she seemed lost in thought, peering at him like he was a calculus problem she couldn’t quite figure out. 

after a few seconds, magnus broke the silence. 

“alright, it’s getting weird. why’re you looking at me like that?”

samirah snapped out of it, focusing on what he was saying.

“nothing, just… do you think you’ll ever get married?”

jeez, that was a loaded question. magnus narrowly avoided choking on his black coffee, swallowing and burning his throat before answering.

 “sam, i’m dead.”

“so? people get married in valhalla all the time. i have been to a very disproportionate amount of weddings in the two years i worked there.”

“yeah? how many of those end in divorce?”

samirah took a long drink of her coffee, swallowing it slowly as she responded.

“forever is a very long time, and no relationship is perfect, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone to spend that time with?”

“…i guess.” magnus accepted, lost in thought. truthfully, samirah was right, like always. if circumstances were different, if he hadn’t died at sixteen, he could imagine himself getting married. settling down. living in a cabin in the forest with two kids. 

a thought came into his mind, entirely of its own accord, of doing all of that with you. your laugh, your soft hair, the way your lips curled up and your eyes widened when you smile. you’d probably be a great mom.

whoa, what the hell? he should definitely not be thinking about getting married to his friend, what the fuck? that is not normal. 

he pushed the weird thought out of his mind as best he could, gulping his coffee and focusing on the burning in his throat and not what he was just thinking. samirah had gone back to talking about amir, and magnus was not going to think about marrying you any longer.

2. alex fierro

after nearly getting his head cut off by alex’s garrote for the third time that day, magnus needed a break. alex had decided that magnus needed to learn to fight without the help of jack, and it wasn't going too well for him. he collapsed on the bench next to alex, chugging half a bottle of water before even taking a breath. alex rolled her eyes. 

“it’s not that hard, you just aren’t fast enough.”

magnus managed to control himself and not say a snarky comment back, but it was a close call. instead, he ignored her, staring straight ahead and not engaging. unfortunately, you were in his direct line of sight, sparring with mallory only a few metres away. alex picked up on this quickly, nudging his side. 

“you like watching y/n fight, huh?” she teased, smirking. damn, why did she have to be so perceptive?

“what? no. shut up.” magnus replied quickly, trying to hide his blush. “i mean… she’s a good fighter. not like i like her or anything like that.” 

“mhm. suuuure you don’t.” alex replied, definitely not believing him. fuck.

“i’m telling the truth!” magnus protested. god, how was arguing with alex harder than physically fighting her? 

“yeah. did you see her necklace today? pretty, right?”

“she’s not even wearing a neck- fuck.” magnus said instantly, before catching himself. 

“go to hell.”  he swore, glaring at alex, who was grinning at him in a way that reminded him a little too much of her mother. 

“you first.”

      3 + 4. blitzen & hearthstone

“magnus? magnus?”

a pale hand reached in front of magnus face, waving and then snapping its fingers, bringing him back to reality. he blinked and looked around at hearth and blitz, sitting across from him in the dining room of the chase space. hearth took his hand back to sign finally, raising his eyebrows sarcastically.

“your head’s way up in the clouds, kid.” blitz remarked, drumming his short, well manicured fingernails on the table, his silver engagement ring glinting.  he was right. magnus definitely was pretty out of it lately. 

probably thinking about y/n, hearth signed. jeez, why did every conversation he had have to be about you? and no, he most certainly was not thinking about you and your pretty eyes and your delicate hands and the way your ass looked in those jeans you were wearing yesterday… jesus fucking christ, he needed to stop.

 he buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly, then raised his head back up so hearth could read his lips, hoping that his blush wasn’t as visible as it felt. 

“i am not thinking about her.” he lied through his teeth. 

“there’s nothing wrong with having a crush, you know.”

ugh, why did they have to act so much like his dads? 

“i don’t have a crush!”

“kid, you’re a terrible liar. everyone can see the way you stare at that girl. now remember, if you’re doing anything intimate, you gotta use protection…”

that’s it. magnus couldn’t stand up from the table fast enough

 “nope! this conversation is ending right now. good talk!”

5. annabeth chase

magnus and annabeth had been walking around new york for the past three hours, trying to make up for the ten years spent apart.  annabeth had shown him her favorite library, and pointed out a bunch of cool architecture in nearby buildings, with a promise to show him and his friends camp half-blood in the summer.

 they were currently taking a break, stopping for lunch at a falafel place that wasn’t quite as good as fadlan’s, but it was still falafel. magnus was enjoying listening to annabeth talk about her architecture projects– she was taking online classes to prepare for the higher level of new rome university’s program. 

magnus loved listening to her talk about things he didn’t understand. as a child he’d always thought she was a genius, the way she always solved puzzles and math problems easily. ten years later, that theory still held up, hearing her go on about a bunch of terms he didn’t understand.

“sorry, i’m probably boring you to tears. you wanna talk about something else?”

annabeth offered.

“no, it’s fine… i really don’t have a lot going on.” magnus replied, smiling politely.

“come on. there’s gotta be something interesting.” an idea seemed to come to annabeth.

“you have a crush on anybody?”

magnus swallowed. 

“no.”

but he was too slow. those steel gray eyes that matched his own were locked on him like a hawk, or maybe an owl. 

“yes, you do. come on. spill!”

magnus stayed silent. he was not telling his cousin about his crushes, but those metallic eyes stayed locked on him. he eventually gave up. annabeth could be scary when she wanted to be.

“fine. fine. her name’s y/n…”

+1. jack

 it was movie night at the chase space. was magnus ever gonna stop calling it that? no. it was cool. shut up. the credits were rolling on some disney movie that alex had insisted on, and everyone else was slowly but surely making their way to their rooms, yawning as they said their good nights. you had been sitting next to magnus on the couch the whole time, and suffice it to say that he had had some trouble concentrating on the film.  

it was just you and him, you in your nirvana t-shirt and gray sweat shorts, and in that moment, he decided to tell you.

 you got up to leave, waving at him, and in a feat of bravery so incredible it would be studied by historians for centuries to come, magnus managed to work up the nerve to speak up. 

“hey, uh, can i talk to you for a sec?”

“sure? what’s up?” you asked as you sat back down.

jesus, what had he gotten himself into? it’s ok, magnus, you got this. you beat loki in a flyting. you can talk to a pretty girl. 

“uh, i was just thinking… i just…” off to a great start, aren’t we? fuck off, voice in his head. he can do this. he took a deep breath.

“i really like you. you're gorgeous and funny and so insanely smart. i’m an atheist but i’m praying to god you feel the same way. will you be my girlfriend?”

you bit your lip, breaking eye contact as you looked off into the distance. fuck. you were gonna say no and then he was never gonna be able to talk to you again and he was gonna have to change his name and move to canada…

“can i kiss you?” 

what.

there were a million things magnus expected you to say, but that was none of them. he managed to stutter out a simple “please…” and then you leaned forward and your lips were on his and magnus chase died.

this felt more like the end of his life than being knocked off a burning bridge and drowning did. his heart was beating a million times a second, and he seemed to have forgotten how breathing worked. your lips were softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

 he managed to reciprocate a little, mostly acting on instinct, and all he could think about was how astronomically better this was than jackie molotov in the seventh grade.

what was he supposed to do with his hands? he was pretty sure that keeping them at his side was the wrong answer, so he moved one to your waist and the other one to the back of your neck, tangling it gently in your soft hair as his lips moved against yours.

gods, he could have stayed like that until ragnarök, but his stupid sword had to ruin the moment. jack started buzzing on his neck sleepily, seeming to have been woken up ungraciously. he hoped that you couldn’t feel it, but that was pretty unlikely, considering how close you were to him. jeez, he was blushing more and more every time he thought about that. 

eventually, you pulled away, smiling a little. 

“good night, magnus.”

he nodded, unable to form words, and managed to stand up and walk back to his room, wide eyed, operating on autopilot. he walked into his room and immediately collapsed backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling without blinking, completely still. not a thought passed through his mind for at least ten minutes, till he finally was able to reach up and pull jack’s pendant off of his necklace.

“dude, what happened to blades before babes!?!”

[samarqqand]

hi! i recently discovered and have eagerly been reading (and re-reading) all of your fics - your writing is astounding and weaves a story so beautifully, you’ve quickly become one of my favourite silm writers ☺️ in a few comments/notes you’ve talked about other fic - bits you had posted on tumblr that i suppose have been deleted? and you also mentioned another maglor/melkor fic - would you ever post these tidbits? i’d really love to read them even if they’re unfinished!

but if not, thanks for sharing what you already have and know that it’s very much appreciated ☺️

hey hi hi -- i 100% cannot tell you what this message means to me!! seriously, i'm so humbled and so so pleased that these little fics have landed for you!! so thank you, thank you so much for taking the time to read. and! for taking the time to compose this thoughtful message. you've made my week. :']

i think a number of wip snippets or excerpts ended up deleted when i uhhh accidentally deleted my tumblr a while back (all that curation-!!). fie on me.

here's a chunk from early on in that melkor/maglor one -- it's extremely long, and even more extremely unwieldy (i've written myself into some tangles here), but the conceit is Melkor befriending & seducing Maglor in Valinor during the Noontide, & this secret companionship of course cedes to disaster (and monsterfucking, with Melkor's less porcelain, less pleasing form) once the Darkening hits.

again, thank you so much for your interest and superb-kind words. :] (& sorry for any wip-type mistakes in this except, and for the lack of the beloved ë in Makalaurë!!)

*

Tools to nurture or desecrate; tools to reap and sow. Tools to convert. Sharp tools, dull tools.

Melkor gathers each one according to his design, wrenching each free of its moorings and testing its mettle.

He follows Makalaure and two of his brothers home as a dark breeze: harmless as hearth smoke if not for its whispers of the East beyond the Sea. 

The three Noldor princes fall over themselves laughing, made pliant with drink. Casting aside pretense in Tirion’s streets, they join hands and circle into a dance. Makalaure demonstrates a complicated footwork that he insists is in vogue in Valimar; the preeminent bard would know, after all.

Maitimo is a fast learner, but over-tall: Carnistir yelps and shoves when Maitimo steps on his foot. Maitimo kicks at him, grinning. The two abandon the dance to gallop kicking at each other instead: carefree just beyond their majority and expectant of nothing more or less than this lukewarm paradise promised to them.

Only Makalaure, laughing, carries on dancing alone. He countervails his brothers’ happy warfare with defiant grace. A twist of his wrist, fingers upturned in invitation, and swift soundless steps, he entices the breeze.

He entices the breeze. 

And the breeze, enticed, curls in on him; it twists into his hair and swifts around his waist with a lover’s persuasion. Just there under its current, the suggestion of a gale: howling, hard-hearted.

And the breeze pulls.

Makalaure feels the pull. He halts and whirls around, the smile on his lips dying as he looks toward the vacant alleyways and doorsteps.

Maitimo and Carnistir take his hands again; they dance him away before he can wonder.

III.

It begins with a chime. 

The faint peal, spectral and displaced in Makalaure’s bedchamber, stills his composing.

Quill in hand and oud reclining across his crossed legs, he frowns down at the parchment as he listens. He holds his breath to better hear the tone and intuit its meaning.

He glances about his chamber. 

When he turns to his bed, he finds a jagged shadow sitting upon it. 

He quails back; the oud upsets from his lap and thuds against the carpet.

Such a dark. It rests in the way of a thing that has been biding its time.

“Do you know me, child of Fëanáro?” asks the shadow in a many-throated voice felt before heard. 

When heard, rich as velvet, beautified for Eldarin ears.

Makalaurë ducks his head against the sound, his eyes rapidly scanning his parchment and the polished oud as though to glean a means of escape.

Melkor’s voice is beautified for Eldarin ears, but it is not beautiful.

— Makalaurë’s voice is beautiful.

Melkor’s voice is —

The shadow moves to stand before Makalaurë, a penumbra stretching before his eyes.

Ruinous, Makalaurë distantly recognizes.

“Do you know me?” Makalaurë returns then, his voice level to counter the apprehension evident in the set of his shoulders. “Do you know my name? Or indeed is Fëanáro and his ire what you would seek, imposing so upon his house?”

A bright grin slices through the shadow.

“You have the wrong chambers,” Makalaure finishes, clipped.

“Impetuous are raised Feanaro’s sons,” arrives the low voice, accented with a moribund tongue. Makalaure shivers again to hear it; he slips his hands inside his robe’s sleeves to smooth at his arms. “Comforted by the futility of their lot, emboldened by the clutch of their captivity.”

Makalaure glances toward his door, meaning to depart, to hurry from his wing of the compound and call for his brothers. And yet he stays seated, cogitating on the divinity’s words so akin to his father’s. The similarity compels his cautious eyes to return to the Vala.

Fair-minded as is Eldarin wont, he responds to the familiarity with a pale hue of due respect for a Vala: “So what is it, then, that Melkor would request of Feanaro’s son?” 

“Fair is the second son of Feanaro,” Melkor speaks, “with his rare gift.”

Is it worship to share a gift?

“A song from his commanding lips.”

Makalaure grasps for his oud’s unfretted throat and straightens his back, immediately assuming a performer’s bearing even as incredulity creases his brow.

“A song.” He hesitates. “Want of a song compelled you all this way to my chambers?”

A rippling silence impresses upon the space they make between themselves.

“I do not understand.”

Such a dark. A dark new to him; for all Makalaure’s words, eluding description. He blinks into it.

“Which song would please you, Lord Melkor?”

“A song none but mine ears shall hear.”

Makalaure pauses again before he blinks down to his writing. He pages back the parchment once, twice, to where a composition’s scrawl trails into blank eggshell white, unfinished. With his eagle quill pick, he coaxes the oud’s coupled strings into a tentative rhythm. “I can offer you naught but a draft, then.”

When he drifts into singing, the wash of sweet words clear his uncertainty; they build a shelter from apprehension. Comfortable for now, commanding for now, he sings of silver inside the rock and silver from the Tree. Silver of the chattering runnels and silver of the fish that glimmer therein.

Of serenity he sings, the serenity of Valinor: all he knows.

And yet, while the words tide through well-trod sentiments, Makalaure still smiles through the sequence of satisfactions.

Telperion’s light winding through unbound hair; the silken shadows caressing fair faces.

The silken shadows caress fair faces.

Melkor smiles.

An oud string snaps.

The bleak twang rattles Makalaure out of his performance. He starts and clutches at his oud like a child he would comfort. “I am sorry,” he murmurs, distracted, “I have never known these strings to give — “

“Thy voice is the fairest in Aman, son of Feanaro,” Melkor intones again, a deep twist of sound. And suddenly he is crouched before Makalaure upon the floor, having closed in with such immediacy that Makalaure takes a moment to react to Melkor’s visage — a little intake of air — now freed of darkness and distance. Melkor is handsome, and  and unnavigable as a cliff’s sheer stone face.

Slowly, Makalaure draws up his knees around his oud, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “You humble me,” he responds. He glances away from Melkor to guide the Vala’s attention to where Melkor’s flower, wilted now, rests on his writing desk. It had blackened away quickly upon its arrival at Feanaro’s house, insult for an insult.

“More sweetly I would reward thee, second son.”

Makalaure’s fingers press against his broken string. They look at each other.

A knock at his door. Makalaure turns to it furtively. “Yes?” he calls.

“Me,” Maitimo announces through the oak.

Makalaure looks back to Melkor. 

He finds himself alone in his bedchamber. 

His shoulders slump — an exhale — a tension untying. An emptiness that would leave him questioning if he had ever been anything but alone in this place.

He feels at the snapped string in his hand, considering.

Then he swiftly moves the oud out of sight, as though a shame he would hide.

[kanzakurawrites]

Does anyone know of any really good Harry Potter fics that flesh out the Wizarding World?

And I don't mean in a "muggle-fie" it way or "let's go to America, where they aren't backwards and the wizard world is basically the muggle one just with magic!", I mean really flesh it out. Add depth to why things are done, what magic is, how THEIR world works, politics, YES even things that add in family magic or ancient houses, inter-species relations, all the things. Because, I want to see those differences, and maybe add more conflict between purebloods and muggleborns other than just the blood-purity reasons, but cultural ones as well. I feel like it was just a missed opportunity to dive into world building.

Like, ya'll don't understand how CLOSE I am to attempting to write a Harry Potter fic but I don't have the time and I already have WIPS for MLB and Descendants, some of which I really need to update, I should not be adding more to my plate XD

Anyways, if anyone does (which, thank you in advance), general fics are welcome. Ship wise, kinda obsessed with Harmony, but will read canon ships or Harry/Luna. Won't read explicit, but will read mature depending on why its mature

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [eventually smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking ]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 1 - Trent. | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 12.5k

The first time Trent bought you a gift, it was for your birthday—years ago, when everything between you was still in that gray space. You couldn’t name it if you tried but it wasn’t friendship but it certainly wasn’t something else. It was subtle at first, the way things were changing. He wasn’t even supposed to come to your party. He had a match but he made the effort to drop by for a little while. He didn’t make a scene or grab attention; it wasn’t like him to do that. But there was something about the way he navigated through the crowd, like he was looking for someone in particular. You. When he found you, standing near the edge of the party, he smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, because there was something he was holding back, something he didn’t know how to say.

“Hey, happy birthday, pretty girl,” he said. The nickname he’d called you for ages made your heart ache every time. He leaned in to hug you. It should've been quick, casual, nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment his arms were around you, you felt a warmth spread through your chest that only he made you feel.

“I didn’t think you were coming?” You smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, glancing around at the crowd before dropping his gaze to you again. “I can’t stay long, but I, uh… I wanted to give you a little something on your actual birthday.” He smiled as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box.

“Oh…Thanks… that’s really sweet, T. What is this?” You stared at it for a second, a little surprised. It wasn’t awkward as much as it was charged. 

“Just something I saw and thought of you,” he said simply, though the weight of those words hung in the air. You blinked, taken aback.

“You think about me?” You asked. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he smiled, almost shyly, and ran a hand over his hair. 

“Uh yeah,” he admitted earnestly, but almost embarrassed. He thought about you a lot and he could never tell you just how much, so his voice was soft. It made your heart skip in a way you hadn’t expected. There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with everything unsaid between the two of you. Your fingers trembled a little as you opened the box. Inside was a necklace—delicate and beautiful, not over-the-top in looks but you knew the price tag was almost stupid. It was Van Clef, it was a gold little diamond butterfly and it just felt… right. It felt very you and Trent. Like something if you knew, it was extravagant but on the surface it looked like something so simple. It sparkled in the light, and you could immediately tell how much thought he had put into picking it.

“T… this is gorgeous,” you breathed out, lifting it out of the box to admire it closer.

“I’m glad you like it.” He watched you, his eyes softening. Without thinking, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug again. But this time, it was different—charged in a way that had never been there before. His arms circled around you, and you could feel the way he pulled you in tighter, almost as if he didn’t want to let go. You rested your head against his chest, the soft sound of his heartbeat steady in your ear, and the warmth of his body seeped into yours. It was the kind of hug that made the world fall away. You were vaguely aware of the party continuing on around you, the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses, but all of that seemed distant. All you could focus on was the way his hands rested on your lower back, the way his body fit perfectly against yours, and how easy it would be to stay like this. The hug lingered, far longer than what anyone could consider appropriate for two friends. You both knew it, but neither of you pulled away. It felt like you were both standing on the edge of something, something that was just waiting for one of you to acknowledge. But neither of you did. Instead, you stayed wrapped up in him, in that quiet moment that felt suspended in time. When you finally, reluctantly, pulled back, your eyes met his, and for a brief second, the space between you felt charged with all the words neither of you had the courage to say.

“Thank you, T,” you whispered, your voice soft but thick with something unspoken.  He smiled, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—something deeper.

“You’re welcome, pretty girl, happy birthday.” Your fingers brushed against the necklace, still cradled in the box. You hadn’t even put it on yet, but already, it felt like it meant more than just a birthday gift. It felt like a secret, something that was just between the two of you. After he left that night, you went up to your room and immediately clasped the necklace around your neck. The weight of it was delicate but constant, a reminder of him. You wore it every day after that, like a piece of him was always with you, even if no one else knew what it meant. And in the days that followed, you caught yourself touching the necklace absentmindedly, like a reflex. Whenever someone asked about it, you’d smile and brush off the question, but inside, it felt like the necklace was tethered to a part of your heart that Trent had unknowingly claimed. You hadn’t yet figured out what it all meant, but every time you saw him after that, it was there—hanging between the two of you, unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a shift, a turning point, a moment where you could feel something deeper taking root. You wore it like a secret, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t the only one thinking about him. Trent was thinking about you, too. More than he could ever say.  The necklace tethered you to him in ways you hadn’t yet fully realized. You wore it every day, and though no one else knew it was from him, he knew. It was like a private, silent confession, a symbol of something growing between you two, something neither of you had the courage to speak aloud. Even when you were with other guys—laughing with them, holding their hand, even kissing them—Trent would notice the necklace hanging against your skin. It was a quiet, painful reminder that no matter how close anyone else got, you were still wearing something of his. His. Trent winced every time he saw it. The sight of you with someone else, another guy’s arm draped around you, it hurt more than he liked to admit. But it was the necklace, his necklace, that held his attention, keeping him tethered to you despite the distance he tried to keep. It killed him to see you with them, laughing, kissing, as if they had some claim over you. And yet, there was that small, irrational part of him that found solace in the fact that, even in those moments, you still wore something he had given you. 

That night, the night of your birthday, the hug—the way your body had pressed against his—was terrifying to Trent. The way your soft scent of cedarwood and violets lingered on his clothes long after you let go, the way your hands had touched him with that familiar warmth, all of it burned into his memory. He had hugged you countless times before, but this time was different. This time, it felt like you fit perfectly into him, like his body had been waiting for yours all along. And your laugh…  god, the way it sent him over the edge. That night, it was like his walls were crumbling, every instinct in him screaming that this was more than friendship, more than some passing crush. It was deeper, more consuming than he could have ever imagined. Suddenly, the idea of you and him wasn’t just some distant dream. It was real. He was completely attached to you now, and that terrified him more than anything. But what was he supposed to do? Jack was his best friend. Jack… your older brother. Jack… his best friend since primary school. Trent couldn’t betray him like that. He couldn’t act on these feelings, no matter how much he wanted to. He shouldn’t have been so drawn to you, but every time you were near, it was impossible to ignore the pull between you. So he kept his distance as best he could, leaving you tied solely by a sentimental gift.  He continued to see other girls, hoping it would distract him, help him forget. But nothing worked. Every time he kissed another girl, held another girl’s hand, there was a hollowness in his chest because none of them were you. They didn’t laugh like you, didn’t look at him the way you did, and they certainly didn’t smell like the Byredo al d'Afrique. Even as he pretended to move on, the memory of that hug—the way your body had fit so perfectly against his—haunted him. It was no longer just a harmless crush. He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to stop it. And the necklace, the first of many gifts that followed it, sitting atop your decalogue every day was just rubbing salt in the wound because no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, Trent knew the truth. He wanted you. He was completely, undeniably attached. And that terrified him more than anything else. 

This year, It had been one of those birthdays you didn’t want to celebrate. The boy you’d been seeing had ended things, and you were still licking your wounds from the whole ordeal. Despite your reluctance, your best friend Layla and your brother, Jack had insisted on throwing you a party at the house. The decorations were beautiful, and your friends had shown up, making it as lively as it could be. But no matter how much you smiled, how many ‘thank yous’ you muttered, there was a hole in your chest that only one person could fill.

Trent. 

Your brother’s best friend—who, at this point, was just that. A best friend of your brother. Nothing more to you. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. Trent had been away for a match, he always was around your birthday so you hadn’t expected to see him at all tonight, but still, a part of you couldn’t help but pout as you realized he hadn’t even texted. He always texted. If he was away. He always made an effort. No matter where he was. It stung more than you wanted to admit. The night dragged on, drinks were poured, and laughter filled the air, but your mind was stuck on the absence of that one text message. You were lost in thought when you suddenly heard Layla’s voice, sharp and breathless, cut through the chatter.

"Oh my fucking God," she muttered, her eyes wide, fixed on something outside. Her hand gripped your arm tightly. You frowned at her, confused, but followed her gaze to the window. That’s when you saw him. 

Trent.

He was stepping out of a sleek Mercedes G-Wagon, a bow—an actual bow—wrapped around the top of the car like something out of a commercial. Your heart stopped, your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you didn’t register the car, didn’t understand what it meant. All you could see was him.  He looked impossibly good, dressed in all black, his usual confidence radiating off him as he made his way up the driveway toward the house. Your mouth fell open, and you barely noticed the laughter that erupted around you. Jack and Trent’s friend Noah let out a booming laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Trent, you’re tapped," Noah chuckled, clearly amused. Jack stood frozen for a second, staring out the window with his arms crossed. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me." He shook his head slowly, mumbling under his breath, Your heart was in your throat, pounding loudly in your ears. You felt like the whole world had slowed down as you watched Trent approach. Your eyes hadn’t left him, too stunned to even react properly. The car, the bow, all of it started to sink in, but none of that mattered as much as the sight of him standing at the front door, about to walk in. He had messaged you. Not with words on your phone, but with something far more impossible to ignore. Layla squealed with excitement, grabbing you in a tight hug, her energy infectious as she bounced on her toes. You were still in disbelief at the sheer grandiosity of the gift, staring out at the car parked outside with its oversized bow. But despite your shock, it seemed like everyone around you had expected something like this—teasing aside, they weren’t that surprised. Layla leaned in close, her voice dropping into a sing-song whisper.

“He loves you,” she teased, drawing out the word with a knowing smirk. You shook your head quickly, a small laugh escaping you.

“No, he does not,” you said, trying to brush off the idea. You wished he did, but in your mind, that was far from reality. You were just Jack’s little sister, nothing more. 

“He’s just being nice.” Out loud, you were casual. Your tone was a little firmer, as if trying to convince yourself as much as her.  Layla grinned, nudging you with her elbow.

 “I wish boys were ‘nice’ like that to me.” She giggled. Meanwhile, Jack was dapping up Trent, shaking his head in disbelief but with a smile.

"You’re fucking insane, bro," Jack said, his voice carrying a mix of awe and amusement. "But… nice of you. She hadn’t been happy all night ‘til you showed up." Trent flicked his eyes to you, catching the beaming smile that had spread across your face. He smiled softly, a hint of pride tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew it wasn’t the car that had lifted your spirits. It was the fact that he’d made the effort to be here, to make sure your birthday wasn’t just another forgettable night. You walked over to him again, the warmth in your chest now overwhelming. You hugged him tightly, your arms lingering around his neck longer than they should have, his hands slipping lower than they should have. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But I can’t keep something like this, T.” You cooed. He brushed off your words with a casual wave of his hand. 

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s yours, pretty girl. It’s in your name as well so...”  He spoke softly and so you nodded, still overwhelmed by the gesture.

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. Then, in a moment of quiet vulnerability, you leaned in closer. “The car’s amazing, T, but I’m just happy you’re here. I’m so happy to see you.” You whispered. Trent’s smile softened as he pulled back to look at you, his eyes warm and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“That’s all I wanted,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You happy.” In that moment, standing so close to him, everything else—the party, the noise, the teasing—faded away. All that mattered was him and the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. As the night stretched on, the earlier excitement of Trent’s arrival slowly blurred into the haze of laughter, drinks, and celebration with everyone. But naturally, as you always seemed to, you found yourself tucked into a cozy corner with him, your head buzzing with the warmth of alcohol and his presence. The two of you were caught in that space where the party seemed distant, as though the music, chatter, and clinking glasses belonged to another world. Here, in this little bubble, it was just you and Trent, giggling over some joke neither of you could remember anymore.  His hand rested on your waist, the touch light but electric, sending little shocks of awareness through you. You didn’t want him to move, didn’t want the moment to end. Each time you laughed, you leaned into him a little more, the casual way his fingers stayed on your side feeling like the most natural thing in the world. You both pretended like you didn’t know what you were doing—that the long looks, the lingering touches, and the proximity weren’t flirting. But they were, and you both knew it, even if neither of you was brave enough to say it out loud. You were swaying slightly, both of you tipsy, your heads fuzzy from the night’s drinks. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you, mingling with the scent of the air that breezed in from the nearby window. Your stomach fluttered with every laugh, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much, and all the while, his hand stayed at your waist, like an anchor keeping you steady. Then, someone from the party stumbled past, bumping into you and sending you careening into Trent’s chest. For a moment, everything slowed. His arms instinctively wrapped around you to steady you, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You looked up at him, your face mere centimeters from his, and time seemed to freeze.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the world outside this corner didn’t exist. You nodded, biting your lip.

 “Yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the pounding in your chest. But neither of you moved. Your lips were so close, dangerously close. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the heat between you simmering just beneath the surface.

“Okay?” he asked again, his gaze flickering down to your mouth for the briefest second.

“Okay.” You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat. 

“Okay.” He echoed. You two couldn’t get another word to even enter your brains. You were so fixed on these new feelings of closeness. 

 “Okay.” You smiled, breathless, and repeated. The word was like a lifeline, something to cling to as the air around you grew thick with tension. The more you said it, the closer you felt to losing control, but also, it was grounding. Keeping you both on the side of restraint. You both must have said it back and forth a dozen times, each ‘okay’ becoming quieter, softer, more charged. The weight of what wasn’t being said hung between you, heavy and undeniable. His eyes were dark, full of something that matched the way your heart was racing. The world felt like it was spinning, but not from the alcohol. It was him—his nearness, his hands on you, the way he was looking at you like he was holding himself back with every ounce of self-control he had. Despite the fog of drunkenness, there was a clarity in the moment. You both knew exactly what you wanted. It would have been so easy to kiss him. To close the gap and let the world slip away. You could feel his restraint in the way his fingers curled slightly into your side, in the way his breath hitched. You wanted it too. You wanted to close your eyes and let it happen, but something inside both of you whispered not like this. 

For Trent, it was about not wanting your first kiss, your first real moment together, to happen in a blur of alcohol, where the next morning was uncertain. He wanted it to mean something. To remember every second. His mind was a haze of swirling thoughts, but one thing was crystal clear—he couldn’t do this, not like this. He wanted more than just a fleeting, drunken kiss. His body was betraying him, his thoughts as slurred as his worlds but he knew… not like this. For you, the reasons were the same, but more. Not drunk. Not in public. Not after he gave you a gift like that. You couldn’t risk the night becoming about the car or about a moment you wouldn’t remember with perfect clarity. You didn’t want the first kiss to be lost to hazy memories. You wanted to be able to hold onto it forever. So both of you stayed frozen, neither willing to pull away, but neither ready to cross the line. The air between you hummed with unspoken desire, but you both clung to restraint like a lifeline, knowing that whatever this was, it deserved better than tonight. Slowly, Trent’s hand slid from your waist, leaving a ghost of warmth behind, and he took a small step back bumping into the wall behind him, breaking the tension but not the connection. His eyes met yours, soft but full of promise, like he was telling you without words that there would be a right time. Just not tonight. You let out a shaky breath, smiling at him, and he smiled back. The moment passed, but it wasn’t gone. Just waiting.

Trent and your feelings needed to be locked away and one of the largest reasons was Jack especially. Growing up without your mum left a gap in your life that never fully healed. Her absence was something you felt deeply, especially in those quiet moments when you needed her comfort the most. Your dad did everything he could to support you and Jack, but eventually, the weight of memories became too much for him. Once you and Jack were old enough, he moved away, explaining that staying was too hard, but he’d held on for you as long as he could. Even with your dad far away, he stayed close in his own way. Yet, you still felt a sense of isolation that seemed impossible to shake. Your only true constant was Jack. He was more than just a brother; he was family in every sense, and when he succeeded in his career, he’d insisted you live with him. It was his house, but your home. Jack’s success had brought him plenty of friends, but none as close as Trent. You remembered the first time you saw them together as kids, the two inseparable on a football pitch, laughing and shouting like they were the only ones who mattered. Your crush on Trent had grown from those early days, blossoming from something innocent into something you couldn’t ignore. Your mum used to always tease you about it and  you’d deny it but in retrospect she was right.  Watching Trent grow into himself over the years only made things worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. Through your teenage years, you’d felt every moment of jealousy, angst, and longing when he showed up with a new girlfriend. Your crush wavered in intensity but never fully disappeared, flickering in the background as life moved forward. Now, though, it felt different. More possible. Jack was still oblivious, still the overprotective brother who’d sooner scare Trent away than entertain the idea of his friend being with you. But the way Trent had looked at you recently—the almost possessive glances, the magnetic pull between you—had left you wondering if the years of pining might finally be leading somewhere.

From the very first moment Trent walked through your front door, it was impossible not to feel the pull. And now…He was everything a girl could dream of: a sexy, successful Premier League footballer with confidence that was borderline delusional and a smile that made your heart race. Every time he visited, you felt that familiar rush of adrenaline. You’d sneak a glance in the mirror, adjusting your hair, making sure you looked your best, hoping he’d notice you more than just as his best friend’s little sister. And Trent did notice. His eyes had a way of finding you across a room, holding your gaze a moment too long, his lips curling into that lazy smile that sent a shiver down your spine. Whenever he spoke directly to you, his voice was lower, softer, meant just for your ears. You savored every second he paid you any special attention. His touches—casual brushes against your arm, a hand lingering on your back as he squeezed past you in the kitchen—felt like electricity on your skin. You lived for those moments, those fleeting touches, and the way he seemed to light up when he was around you. You dated other guys, tried to create distance, but no one could ever quite compare to Trent. Each new boyfriend felt like a distraction, a poor substitute for what you really wanted. And it was never easy. Whenever your dating life came up in conversation, especially in front of Trent, you hated it. You could feel his eyes on you, a heavy gaze filled with something unreadable, something that made your heart clench. He didn’t like it either—you could tell. He’d get quiet, tense, like he was holding something back, and you’d wonder what he was thinking. But you were off-limits. Trent had made that clear without saying a word. He flirted with you in ways that made your heart pound, yet he always knew just when to pull back, to keep things on the safe side of friendship. He was careful, disciplined, as if he knew that if he ever let himself fully give in to what was simmering beneath the surface, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And so, he kept you at arm’s length, even though you could see the desire flickering in his eyes, could feel it in every lingering touch, every stolen glance.

Jack was a nerd… and his friends were nerds… Trent was a nerd and you knew this because you knew them all too well. To the outside world, to girls that knew them; they were a friend group of objectively good looking successful men but you knew better than that. You had been tagging along for years. Every week, whenever their friend group would convene at Jack's house predominantly to watch films. It began unintentionally but now… you made sure you were home that day.  Your brother’s friend group had a tradition of movie nights—an excuse for a bunch of twenty-somethings to kick back in your brother’s house, or rather your house, enjoying each other's company and the latest blockbuster or old film they likely weren’t alive for when it came out but it was a ‘classic you have to have seen’ they’d tell you. They were a year or so older, all of them already finding their paths in life, with successful careers to boast about. It was one of the reasons you decided to live with your brother after graduating uni; that, and the lure of the sprawling, comfortable home he offered you. But, if you were being honest, the only success story you cared about was Trent's. Every time your brother mentioned one of these movie nights, you found yourself at home ‘by coincidence,’ always ready with a casual excuse about why you weren’t out with your own friends. Deep down, you knew why you stayed. You liked hearing Trent talk about his matches and his training, his voice animated with the passion he felt for the game. His presence in the room was magnetic, drawing your attention even when you tried to play it cool. Trent had a love for films that rivaled his love for football though. He cherished these nights, getting to be ‘normal’ hanging out with his friends and unwinding after a long week. But more than the movies, more than the camaraderie, what Trent loved most were those fleeting, stolen moments with you. When the group would start to drift towards the cinema room, you and Trent would linger in the kitchen, finding little excuses to extend those precious seconds together. Maybe it was grabbing a snack or pouring another drink, but it always ended up with just the two of you, your eyes meeting across the counter, a secret smile shared between you.

He’d take his time getting to the cinema room, always managing to sit next to you on the plush sectional. He loved the way you’d turn to him, your eyes bright as you asked about his latest match or teased him about something trivial. You didn’t even know it, but he lived for those moments—when your hand would casually brush his, or when you’d lean in just a bit closer, letting your arm press against his. The air would thicken with a tension neither of you acknowledged, but both of you felt deeply. There were times when you got a little more daring, your playful nudges becoming something more, your laughter a bit louder, your touch lingering. Trent would feel his breath catch in his throat, his heart pounding as he willed himself to stay composed. You had no idea how much those moments meant to him, how he silently prayed for them every time he walked through your brother’s door. He savored every second you paid him attention, every word you spoke to him, every shared laugh and every fleeting touch. Those nights were his guilty pleasure, a few hours where he could pretend, just for a little while, that the feelings he had for you weren’t forbidden, that there wasn’t an unspoken line he wasn’t allowed to cross. And every time you got a little braver, a little more handsy, you made it harder for him to keep pretending. 

For you, at those movie nights, it was like there was a magnetic force drawing you together. No matter how crowded the room was, you’d always end up next to each other on the couch, under the same blanket, your bodies instinctively leaning closer. Not too close but his arm would casually rest along the back of the couch behind you, his fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder, sending sparks through your skin. The air between you crackled with tension, a tension that both thrilled and terrified you. You’d tell yourself it was innocent, that it was just because you were comfortable with each other. But in those dark, quiet moments, you could almost hear the unspoken words that hung heavy between you. It was a game you both played—pretending that being this close, sharing these stolen moments, was enough. But deep down, you both knew better. There was something between you, something powerful and undeniable, just waiting for the right moment to break free. And until then, you’d keep circling each other, caught in a dance of longing. 

It was one of those balmy summer nights when your brother set up the projector in the back garden for a movie night by the pool. It was the first movie night of the summer, and the energy was already thick with a heady mix of warmth, laughter, and unspoken tension. The boys were sprawled out across the patio, beers in hand, enjoying the evening sun dipping below the horizon. And then you spotted him. 

Trent.

"I didn't know you were back," you grinned, moving to stand next to Trent out on the patio, all of the other boys wrapped up in conversation of their own. This conversation alone though had been what he was waiting for since he got to the house. 

"Yeah? Miss me?" he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of something deeper.

"Of course," you teased back, stepping into his embrace. The way Trent hugged you made your insides flutter… frankly it made you want to scream. He smelled like something familiar yet intoxicating, and the way your bodies fit together just felt right. His hands, as always, hovered just above the curve of your waist, teasingly close to somewhere more dangerous, igniting that tension you'd both danced around for so long. He meant that cuddle and you could feel it. Cuddles between you two know were like some sort of edging. It would get you off but never enough… not even close.

"Who am I supposed to sit with if you weren't here?" you teased, your voice laced with the familiarity of years of flirty banter. Ever since these movie nights started, you always ended up next to him-it was magnetic, almost like a tradition neither of you wanted to break.

"Well you're not sitting with anyone else," he said casually, but there was weight behind his words. Indirectly, Trent wasn't just talking about the movie. He meant it in a way that felt more like a promise, like he was staking a claim that went beyond who sat where on a garden chair. He was protective over you, in ways even your brother or anyone could never know. 

"No?" You shook your head, smiling.

"No," he replied, his eyes steady on yours.

"Besides, who else is supposed to listen to you yap during the films?" He smirked and it was deadly. His smile was devastatingly handsome and it made your stomach flip. 

"I don't talk that much," you quipped back, feigning offense. "You're so dramatic." you swatted at him, your fingers catching his chest just ever so slightly. 

"I'm not," he retorted, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You just don't shut up." His fingers found your waist, pinching playfully, but his hand lingered a little longer than it needed to, sending a shiver through you.

"Sorry, I won't make a peep this time." You bit the tip of your pointer finger holding it between your teeth in feigned bashfulness  unknowingly teasing him. He smirked, his eyes flicking over you with something between amusement and desire.

"Nah, don't do that. Your voice has become part of my favorite film scores now. Just meant to be in my ear." His words, low and teasing, held more meaning than you wanted to admit. You felt the heat between you, the invisible line you kept pretending didn't exist becoming thinner and thinner.

As more of their friends arrived you minded your own business trying to play nonchalant.  But you hung around. You were nearby, casually bent over in your bikini, picking up something you’d dropped near the pool. The moment seemed innocent enough, but you were oblivious to the eyes trailing every move you made. One of Jack’s friends, reclining in his chair, couldn’t help but groan as he watched.

“Mate, not gonna lie, she looks better every summer.” His voice was low enough that Jack, who was inside grabbing more drinks, wouldn’t hear. It was a fine line but one that existed where this friend group was close enough to tease you, treat you like the younger sibling you were but also just close enough to simultaneously be attracted to you. You were less than a year younger than some of them, you were grown, and they knew that. And in the summer, when Jack set up the movies by the pool… you were a more than welcomed addition to movie nights. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Noah, chuckled in agreement, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer than they should. Trent was quiet at first, his jaw tight as he tried to keep his gaze elsewhere. But when he glanced up, seeing the way the sunlight caught your hair and how the curve of your body seemed effortlessly graceful, he slipped. 

"She’s fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.  “I mean.. She’s leng, you know?” He attempted to not wound so smitten but that was all the ammunition Noah needed. He shot Trent a look, grinning ear to ear, and shoved his shoulder with a teasing nudge. 

“Bro, sod off and just admit you want to sleep with her. How long are you going to drag this out?” The banter took off from there, the boys piling on with their relentless teasing. 

“Yeah, honest mate, stop pretending like you’re not into her,” another one quipped, the laughter bubbling up as they watched Trent squirm in his seat, struggling to deflect. Trent opened his mouth to defend himself, his words tripping over each other in the attempt to stay cool.

 “It’s not like that,” he tried, but the boys weren’t buying it. They roared with laughter, enjoying his discomfort far too much. Noah, never one to let an opportunity slip by, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

 “Bro, we all know she wouldn’t think twice about letting you fuck her. Both of you are not fooling anyone.” He joked. Trent’s smile faltered for a second, but then it returned, a little weaker than before. His eyes betrayed him as they drifted back to you, drawn like a magnet, just as you stood up and turned around, meeting his gaze head-on. For a brief moment, everything slowed—the noise of the teasing boys faded, the laughter dulled, and it was just you and Trent, eyes locked in a moment heavy with something unspoken. You smiled at him, a casual, carefree grin, completely unaware of the conversation happening just feet away. The boys fell silent, their eyes darting between you and Trent, waiting for someone to make the first move, their teasing now hanging in the air like a challenge. Noah couldn’t resist breaking the tension. “Oi, Trentski, come on—tell me you two haven’t already hooked up?” The question hit Trent like a bucket of ice water. He straightened up, shaking his head a little too quickly, his voice firm and almost defensive.

 “Nah, nah! Jack would kill me if he thought anything was going on. I’m not stupid. Nothing happened.” He said it with conviction, but the boys saw through it. He wasn’t lying, nothing happened physically, but something was going on. Their teasing resumed, but Trent was barely listening anymore. His mind was racing, the banter and laughter just background noise to the thoughts swirling in his head. Not stupid, sure… But in that moment, watching you, the line between caution and temptation felt dangerously thin. Maybe not stupid, but a bit horny for you, he thought, the words playing on repeat in his mind as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping no one would notice. You walked over, oblivious to the weight of the conversation you’d just missed.

“What’s got you lot creasing?” you asked, looking around at the group, your eyes finally landing on Trent.

 “Nah, nothing. Just giving Trenty a hard time, as usual.” Before anyone else could, Noah blurted out an answer.  He winked at you, and you furrowed your brow, confused but not pressing the issue.  Trent smiled weakly at you, hoping to shake off the intensity of the moment, but as you stood close, your skin warm from the sun, he felt his pulse quicken. Every inch of him wanted to pull you closer, but he knew better. Jack would be back any second, and the boys were already wound up from teasing him. As you looked at Trent, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, just a little longer than they should have. And when he smiled back, there was something different in it—something soft, almost vulnerable. It sent a warmth through you, one you tried to ignore, but couldn’t. The boys resumed their chatter, their attention drifting back to harmless jokes, but Trent couldn’t shake the feeling. Every summer, he’d watched you grow into yourself, more confident, more radiant, and every summer, it became harder to pretend he didn’t want something more. The line between you had always been there—unspoken but understood—and he’d never been foolish enough to cross it. Until now.

The sun had finally sunk below the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything but you stayed in your tiny bikini, relishing in the warm weather. You laid stretched out in a tiny fuchsia crochet set letting the evening heat soak into your skin as Jack got the film sorted. 

"Hey," Trent said as he came over, casually lying down next to you.

"Hi," you greeted back, glancing up with a soft smile. The way you were laying made your bikini push your tits together in a way you knew was hard not to notice. You couldn't help but tease, "I'm so glad it's finally summer." you cooed. 

"Me too," Trent replied, though his focus wasn't entirely on the season.

"Yeah, you should be," you giggled, your eyes flicking over his bronzed skin. "You look better tanned." You teased him.

"Damn, alright." He feigned offense, but the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn't too bothered by the comment. In fact, he liked that you were paying attention.

"Take it as a friendly suggestion," you teased, eyes sparkling. "Got any big holiday plans? You asked. 

"Eh, some," he shrugged, but his attention wasn't on the holidays. It was on you-how the setting sun hit your skin, the way you casually lay there, completely at ease but still making his thoughts stray. You muttered a quiet ‘cool’ though; feeling slightly awkward. You knew Trent had a life outside of this, outside of you, filled with other girls, holidays, a footballer’s luxury lifestyle but he'd never flaunted it in front of you. Still, the thought of him away from here, away from you, left a weird pang in your chest. "Is it?" he asked, a glint of mischief in his eye. He knew where your thoughts went and he wanted to drag you back into lightheartedness. 

"I don't know, you didn't tell me any details." You raised an eyebrow, biting on your finger with a flustered giggle. Unintentionally, Trent’s eyes were drawn to your lips.

"Maybe I don't want you keeping tabs on me," Trent teased, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I don't... I have zero interest in your whereabouts," you stuttered, caught off guard by the teasing tone in his voice and the way he was looking at you. You were lying and he knew that. Neither of you would say that though. 

"That color looks good on you. Take it as a friendly suggestion." He leaned in slightly, his voice lower as he said. You watched, heart racing, as his tanned hand reached over, squeezing just above your knee. His fingers slid up your leg, hooking slightly under the band of your bikini.

"Serious though, it looks good," he repeated, his touch lingering. You almost blacked out. 

"I got it," you smirked, swatting at his hand half-heartedly, pretending you didn't want him touching you when, in truth, it sent a thrill through you. "Thank you for your input. It's noted." You snapped.

"Good," Trent replied with a wink, his gaze lingering on yours a little longer than usual, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Noah watched the whole interaction between you and Trent with growing amusement, shaking his head before turning to Jack. 

"Mate, you just let him go on like that?" he asked, motioning toward Trent, who was snapping the band of your bikini playfully against your skin.

"They're mates," Jack brushed it off, trying to seem unfazed. "It's not like anything happens." Jack's tone was casual, but the truth was he tried not to think too much about the way Trent interacted with you and you with him. You were the most important people in his life and he couldn’t imagine it past that. He couldn’t risk imagining there being anything more because he couldn’t risk losing either of you. He knew you had a crush on Trent, and Trent entertained it, but Jack couldn't believe Trent would actually act on anything. He laughed, trying to brush the situation off. "As long as it's not you, geez. At least I know Trenty doesn't have an STD." Jack smirked. Noah scoffed. 

"Aye, Y/N, whatever happened to that Manny lad you were seeing?" Another boy, grinning, piped up. You blinked, brought out of the blissful haze of being near Trent, who was now lying beside you but his hand retreating after the other boys attention shifted to you. 

"Oh... just stopped talking, I guess," you answered, your tone casual but clearly uninterested. That wasn’t really what happened but it was an easy answer.

"So he pied you, huh?" Jack teased, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you.

"No, I got bored," you snapped back, shooting Jack a glare. The relationship ended because the guy you were seeing was nicely put.. Insane. Also, neither of you were that interested in the other but Jack and his friends didn’t need to know the semantics. The details would probably enrage Jack so you let them think otherwise. 

"Yeah, sure," Noah sarcastically added with a laugh, fueling the banter. You rolled over onto your stomach, attempting to ignore them, but you could feel Trent's eyes locked on the curve of your ass as your bikini shifted with the movement. The reverb of your ass had him locked in.

"So... bored, huh?" His gaze was hot, unmistakable, and he leaned in, his voice quieter now, meant just for you. You hummed in response, feeling the weight of his stare. Trent knew you had been seeing people here and there, and it always bothered him, though he tried to suppress the feeling. He tried to ignore this one, he really did. But this one specifically? The fact the guy you’d been seeing had played for a rival football club? It stung in a way Trent wasn't ready to admit. The idea that it was over, though, thrilled him more than it should have. Trent lowered his voice even further, leaning closer. "In what department? Besides the club he plays for?" He smirked.

"All of them," you replied with a knowing smile, your eyes gleaming as you added, "Bedroom specifically." You confirmed the answer he was skirting around. Trent smirked, his gaze darkening as he processed your words. 

"Interesting, interesting. Y/N, you're always interesting," he muttered, he tapped fingers near your knee, the tension between you two palpable. His gaze flicked back up to your eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world-the jokes, the boys, the movie night-faded into the background. There was something simmering between you two, unspoken, but undeniable.

You were sprawled out on the couch, wallowing in the aftermath of said breakup days later. It wasn’t that you still had feelings for the guy, you knew your heart lied somewhere you couldn’t entertain but the sting of rejection lingered, clinging to you in a way you hated. Frankly, he treated you like shit, you should’ve been relieved you were out and you’d tried to brush the whole thing off, but the hurt of being left behind always cut deep. He blamed you for whatever and ended things and you hated being ‘broken up’ with. Your solution, as it had often been, was to go out—to drown the pain in loud music, drinks, and distraction. It was irresponsible but you found solace in losing yourself. 

“What’re you up to this weekend?” Jack asked, dropping his bag by the door. He came home and saw you lounging on the couch, barely moving. You didn’t even look up.

“Going out Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and brunch on Sunday.” You told him in a monotone voice. Jack shook his head, clearly disapproving. 

“I don’t like it, Y/N. You gotta chill. That kid was a prick anyway. You don’t need to do this” He told you. Jack was right, he was a prick but that barely scratched the surface describing how messed up he was but you’d never let your brother know. But what Jack did know was your habits. He knew you had a way of not necessarily acting out but finding comfort in strangers when things got scary, probably not in the healthiest way. You just hated being alone. You knew he knew all this so you bit your lip, not in the mood for another lecture, but your stomach twisted with his words. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, shifting on the couch. Jack had his own way of coping with the way losing your mum affected you both. You went out looking for detachment whereas Jack was looking for meaning in relationships. In your opinion, it always seemed to be with people who were playing games with him. And lately, it involved spending more time with Megan, a girl he’d been seeing.

“I’m going out tonight with Megan,” he announced, and you immediately kissed your teeth, rolling your eyes.

“What?” he asked, frowning now.

“Nothing,” you replied, but the tension was unmistakable. He wasn’t going to let it drop.

“Y/N, what?” he repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “Go on… tell me.” He quipped. You sighed. 

“I just don’t think Mum would like her.” The room went quiet for a moment. You didn’t know why you said it, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Jack stared at you for a beat, his expression softening. He felt bad so he let out a long sigh, shaking his head but smiling faintly. 

“Y/N… I don’t think Mum would like what you’re doing either.” His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You knew he was right. You’d been using going out as an escape, not a solution. Still, you weren’t ready to deal with any of it just yet, so you kept quiet. Jack stood up, getting ready to head upstairs. 

“Noah and Trent are coming over later, they’ll probably stick around till I’m back, yeah?” As he left the room, he called back casually. Your heart immediately skipped a beat at the mention of Trent. Jack’s best friend, your longtime crush, the boy who had been increasingly hard to ignore lately. You sat up on the couch, feeling the familiar mix of anticipation and nervousness churn in your chest. Trent was coming over, and suddenly, your evening was looking a lot more complicated.

You and Layla were standing in the kitchen, both sipping on iced coffee and talking about the party you had planned to go to later. The energy was light, and you were trying to distract yourself from your recent split by laughing about it. Trent was walking nearby, just out of sight, but within earshot as you rambled on walking back from the toilet.

"I just want a man who knows how to properly fuck me. I’d like him to actually know where my clit is this time," you blurted out, clearly letting your frustrations slip. "I mean, like, after all the crap with him, I deserve someone who knows what the fuck they're doing in bed, you know?" You laughed and Layla agreed wholeheartedly. Trent, who had been casually walking back to Jack and Noah in the other room from the toilet, froze the moment those words left your mouth. His mind short-circuited. Every fiber of him wanted to walk into that room and say something, but instead, he felt a surge of heat build up inside him. He couldn't think straight. This is what you were thinking about? He could show you. He could be the one to do that for you. He knew what he was doing in the bedroom. He could feel himself getting hard just hearing you talk like that. He needed to leave. He couldn't be around you right now, he couldn’t hear you right now, not with those thoughts filling his head. As Trent made his quick exit, trying to steady his breathing, Layla leaned in closer to you, smirking. 

"So, what's your dream man then? Tell me more about this man who apparently knows where the clit is," she teased, eyeing you as you thought for a moment. Without missing a beat, you started listing off traits, unaware of how specific it was getting. You went through physical traits first. 

“Like deep brown eyes, that can flick from sexy to cute really fast.” You told her as you continued to rattle on. "And athletic, someone who can actually keep up with me. He has to have a sense of humor, be a little protective but not in a weird way, you know? And, like, I just want him to look at me like I'm all that matters.” You cooed. Layla let out a playful laugh, nudging you.

"So….Trent?” She teased you. You waved her off. “Y/N, you just described him to a T!" Your eyes widened as it clicked, and you burst out laughing, slightly embarrassed but also secretly acknowledging the truth in her words. Meanwhile, Trent, oblivious to this part of the conversation, was already long gone, desperate to get himself under control and not think about what you had just said. You and Layla headed upstairs to get ready and after the lengthy process you came downstairs looking dressed to kill in a dark red leather set. Trent’s jaw slacked whereas Jack lips pulled tight in annoyance. 

"Y/N, that skirt is too short," Jack said, his voice stern as you walked into the living room.

His eyes narrowed in disapproval, making you roll yours. Layla, standing beside you, took your hand with a mischievous grin and spun you around for effect. 

"Give us a spin!" Noah teased, his laughter making the room feel light. You playfully obliged, your matching set on full display for your audience as you spun holding Layla’s hand. 

"Jack, I’m not changing, it's a set!" you whined, tugging on the skirt a bit. It was a good outfit, after all.

"Y/N, go change," Jack said again, his tone serious. Before you could respond, Trent, who had been leaning against the wall, stood up and casually walked by you, his presence sending a wave of tension through the room. As he passed, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. 

"Can see your ass," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. You froze, trembling slightly at his words, your mind racing.

“And..?” The whispered question slipped out before you could stop yourself, turning to face him, your heart pounding. Trent smirked, taking a step back, eyes lazily traveling down your body. 

"That was all I had to say. Just wanted you to know." He cooed the words with a wink, leaving you on edge, a mix of frustration and desire coursing through you. Fuck, You just wanted to to ask him to just grab you right there. The desire to tell him to take this stupid outfit off you was nearly overwhelming. Your breath hitched as a thousand unspoken words passed between you. Jack, completely oblivious to the charged moment, snapped you back to reality. 

"Y/N, don't bring anyone home tonight." He told you. You blinked, refocusing on your brother. 

"I won't," you cooed innocently, giving him a smile as if everything was perfectly fine.

Trent smirked, stretching his arms above his head, looking every bit like a man who had just won some sort of conquest. There was a quiet confidence in his stance, as if he knew he had gotten under your skin but also that you wouldn’t get with anyone else tonight.  He didn't even need to say more-he knew where you both stood, and it felt like the beginning of a game you were both playing but refusing to name.

Late that night, you stumbled into the house, laughing with Layla as you both attempted to be quiet but failed miserably. 

"Laylaaaaa," you slurred, giggling as you tugged at the hem of your too-short skirt, "all he did was wink at me! And honestly, that did more for me all night than any man with his hands on me did!" You waved your hands dramatically, completely oblivious to the fact that Noah and Trent were still at the house, forgetting what Jack had told you. You really should call them roommates and not Jack’s friends for how often they overstayed. Layla snorted, steadying you as you wobbled on your heels. 

"You are such a mess," she teased, trying to help you get your shoes off as you stumbled through the entryway.

"I just want his lips all over meee," you whined, pouting dramatically, and unaware of the fact that your voice was now carried into the living room where Trent was sitting. Noah glanced over at Trent, his brows shooting up in amusement as he heard you. You didn't even realize you'd been overheard, lost in your drunken haze. You didn’t need to say a name. They knew. Trent sat up a little straighter on the couch, eyes glued to you as you staggered into the house. His face was neutral, but his jaw tightened as your words lingered in the air. Noah shot him a look and smirked, clearly entertained by the situation.

"So, how was your night?" Noah called out loud enough for you two to hear, the teasing tone in his voice unmistakable. Layla shot him a playful glare. 

"Don't make things worse, Noah," she said, though her lips were twitching with amusement. Trent, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up. 

"Y/N," he said, his voice smooth but commanding, "c’mere." Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His tone wasn't playful or teasing like Noah's-it was firm, and it cut through your drunken fog in an instant. You turned to face him, your eyes wide, and despite the alcohol in your system, the weight of his gaze made you feel giddy. Without even thinking, you moved toward him, your steps a little unsteady but your focus completely on Trent. You dropped down onto the arm of the couch beside him, still smiling, but your stomach was in knots. Why was he looking at you like that? You couldn't quite read him, and it made your heart race. "I'm glad you had fun tonight," Trent said, his eyes not leaving yours. His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you hold your breath. "I'm glad you made it back home... with Layla." Trent's voice was teasing now, but there was an underlying intensity in the way he was looking at you that made your skin tingle. His hand brushed against your knee, and even though it was a light touch, it sent sparks through you. His hands moved to hold your thigh to steady you from falling. But the way his massive hand looked, squeezing your thigh and the way he emphasized ‘with Layla’ implying he was glad you didn’t come home with a man sent a thrill through you. You bit your lip, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it.

"Yeah?" you cooed, leaning slightly closer, drawn to him without even realizing it. You giggled at absolutely nothing. 

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice soft, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made you squirm. There was a cheeLay glint in his eyes. He couldn’t not be mildly amused by you. You were grinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The sounds of the house, the fact that Noah and Layla were still there—it all melted into the background. All you could focus on was the way Trent was looking at you, his expression unreadable in your state, but his gaze unwavering. It felt like there was a magnetic pull between the two of you, and for a moment, you almost leaned in closer, your lips parting slightly as your body reacted instinctively. Noah, still watching from the other side of the room, exchanged a glance with Layla, but neither of them said anything. The tension between you and Trent was palpable, and it seemed like everyone in the room could feel it. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this close to him, or felt this aware of every single movement he made. And as much as you tried to play it off, your body was betraying you. The butterflies in your stomach, the way your pulse quickened with every glance-it was undeniable. Finally Layla pulled on the back of your top dragging you off the arm of the couch. You stumbled to stand. You swayed on your feet, eyes barely focusing as you leaned heavily into Layla’s grip. 

“Layllllaaaa,” you whined, drawing out her name in a drunken slur, but she hushed you quickly.

“I know, I know, just shhh,” Layla whispered, firmly grabbing your shoulders and trying to steer you away from the living room where Noah and Trent were still watching, both amused and concerned. You weren’t having it though. You tried to lean toward her, but your balance betrayed you. 

“I think he’s so pretttyyy,” you whispered—or at least, you thought it was a whisper. In reality, it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Your eyes landed on Trent again, and your sloppy grin only grew wider. Layla let out an exasperated laugh, her grip on you tightening. 

“You’re gonna die tomorrow,” she muttered under her breath, trying not to laugh too much. Noah snickered, leaning back on the couch. 

“Y/N, no.” He laughed. “Embarrassing this,” he teased, shaking his head. “Layla, get her to stop.” You waved off Noah’s comment, your eyes still focused on Trent, who was watching you with a mixture of amusement and worry. His brows furrowed as he stood up, clearly ready to help. 

“Alright, need to get you to bed, drunk girl” he said, his concern more for your well-being than your drunken confession.

“No! No, you… stay right there, thanks, T, ” Layla said quickly, her eyes wide as she turned to face Trent, trying to keep him from getting closer. She knew that the moment Trent moved toward you, you’d start spilling even more of your feelings, and that was not something either of you could handle right now. Trent hesitated, watching you carefully as you stumbled a little in Layla’s grasp. He knew Layla was right, but his instinct to make sure you were okay was hard to ignore. He caught your eyes again, and for a second, you stared back at him, your drunken haze making you bolder than you’d ever be sober. “She was talking about a guy from tonight by the way,” Layla told them, trying to cover for you but it was a poor attempt. Her own words slurred slightly with a laugh. Trent’s lips twitched, and Noah chuckled. Layla was quick to save the moment, dragging you toward the stairs. “Okay, seriously,  time for bed,” she announced, shooting Trent a look as if to say please don’t do anything else. As Layla guided you to the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back at Trent one more time, your heart still fluttering despite the alcohol in your system. His eyes followed you, and for a moment, you swore he almost smiled, but he caught himself, shaking his head slightly. You were a mess, but something about the way he looked at you made your heart race, even in your drunken state. You slumped down on the stairs, too tired to get up them and drunk to carry yourself any further. “Okayyy, come on, we’re going upstairs,” Layla coaxed, looking down at you with a sigh. Turning to the boys, she teased, “You guys have a good night wasting away your 20s.” She shot Noah and Trent a look, knowing they could be out having fun, but had opted for a quiet movie night instead.

“At least we’re not wasted!” he retorted, grinning at Layla. Noah laughed, raising his drink in mock cheers. But Trent wasn’t amused by the joke. He stood up, his face serious, and moved over to where you were sitting on the stairs. 

“Layla, seriously,” he quipped, giving her a knowing look. He understood the caution before but this was just dragging on. You needed to get to bed. So then he turned his attention to you, his voice softening. “C’mere you,” he said gently, and before you knew it, he had effortlessly scooped you up into his arms.

“Hiii,” you whispered softly, your voice slurring as you looked up at him. Your faces were close, so close that you could see the small cluster of freckles just under his eye, something you’d almost forgotten was there.

“Hi,” he replied, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he glanced down at you.

“You’re nice to me,” you earnestly confessed with a giggle, your words filled with drunken sincerity.

“I am,” he confirmed with a quiet chuckle, agreeing with you as he adjusted you in his arms, holding you securely. You gazed up at him, your drunken haze giving you a boldness you wouldn’t have had otherwise. 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes briefly scanning your face. 

“I do,” he admitted, but then added with a teasing smile, “And you’re also drunk, so get to sleep for me, yeah?” You gave a small, tired nod as he carried you into your room. Layla followed closely behind, making sure you didn’t stir up any more drunken confessions. As Trent laid you down gently on the bed, your head spun, but his presence was oddly comforting and igniting wild ideas in your head.

“You’re pretty too,” you mumbled drunkenly as your eyes fluttered open and shut, too tired to see his reaction. Trent smiled to himself, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before stepping back. Layla watched him with a knowing look but didn’t say anything, giving him space to exit quietly but he didn’t. "Laylaaa, the skims," you whined again, your voice slurring as you fumbled with the hem of your top. You were too drunk to manage even that simple task, your arms flailing in frustration. All you wanted was to get out of your clothes and into your favorite pajamas. Layla, herself a bit unsteady but far more sober than you, stumbled toward your dresser, trying to locate the pajamas you always begged for after a night out. 

"Okay, okay, I'm getting them," she muttered, half-laughing as she rifled through the drawer, her own movements slowed by the alcohol. Meanwhile, Trent stood frozen by the door, his eyes catching on the scene before him. You, in your half-dressed, vulnerable state, were peeling your top off over your head, exposing more than you probably realized. His heart raced, and he suddenly found it very hard to look away. This wasn't the first time he'd seen you drunk, not by a long shot. But something about tonight felt different. The way your words had tumbled out earlier, drunk but still sincere— it was all seared into his mind. It wasn't the usual teasing banter he'd come to expect from you. It was raw, unfiltered, and it came directly from you this time, not overheard in the midst of a party not passed along by "T... you can go now," Layla interrupted sharply, snapping him out of his daze. Her voice cut through the fog in his head, reminding him of where he was and that he was dangerously close to crossing a line. She glanced at him with wide eyes and a cheeky grin clearly noticing the tension in the room.

"Uh, yeah, right. Shit, sorry," Trent mumbled, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the thoughts clouding his mind. He turned on his heel, moving toward the door as quickly as he could without looking like he was fleeing. But even as he walked away, the image of you

-tipsy, carefree, peeling off your clothes in front of him-stayed with him. Your tanned smooth skin, the ridge of your spin, the lace of your bra… it was all too much. His mind replayed the way you looked up at him earlier in the night, your gaze soft and inviting, and your words played on a loop in his head. He could still smell the faint hint of your perfume, still feel the crackling tension that had built between you. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, breathing heavily. His heart pounded in his chest. He had to get himself together, or at least pretend to. Back in your room, Layla was still rummaging through the drawers, finally pulling out the set you wanted and tossing it onto the bed.

"Here, now get changed, you lush," she teased, her tone light but her eyes flickering with concern as she glanced at the door Trent had just exited from. You struggled into the pajamas, not noticing the shift in Layla's demeanor, or the way she seemed more aware of the strange charge that had filled the room. She hadn't missed the way Trent's eyes lingered a little too long on you, the way he hesitated as if he were fighting something within himself. "You're a mess, you know that?" Layla laughed, trying to bring the mood back to something light as she flopped down on the bed beside you. You giggled, too drunk to realize what had just happened. 

"But I'm your mess," you teased, hugging a pillow as you settled into the bed. "Mmmm, I want a cuddle," you whined, shifting around in bed, trying to get comfortable grabbing a pillow. You buried your face in the pillow, but it wasn't the comfort you were after. Layla, sitting next to you on the bed, smirked.

"You can cuddle with me," she teased, pulling the blanket over you both and nudging you playfully.

"Nooo, I want a pretty boy," you pouted, your mind already drifting to Trent. You imagined what it would've been like if he hadn't left the room earlier-if he'd stayed, laid down next to you, and pulled you close. Layla raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. 

"Oh, you mean the pretty boy who carried you upstairs and stared at you while you took your top off?" she teased, wrapping an arm around you and squeezing you tight in a playful hug. You could feel the laughter bubbling up between the two of you. "His nonchalance is such a fucking  gimmick," she continued, shaking her head with amusement. "I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching." You giggled, burying your face in your hands as a warm blush spread over your cheeks. 

"Did he... like my tits?" you asked through a fit of laughter, your voice slurring slightly. A bluntness that was carried by alcohol. Layla chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

"I think so," she said, playfully shaking her head. "Pretty sure that was the highlight of his night."

You both burst into laughter, the room filling with the sound of your drunken giggles as you clung to each other. Even in your tipsy haze, your thoughts kept drifting back to Trent. "Okay, sleep please," Layla begged, her voice tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "You can suck his dick later," she added with a teasing laugh, trying to reel you back from your wild thoughts. You grinned mischievously, your eyes glinting under the dim light of your room. 

"Mmm, I know it's big," you replied, almost dreamily, your head still spinning from the drinks and the charged energy between you and Trent. Layla groaned, shaking her head with a laugh.

"Y/N! I was kidding.” She laughed. “You're losing your mind! You can't do this to him," she scolded gently, though the smile on her face betrayed her own amusement at the situation. You huffed, trying to justify the tension that had been crackling between you and Trent all night. 

"Maybe he wants it toooo," you insisted, drawing out the last word as if it made the case stronger. You could still feel the weight of his gaze from earlier, the way his hands felt when he carried you upstairs-it was all too real. Layla rolled her eyes, though her expression softened as she looked at you. 

"Doesn't mean it should happen," she cautioned, her tone more serious now. "Jack's your brother, and Trent's his best friend. You're both walking a tightrope, and you might be taking it a little too far." Drunk or not, you knew she was right. Layla knew how much you liked Trent but she also knew how important Jack was to you. The alcohol made it easy to blur the lines, to give in to temptation, but Layla's words lingered in the air, a reminder that there was more at stake than just a one-night fling. As you drifted off to sleep, the night's events began to fade into the haze of alcohol. But for Trent, the feeling lingered. He knew you weren't just Jack's little sister anymore, and tonight had made that painfully clear. He wondered what would happen if you both ever acknowledged what was brewing between you, a tension that seemed to be growing stronger with each passing day.

•

Thank you for reading! I hope you like the beginning of this new series! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what you think is to come!

Next part - Chapter 2 - Bruises xx

[atiny-piratequeen]

Against the Tide: Eighteenth Dal Segno (Ch. 18 Pt. 2)

Pairing: Poly OT8

•❥ Rating: Explicit (18+)

•❥ Genres: Heavy Angst, Action, Romance, Fluff, Smut, Fantasy

•❥ Series AU Tags: Demon Pirates, Supernatural, Poly Relationship (mxm), Past and Modern Day AU, Mythology Au, Slow Burn, Slice of Life, College Au, Rock Band Au, Happy Ending Endgame

•❥ Chapter Tws: Migraines, Nosebleeds, Blood, Guilt, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Misunderstandings, Poison

•❥ Chapter Sws: Foursome, Consentacle Tentacles (lets go Whiro!), Temperature Play, Comfort Sex, Finger Sucking, Jacob's Ladder Piercing, Hair Pulling, Blowjob, Frottage, Bareback, Auralism, Scent Kink, Cum Swallowing, Biting, Dacryphilia

•❥ WC: 14.6k+ out of 25.5k

•❥ A/N: The blue hellsite's devs are full of shit and my chapter was too big to post all in one so now I have to break it up into two posts. It would be real lovely for my AtTiny enjoyers to make sure to reblog my work when they're finished :3 This was going to be the reveal chapter but it was already 25k so I decided to break it up. Which...was clearly the right option since tumblr's new posting limitations hates me and my big chapters lmao. Thank you for waiting and stay tuned :) Also, if you haven't yet, maybe check out my new universe Ataraxia while you wait for the next chapter?

•❥AO3 | Taglist Form (Please make sure your urls are updated and able to actually be tagged) | Commission Sheet𓆩⟡𓆪

•❥ ©atiny-piratequeen 2024. do not repost, translate, or use my works.

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✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

April 1st

7:34am

-220 Days Remain-

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“Hold your head up. Keep your back straight. Slouching is unbecoming of a Prince.” 

Seonghwa opened his eyes, looking to his left, and spotting the form of his child self, staring at his old instructor. 

Ah, a dream. 

He watched his child self stand straighter, his grey eyes hardening as stared at his instructor, his jaw, as cherub as it may be, locking. 

“Yes, Teacher. I apologize.” 

“Perfect, Prince Seonghwa. Now, raise your sword. To be a leader, you must never show that you are tired. Never show weakness. Those who follow you will sense something is amiss and if their leader is weak, they will lose hope. Even if you know your back is against the wall, you musn’t show your subordinates. Always remember this.” 

Seonghwa’s child self gripped the practice sword tight, nodding as he once again began to swing at the dummy before him, keeping his posture perfect. 

The current Seonghwa watched his younger self before turning, exhaling gently and heading in the opposite direction. 

He walked through rustling trees and the scenery began to melt into something different. 

Intricate designs on the carpet beneath his feet, expensive paintings lining the walls of rulers before him. Beautiful vases full of freshly picked and tended to flowers. 

The hall stopped on two frames. 

One, burned to cinders, of his father. Through the ash and damage, Seonghwa almost could not recognize him. 

He, however, knew the hilt of that falcata well. 

The very one situated on his hip currently. 

Seonghwa grit his teeth and looked to the final frame in the hall of rulers. 

Staring back at him was an image of himself. Or, rather, his other self. 

Inky black hair, piercing ice blue eyes, the deep crimson streaks on his eyes and along his lips. A crown of ice sat atop his head. 

Seonghwa approached ‘himself’, staring into his own eyes. The painting smiled back at him, tilting its head slightly before leaning out of it and towards him. 

The ex prince did not shy away, even when ‘he’ reached out, grabbing his wrist and smearing paint all over Seonghwa’s it, right over his compass stone. 

Seonghwa glanced down before looking back at ‘himself’. 

Crimson lips opened. 

“Come. It is not these halls you wish to walk through, now is it?” 

Seonghwa opened his mouth to question ‘him’, but was yanked through the painting. 

He fell through the painting, careening downwards, eyes widening as the color began to fade around him. His ‘other’ self gripped his hand tight, a wild smile on his face as they fell. 

“Where are we going?” Seonghwa hadn’t opened his mouth, instead he heard his own voice echoing through the space they were falling through. The ‘other’ him glanced over his shoulder at Seonghwa before looking down. 

“The place we’ve been yearning. Even if its for a little bit.” 

Before Seonghwa could reply, the gray blur around him as he fell began to rapidly fill with color once more until it cradled him like a blanket. He could no longer feel ‘him’ holding his hand. 

Seonghwa did not know when he’d closed his eyes again, but when he opened him, he was…home. 

No, not the castle, not the house in Seoul…he was home. 

The scent of salt from the ocean filled his nose first, then the rhythmic sound of water splashing along the hull of The Utopia. 

Seonghwa felt his throat tighten as he looked around. 

“I’ve never cooked swordfish before, but I’m excited to try!” 

He turned his head, watching as Yeosang stood with his hands on his hips, admiring the giant swordfish Jongho and Whiro had hefted aboard. San and Wooyoung stood not too far off, with Wooyoung singing a song they’d picked up in the last port town, slowly forming a new set of knives for their beloved chef to hack apart the fish for easier transport down into the galley. 

“I don’t care what ya do with it, just make it good for all the damn effort it took for us to bring this big ass fish up here, yeah?”

“Don’t be so fucking rude when asking for something, jackass.” 

Yeosang smiled patiently as Whiro rose from Jongho’s skin, growling and starting another one of their usual arguments. 

“Thanks so much, Doc. I drank that concoction you gave me yesterday and I feel leagues better than I did before!” Sana cheered, slapping Yunho on the back before she rushed over to get to work, tying her hair back as she did. 

Yunho watched her go with a smile, muttering thanks to Geb as he checked his watch and startled. 

“Ah! I’m late! I have to feed Atlas.” He rushed past Seonghwa, smiling and waving at him before hurrying below the deck. Seonghwa waved back and continued walking, finding Mingi seated on a barrel, glasses balanced on his nose as he scanned whatever was on the report in his hands. 

Seonghwa felt his heart clench for a moment. 

He stopped in front of Mingi. His presence drew the boatswain’s attention in an instant, with Mingi peering up at him over the rim of his glasses. Once he realized who it was, he set the report down. 

The dark-haired man sent him a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey! We’re lookin’ good. I think I finally got the hang of the numbers Cap’n wants to keep while also being mindful of resourc-Oh!”Mingi stopped short when Seonghwa threw his arms around his frame. 

He looked at the First Mate with concern before closing his eyes and rubbing his back. 

“It’s not like you to slouch, Seonghwa.” 

“I just want to hold you again, it’s been so long. Please…please let me just hold you a little longer.” Seonghwa almost didn’t recognize his own voice as he pushed it out. Mingi hummed before looking towards the sky, exhaling a small, good-natured laugh. 

“You’ll hurt your back if you don’t stand up straight.” 

“To hell with my back. To hell with it all. I just want to fix this. I miss…I miss this. I miss us. All of us.” 

Mingi gently pulled him away, smiling at him and cocking his head. 

“I know you do. After all, if it were just him you cared about, wouldn’t you have run into him first?”

Seonghwa watched as Mingi hopped off of the barrel, standing taller than him and cupping his face. His rough thumbs wiped Seonghwa’s cheeks of tears that had yet to fall. 

“I need to get stronger.” 

“I agree with you.” 

Seonghwa stared at Mingi, his heart pounding as the boatswain leaned in. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, expecting to feel the phantom brush of lips against his own. 

Instead, Mingi placed his lips near the shell of his ear. 

“We are in the past, Seonghwa. Nothing is going to change that. You can only change the future.” 

Seonghwa exhaled shakily, holding Mingi tighter. He pulled the ex prince closer and set his chin on his shoulder. 

“Regardless of what has happened, what will happen. I want you to know something. Take it to heart, okay?” Mingi ran his fingers over the fabric of Seonghwa’s clothes, admiring it as he spoke. 

“What lies behind you and what lies in front of you…that all pales in comparison to what lies inside of you, Seonghwa. And this goes for all of us.” Mingi pulled away for the last time, stopping to steal a long awaited kiss from Seonghwa’s lips. He kept their heads together, staring into Seonghwa’s teary eyes before grabbing his report and turning. 

“Go on, you should see him before you wake up.” 

With that, he walked away from Seonghwa, leaving the ex prince there to collect himself. 

It took the blonde longer than he would like to admit, but once he did, he exhaled and turned on his heel, rushing through the bodies on the ship. 

He did not care for the fact that he ran through some figures, with them blurring into vague aberrations before returning to the familiar faces of his old crew members, going about their business as if they hadn’t been disturbed. 

He found him on the quarter-deck, his back to him as he checked the compass in his hand. 

Seonghwa flew over, hugging him tight, burying his face into his back and letting the tears he’d barely reeled in freefall from his eyes. 

The man grunted before he glanced back, chuckling softly and placing a hand on Seonghwa’s.

That laugh, that beautiful sound. 

“It’s not often I see ya cryin’. Can’t say I’m a fan of seein' ya all messed up like this when yer not feelin’ good.” Captain Hongjoong turned in his arms, kissing the top of Seonghwa’s head and then laughing when the prince pulled him into a desperate kiss with no fanfare. 

“Please, stay with me. All of you please don’t go again. I…I don’t want to wake up please just let me stay.” 

Hongjoong looked at him before he glanced off towards the sea. There was a pained look in his eyes, but it was gone a moment later, as he turned his attention back to Seonghwa. 

“I know it’s unfair, but I’m askin’ ya to stand up straight and be strong.”

Seonghwa felt pain in his chest as he stood up, watching as Hongjoong leaned over the monkey rail. He wanted to scramble to grab him, to yank him back into his arms, but the rational side of him knew if he panicked, he’d awaken from this much earlier than he was willing to risk. 

Not now. Please, not now. 

He just wanted to talk for a bit longer. Just to hear his lover’s voice. Seonghwa focused when Hongjoong’s voice carried over the sound of the splashing waves. 

“What do you think it means to be a Captain?”

Seonghwa stared at Hongjoong’s back for a long time, watching as he gazed down to the deck below. Occasionally, someone would look up, notice the man's watchful eye, and give him a respectful nod, a wave, a fist pat across their own chest in acknowledgment.

Seonghwa watched them silently. 

“I haven't the slightest clue, putois. I don’t…I don’t think I’ve done you any justice in your… absence.” Seonghwa cringed, glancing at the deck below his feet. 

Hongjoong laughed and leaned on the wooden rail, the wind sweeping his hair. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. 

“Ah, after all of this time, you’re still thinkin' with that Princely mindset, eh?  C’mon, Seonghwa, think out of tha box!”

Seonghwa’s lip curled but he held back the tongue lashing he had for him, instead watching Hongjoong shift from foot to foot, humming. 

“To me,” he started. “Every breath I take is for my crew. I would do anything for them. No pain is too great. No injury too grave. As long as I can move, I will ensure my crew is protected.”

Seonghwa looked down at the men shuffling about, lips slightly pursed. He could see Daniel gently motioning in a direction, followed by half a dozen members trotting down below the deck in mismatched harmony, carefree smiles on their faces. 

His eyes drifted back to Hongjoong.

“And what about you?”

Hongjoong glanced over his shoulder.

“What about me? I have this gift now. And with it, I protect my crew. My ship. I can be cut to pieces, but the moment I mend myself back, I will come back. Better. Stronger. This is what a Captain does. At least to me. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much sleep I lose, I pledged to do right by my crew.”

Seonghwa hummed, closed his eyes, and let out a shaky exhale.

What it means to be a Captain, huh?

“I don’t think I have what it takes.” 

“I think that’s bullshit.” 

Seonghwa opened his eyes, and all seven of his lovers stood before him.  He looked around, his brows pinching together as his lip wobbled again. Hongjoong walked over to him, cupping his cheek. 

“I have to go, Seonghwa. It’s about that time, eh?” 

“No! No wait, please!”

“It’s going to be okay. I believe in you. I wouldn’t have trusted my crew with you if I didn’t. Don’t give up. Not when you’ve found me. Keep going.” 

“Hongjoong, I can’t, okay?! I’ve..I’ve ruined everything. Mingi hates me…you don’t remember us, please. Just…just let me stay-”

“It’s time to wake up, Seonghwa.” 

Seonghwa watched as the man before him changed, the shaggy chestnut mullet now a well trimmed and fluffy black and white nest of loose curls. Soft, honey brown eyes stared up at him and Seonghwa looked down at the image of the current Hongjoong. 

“I…I don’t want to wake up-”

The musician placed his hand on the center of Seonghwa’s chest. 

“Get up, Seonghwa.”

“No! No, no, no, just a bit longer-”

“It’s time to get up.”

Hongjoong pushed him, and Seonghwa found himself powerless to stop it, falling back with the image of his lovers staring back at him being the last thing he saw before he fell through the deck. 

Once again…the color around him began to fade to gray as the ship got further and further away.

And then-

“CHEESE WILL PERFORM LIFE SAVING MEASURES! EVERYONE STAND BACK!”

Seonghwa jolted up, the sensation of falling the second time triggering his instincts. In an instant, Cheese came storming towards him, knocking him out of his bed and onto the floor before pressing onto his chest. 

“Live, Master Captain Seonghwa!!! LIIIIIIVE!”

“C-Cheese, he’s immortal, he doesn’t need you to do chest compressions-” San frowned, brows furrowed. Whiro cackled from where he’d pulled himself up from Jongho’s skin. 

“No, no, please let him continue, this is fuckin’ hilarious.”

Jongho rolled his eyes and made his way over, picking Cheese up and frowning down at the oldest immortal. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

Seonghwa sat staring at the ceiling in shock for a moment before he pushed himself up into a sitting position. 

Jongho and Yunho stood closest to his bed, worried expressions on their faces. Wooyoung was not too far off, holding a bowl of cool water as Yeosang wrang out a rag, paused mid-way as he stared at Seonghwa, bewildered. San sighed, setting aside the smelling salts he had fished out of Yunho’s room, pursing his lips in concern. 

Mingi stood in the doorway, quietly observing. 

“You were…screaming and crying in your sleep. We couldn’t wake you at all. Are…are you alright?” Yeosang inquired, rushing over to place the rag on his head. Seonghwa momentarily forgot the nature of the very powers inside of him, instead relaxing the instant the cool rag touched his head. 

He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his eyes and throat stung, proof of the aforementioned screaming and crying episodes. Yunho ducked down and picked him up, setting him in his bed and holding a hand over his body. A faint green glow emitted from it as he seemed to check Seonghwa’s body with his powers. 

“Your vitals are good. It seems it was only a nightmare. However, I am detecting traces of-” Geb’s tender voice sounded from Yunho’s lips and Seonghwa shook his head, cutting him off. 

“I’m fine, Geb, please don’t worry.”

Yeosang clenched his fists.

“You’re doing it again. Why?”

Seonghwa’s gaze lifted to Yeosang, blinking in surprise.

“Doing…? What am I-”

“Did you know? Your scent changes when you lie. When you tell half truths, even. Everyone’s does.” Yeosang walked up, eyes blazing. Seonghwa stared up at him, pressing his lips together. There was a flash of something in his eyes, Mingi knew it well. The oldest of their group of immortals didn’t like to be challenged, and would usually respond accordingly. 

However, this time, as quickly as the look crossed his face, it was gone, replaced with a stone-esque poker face, albiet a bit too late for those who knew him well.

So…everyone in the room. 

“Yeosang, there is no need to be concerned.”

“Show me your side. Lift your shirt up, actually.”

“....”

“If there’s no need for concern, there’s no reason to not show me, right? My nose can just as easily be playing tricks, right?” He pointed to Seonghwa, eyes bleeding to crimson.

“Explain to me why I smell your blood, since there is no cause for concern, Park Seonghwa.”

A silence fell over the room that instantly made the air stifling. Seonghwa rubbed his tired eyes and let out an exhausted sigh before sending his lovers a smile that didn’t convince a single one of them he had pulled it together. 

“I…truly do not wish for any more fighting between us. I’ve been the reason for so much, already. They will heal. I’m sorry to disturb everyone so early. Thank you for checking on me. I…need to organize my thoughts and I will be alright.” He ran a hand through Cheese’s fur as he spoke to them. 

San looked down as he did. Seonghwa’s hand was trembling. 

“Seonghwa…” Yeosang realized his out of character outburst had made the man put up his walls again. A pang of guilt struck him hard and reached for him. Seonghwa caught his hand, turning it in one fluid movement and placing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He spoke softly, a sense of finality in his tone. 

Drop it, please.

“We’re gonna get him back, Hwa.” San sat on the edge of the bed, putting his hand over Seonghwa’s free one. The ex prince let out a small exhale. He turned his hand up, taking San’s in his and raising it to his lips like he had done with Yeosang’s. San didn’t move, his expression softening as Seonghwa brushed his lips over his knuckles and pressed San’s palm to his cool cheek. 

“I…I know. I won’t stop until I do. I want…to be a man worthy of guiding and loving all of you.” His normally sure and bold voice came out as a mere whisper. 

Wooyoung came to his side quickly. 

“Of course you are!” 

Seonghwa could sense out of his peripheral that Mingi was still there, watching quietly. He had the hindsight not to glance in his direction and risk sending the wrong message. Instead, he closed his eyes, speaking clearly as he held San’s hand in place. 

“Do not misunderstand. I do not say these words because I wish for any of you to feel pity for me. I say them because I have made grave mistakes and I wish to atone for them. Until I do, how can I look any of you in the eyes and call myself a leader? How can I call myself an adequate lover when I have let you all down so tremendously?”

Jongho glanced at Yunho, who seemed to have a comment on the tip of his tongue but refrained. A guilty look settled on his face instead. 

‘I’ve pushed him too much, Geb.’

‘Perhaps.’

“My actions and…the harm they have caused are my own. It is on me to right these wrongs. My body will heal from these wounds in time. With that being said,” Seonghwa got out of his bed, looking around everyone in the room. 

“I wish to try that trial once more. But I don’t want anyone to feel rushed or pressured into doing it instantly like we had before.” he ran a hand through his hair and nodded. 

“I will be down for breakfast soon, I just…I would like to shower first, I'm covered in sweat. Thank you all for checking on me.” He stood, gently maneuvering around Cheese so the canine didn't fall. 

His remaining lovers exchanged concerned glances at one another before Jongho reached for him, catching his wrist and sending him a smile. 

“Mind if we join?”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, before he glanced down, finding a shadow subtly looped around his ring finger, tugging gently. 

The ex prince looked up, pressing his lips together to hide the small wobble. Gods, was he not done with the crying? Did it follow him into the waking world?

“C'mon.” Even Whiro regarded him with a tender tone, and Seonghwa found himself nodding, his feet slightly dragging along the cool floors. 

Mingi stepped out of the doorway as Jongho and Whiro ushered Seonghwa out.

“Seonghwa,”

The blonde perked, looking over his shoulder at Mingi. He rubbed his arm slightly, looking to the floor. Cheese had appeared at his side, rubbing against his leg before sitting at his feet.

“...Make sure to wash your face. It's…puffy. And, um. Drink water. So you don't get a headache. From the…crying and all.”

Seonghwa slow blinked at him before he let out a small exhale, the tears he'd been trying to force back down flowing from his face at the clear-albeit a bit awkwardly executed-words of concern.

“Thank you, Mingi. I'll be back soon.” Seonghwa’s voice somehow remained stable despite his tears (and the occasional laughs as he tried to wipe his face)

Jongho ducked down, looping his arm under the taller immortal's legs, picking him up.

“I got you. Just put your head on our shoulder and let us take it from here.” Jongho’s voice grew further from everyone as he carried Seonghwa down the hall.

Yeosang looked at the floor, guilt tearing at him. He quietly excused himself, cursing in several tongues as he maneuvered past his lovers. 

“I…I’ll make breakfast…”He trailed off, the usual excitement in his voice to do so gone as he jogged downstairs.

It wasn’t like him to lose his cool like that, but he could see the clear hurt on Seonghwa’s face and it was like watching a horrible accident in slow motion.

Still in the doorway, Mingi glanced into the room at the remaining occupants before ruffling Cheese's fur.

“Come on, let's go help Yeosang.” He nodded towards the stairs and Cheese happily trotted after him. 

In the bathroom, Seonghwa watched as Jongho and Whiro spoke back and forth to one another in Māori, moving about the room and grabbing different items. 

“Should we do a bath or shower?”

“Shower. I don't know if he's going to want to sit and be in his own head in a bath. Plus, foxy is making breakfast. It'd be rude to let it get cold by spending all day in the tub.”

Seonghwa couldn't understand a word they were saying, but he could tell they were working harmoniously, probably bouncing ideas off of one another.

“It's…nice seeing you two like this.” He softly spoke. Jongho perked for a moment before he extended his hand.

“We love you.” 

Seonghwa took his hand without hesitation, leaning into his space and holding his forearms gently. He pressed their foreheads together, staring into Jongho’s eyes. 

He noticed the right one had gone red, and his gentle smile grew as half of Jongho’s silken locks went blonde. 

“Couldn't wait your turn?” Seonghwa tried to jest but both of them cupped his face.

“I'm okay with sharing.”

“Just enjoy the pampering, pretty boy.”

Seonghwa ignored the latter response, closing his eyes and letting both tug him into a kiss. 

The two of them kissed him with a sense of gentleness foreign to Seonghwa. He was used to the demanding push and pull energies Whiro often put into his kisses, fighting without pause to control every aspect. 

Kissing Jongho was like approaching a newborn fawn in a way. He was far from the most delicate of the bunch. Still, Seonghwa always held in his subconscious the boundaries that the youngest had set in regards to his personal space and what did or didn't make him uncomfortable in moments in intimacy, even if he insisted on it being 'okay because it's you'.

Now, in this moment, Seonghwa felt he was being lead through the kiss. Their lips moved against his, and once he closed his eyes, he found he couldn't tell if it was Whiro or Jongho kissing him when the two had begun to switch off every now and again. 

A shadow wrapped around his hip, pulling him closer until Jongho wrapped a strong arm around his midsection, pulling him into the shower and pressing him against the wall under the overhead spray. 

Seonghwa cracked his eyes open, staring through a half lidded smolder. He was met one deep crimson eye and one dark brown one staring back at him, two toned silken locks clinging to Jongho/Whiro's body. 

"You two weren't kidding about sharing, huh? How long has it been since I've seen this?" Seonghwa spoke softly, a cool hand coming up to touch what was now Whiro's cheek as he kissed under Jongho's eye. 

"We'll take care of you. Don't worry ‘bout it." 

Seonghwa smiled softly and let the two pamper him, relaxing and giving himself up to them. 

For a little while, he’d just let his mind shut off. 

“Seonghwa, do you want to tell us what happened to cause these?” Jongho touched the purple splotches littering Seonghwa’s body, frowning at the wounds the ex-prince had been hiding underneath his clothes. 

“Training,” Seonghwa answered, cringing slightly as Jongho’s fingers brushed over some of them. He hissed slightly before avoiding the sharp gaze the Maori man (and Whiro) fixed him with. 

“Who did this to you?” Both of them growled out. Seonghwa shook his head and laced his fingers with theirs. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me? If that’s your intention, how about you make me forget instead?”

The two of them leveled him with a stare before they moved in for a kiss. 

“Consider it done.”

Down in the kitchen, Yeosang stirred his pot with a conflicted look on his face. 

Everything around him seemed to be caving in on itself and he still felt they were leagues away from actually being ‘on the same page’. And he’d hurt one of the loves of his life.

How much longer was he going to be a useless backdrop while everything happened around him? If he stood aside and let the others do all the heavy lifting, he was nothing but a bystander.

He should know, more than anyone, the harm that causes.

The kitsune grit his teeth and set the handle to his spoon on fire.

“Y-Yeosang?!” Mingi’s voice made him focus and he put the fire out in an instant. 

“Sorry, I just…” He let out a frustrated sigh and took the apron off, tossing it aside.

“Mingi, most of it is ready, you only need to stirr it in ten minutes and then let it simmer for another five and then you can all eat. Don’t wait for me.” 

He spoke with an authority they weren’t used to as he made his way upstairs. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to do something. Had to say something. Seonghwa was doing it again, taking so much on his plate in order to take the chaos off of the others.

But he wasn’t making it any better, putting him on the spot, lashing out at him…it broke Yeosang’s heart watching those icy walls go up. 

‘Communication, Yeosang. By the gods, talk to each other’ 

How much longer was he going to sit on the sidelines passively, hoping a ‘positive attitude’ and his cooking would continue to put bandaids on the problem?

Gods, he could hear his sister laughing at him in back of his mind. 

“Look at you, a big crybaby with no backbone. This kingdom can’t be led with anyone like you.”

The kitsune marched directly up to the bathroom, opening the door abruptly and coming face to face with Seonghwa covering his mouth, stifling noises as Jongho and Whiro washed him probably a lot more thoroughly for it to be considered ‘innocent’. 

“Gods above and fucking below-What is it?” Whiro grunted, barely hiding his annoyance. Jongho was a lot more understanding, turning his head towards Yeosang. 

“What’s wrong? Do you need us?”

Seonghwa seemed to have been sobered out of his daze, body tensing despite the swearing from Whiro at the immediate reversal of what he and Jongho had tried to do. 

“I…” Yeosang’s ears got hot as he stared, losing track of what it was he exactly wanted to articulate. Whiro noticed and rolled his eye, picking Seonghwa up unceremoniously. 

“Fuck’s sake, Foxy. If you’re gonna interrupt when someone’s in the middle of somethin’, at least have your shit together. Come on.” he stopped in front of Yeosang and tossed him over Jongho’s other shoulder. 

He carried the two ex princes unceremoniously down the hall to his room and opened the door with a shadow, dropping them both to the bed. 

Both Seonghwa and Yeosang bounced and Yeosang opened his mouth to let out a flustered serious of noises before he caught sight of purple splotches all over Seonghwa’s body and slowly-healing wounds. 

“My gods they’re worse than I thought-”

Seonghwa looked at them before looking away. 

“They’re from training, I’ll heal back up. Really, it’s not that bad.”

“What the hell training are you doing that you haven’t healed up the next day? You heal faster than I do; if it were a simple cut, they’d be gone. Who did this to you?” He panicked, looking at the splotches. Seonghwa glanced away. 

It’d cause a lot of trouble if he said he’d been poisoned by Hongjoong’s brother, wouldn’t it? He didn’t want anyone getting mad at Yuta. As much of a little shit as he may have been, he still only fought Seonghwa at his request. 

“I’ll be alright, please do not worry. These are just healing slower.”

Yeosang cupped his face and forced their foreheads together, staring into his eyes. 

“Why won’t you lean on us? Why do you keep putting yourself through hell alone?” 

Seonghwa’s eyes widened before he sighed. 

“Yeosang-”

“I hate to interrupt, I really do, but Whiro and I were trying to get his mind off of things and I don’t want things to spiral back into that right now.” Jongho cut in, moving to grab some bandages and salves from his dresser. Geb and Yunho had made sure every room in the house had it stocked. 

It was polite, but the message was clear; 

Get out if you’re going to upset him again.

Yeosang looked at Seonghwa and pressed his lips into a line. 

“Give me the salve, I’ll help.”

Seonghwa blinked in surprise as Yeosang began gently rubbing the salve onto various parts of his body, his concern shining on his face. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.” Yeosang muttered, hand shaking as he looked at the wounds. 

Now that he was focusing, they were slashes caused by some sort of blade…the edges of the torn skin were glowing faintly, and Yeosang worried his lip between his teeth. 

“I…I’m sorry…I lashed out at you and that was not…even remotely appropriate.” He spoke softly. Seonghwa’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension and he hummed, only hissing slightly at the sting of the salve.

“I understand. I’m sorry for worrying you.” He hummed. Yeosang pressed his lips into a line, eyes bouncing from wound to wound.

Who the fuck did this? Who the hell had….what he assumed was poison strong enough to slow down an immortal’s healing? Seonghwa’s healing was a league of its own, coming only after Yunho, Jongho, and their Captain. 

“Raise your head, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa tilted his head back and let out a muffled noise of surprise when Jongho cupped his face, kissing him deep and slow. Yeosang’s ears twitched, glancing up a the men kissing above his head. Jongho held him firmly, tilting his head once and keeping Seonghwa locked in the intimate kiss without pause.

He could smell the way Seonghwa’s scent changed, sweetening subtly as he leaned into it a few moments after realizing Jongho was not giving him a mere peck.

Yearning. Need.

Yeosang liked this a lot more than the wilted scent that had clung to Seonghwa as of late. He’d…figure out what to do later in regards to easing the conflict in his partner’s heart. For now, he shifted his focus, wanting to match Jongho and Whiro’s energy when it came to distracting the blonde from his troubles, even if for a few moments.

His tails appeared and he curled one against Jongho’s waist, pulling him close before he leaned over to one of the gashes, pressing a warm kiss to Seonghwa’s chest. 

Each kiss left a lingering warm tingle to the ice prince’s body and he arched into both kisses, droplets of water rolling down his body. 

“S’pose we should dry him before moving on, hm?” Whiro reminded them, smiling devilishly at the dazed and needy look that had once again graced Seonghwa’s face. 

Yeosang waited until the Maori men moved away from Seonghwa’s lips before he leaned up, cupping his face and kissing him breathless, pushing him onto his back.

“Yeosa-mmff-” Seonghwa groaned, his hair clinging to his forehead and his neck as Yeosang poured all of his emotion into the kiss, tails stroking his arms, abdomen, and legs, leaving feather-like trails of warmth in their wake. 

“H-Hold on, wait-” Seonghwa blushed, cheeks ignting as he broke the kiss. Yeosang panted, holding his gaze, worry shining in his expression. 

“Did I hurt you?”

Seonghwa laughed gently, an alluring and sticky-sweet scent drifting off of him. 

“N-No.”

Yeosang tilted his head before a shadow worked its way between them, lifting him enough to get Seonghwa back in a sitting positon. 

“If that’s the mood you’re in, I’m happy to oblige. Let’s get you wrapped up, first.” Jongho’s voice cut in. Yeosang glanced down, his cheeks going beet red when he noticed Seonghwa had gotten aroused from the touches and kisses. 

“You don’t have to-”

“We want to, pretty boy. Trust me.”

Seonghwa’s lips parted in surprise before he looked down at Yeosang, a rare embarrassed expression crossing his face. Yeosang grabbed the bandages and began patching Seonghwa up, leaving kisses after each one. 

“I want to, as well. If you’ll have me.”

Jongho smiled and put his head on Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Now we’re on the same page.”

It took minutes before Seonghwa was splayed across Jongho’s lap, his chest rising and falling quickly as Jongho’s shadows stroked and caressed along his skin, tugging gently to leave him spread open for Yeosang to kiss and caress down his body. 

“Y-You don’t have to be so ge-gentle with me.”

“Really? Because you’re enjoying it just fine.” Whiro taunted, rising off of Jongho’s arms, taking his spot beside Yeosang between Seonghwa’s legs, kissing and biting at his thighs. 

Seonghwa let out a startled gasp before feeling Jongho’s fingers turn his head to kiss him, pressing flush against his back. 

“It’s okay. We got you.” Jongho muttered between his lips. Seonghwa whimpered before his hips jerked upwards, engulfed by the soft warmth of Yeosang’s mouth. 

Yeosang’s tails swayed and wagged gently, brushing along all three of the men. He kept his eyes up on Seonghwa, crimson eyes gleaming as he studied Seonghwa’s face. 

How long had it been since he’d seen this look?

The one the ex prince and First Mate wore well. The utterly ruined yet sultry expression that fit so well. His eyes rolling back, brows pinched together, tongue flicking out of his mouth-

Jongho reached around and tapped two of his fingers against Seonghwa’s lips, smiling in approval from behind him and kissing his shoulder as Seonghwa closed his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking as he spread his legs wider.

‘Gorgeous….’ Yeosang mused, swallowing around Seonghwa as he stared lovingly at the two. Whiro shifted from beside him, trailing rough fingers through his silken fur before he grabbed the base of them.

Yeosang jerked, nearly choking on Seonghwa’s cock as the deity turned his attention to him. 

“Stay focused, Foxy. Look at how good you’re doing.”

Yeosang shivered, feeling Whiro’s big hand tangle into his hair, guiding him up and down on Seonghwa’s length while holding him at an angle where he could see both Jongho and Seonghwa peering down at him. 

Yeosang felt himself throbbing before he moaned, sinking deeper and keening when he felt the head of Seonghwa’s cock brush against the back of his throat. 

“F-Fuhhh-”Seonghwa whimpered, drooling around Jongho’s fingers as he twitched. The shadows tightened around his thighs slightly before Whiro smirked, holding his head down for a few moments as he casually spoke to their blonde lover. 

“You’re making a mess, pretty boy. Been that long since you had something occupy your mouth?”

Seonghwa shuddered, body hyper sensitive. 

Gods, how long had it been?

“That’s not good. Knowing you, you haven’t even touched yourself, either?” Jongho sighed softly, biting and suckling his shoulder until a splotchy mark was left on the side of his neck. 

“H-Hadn’t crossed..nn..my mind. Been…occupied-”

“And that’s enough of that for now.” Jongho cut him off, using his free hand to come around and tease his nipple, making eye contact with Whiro across from then and tilting his head towards Yeosang.

Being connected like this had its perks and one of them was that they didn’t have to share their thoughts verbally. 

Yeosang hadn’t even realized Whiro’s hand was out of his hair until it returned to his tails, pushing them up and out of the way as he kissed and bit along the curve of his ass cheek.

Yeosang gasped and jerked, feeling those shadows tug his knees apart so he had better access. 

He glanced back at him, flushed and embarassed when the god spread him wide without hesitation. 

“Don’t worry about me, Darling. I’m just having breakfast. You focus on making our favorite blondie feel good.”

Yeosang’s tails flexed and trembled before curling around the three men in some way, shape, or form as Whiro’s tongue delved into him. 

Seonghwa cupped his jaw, sending him an adoring gaze as he moved his thumb lower, brushing his fingers over the slight bulge of Yeosang’s throat. 

“My darling fox. N-Ngh, thank you so much.” He praised him softly, thighs twitching and flexing in the shadows’ grip. Jongho smiled and moved his lips to his ear. 

“Your drooling all over yourself, Hwa.”

Seonghwa glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye, his teeth grazing along his fingers before sucking suggestively, curling his tongue around the calloused digits before sticking his tongue out between them, letting a bead of his saliva fall between them. 

Jongho narrowed his gaze at him, throbbing at the display. 

“I’m supposed to be gentle with you this morning, don’t make this harder on me.” 

Seonghwa’s lips quirked, challenging him with a subtle cock to his head. 

“I’m in your care.”

Yeosang’s voice drew their attention back between Seonghwa’s legs as he arched his back and let out a loud moan, trembling as Whiro’s tongue curled deep inside of him. 

‘Almost forgot how cute this one sounds’ Whiro’s voice echoed in Jongho’s head and he smiled, watching Yeosang’s eyes shine brighter, his tails twitching and wagging, going back and forth between clinging to them and jerking with each breathy and muffled gag and moan that came from his muffled lips.

“C-Close, hold on-” Seonghwa moved to reach for Yeosang’s head, trying to pull his hips back in a feeble attempt to still him so he didn’t cum down his throat. 

Two of Yeosang’s tails flew up the moment he did, grabbing his wrist and keeping him from stopping him as he looked up at him once more, holding his gaze as he sped his head up. 

“He’s doing his best to make you feel good, Seonghwa. You don’t have to hold back right now.” Jongho coaxed him, reaching down and cupping his balls, speaking into his ear once more. 

“Look at how desperate he looks, are you really going to keep it from him?” 

Seonghwa arched, body shuddering. Whiro rumbled from behind Yeosang, pulling away from the mess he’d made of his ass to lean over him, partially pinning him in place and grinning wildly up at Seonghwa as he took one of the kitsune’s ears between his teeth. 

“Don’t waste a drop, Foxy.”

Yeosang arched and swallowed hard the moment he felt Whiro’s canines clamp down on his fluffy ear. Everything was dizzying for the kitsune, the scent of arousal, need , and desperation along with everyone’s voices was driving him mad. 

Did none of them think about his poor heart? He could smell and hear everything tenfold because of what he was. 

If the deep, growling chuckle coming from the god currently pressing his cock against his ass as he suggestively caressed his throat where Seonghwa had made him bulge was anything to go by, he was sure they all knew exactly what the hell they were doing to him. 

The moment Yeosang and Seonghwa locked eyes again, the older of the two ex princes cried out in delight, arching his back as much as he could in Jongho’s strong grip, thick, sweet ropes of cum coating Yeosang’s throat. 

The smaller man let out a muffled moan, cumming messily onto the sheets below. Yeosang mewled, eyes fluttering momentarily as he swallowed each drop eagerly. It took a colossal effort for him to keep them open, but he wanted to drink in every expression on Seonghwa’s face. 

He slowly pulled off with a wet pop when he was sure Seonghwa had finished his first orgasm. 

The blonde sat there in a daze, panting with his legs spread wide by the shadows. Jongho kissed his shoulder, tracing patterns and symbols on his abs as he throbbed against the small of Seonghwa’s back. 

“Did that feel good? Your voice cracked for a moment.” He rumbled, leaving a biting kiss on the top of his shoulder. Seonghwa groaned and looked behind him. 

“You haven’t came yet. Don’t stop. Please,”

“We’re not done, Hwa. Far from it.”

While the two spoke and changed positions so Jongho could stretch him properly after getting lube, Yeosang felt a firm grip turn his head. 

He found himself staring deep into Whiro’s crimson eyes, and his breath caught for a moment. 

“Now, what’s a position fitting enough for the cute little cook that keeps all of us nice and fed mm?”

Yeosang shuddered and scanned his expression, lips parting before he closed them, shyness overtaking him. 

“Oh no no. You’re gonna tell me. Go on, tell me how you want it. I’ll do it, Yeosang.”

Yeosang would later reflect and curse himself at the way he’d gasped at Whiro calling his name. His eyes widened for a moment before he bit his lip and leaned close to his ear, shakily whispering to the god. 

In hindsight, he wasn’t sure why. The only one who couldn’t hear him would be Seonghwa. 

He was preoccupied with other matters, though, his cheeks going bright red when Whiro easily picked him up, setting him on top of Seonghwa with his knees at either side of Jongho’s hips.

The first thing both men realized with the new position was the temperature . 

Due to the nature of their powers, Seonghwa's skin and tongue always ran cold, while Yeosang was opposite of him. Both of them being chest to chest like this created an immediate back and forth between their body temperatures that made both of them writhe. 

Said writhing lead to both of their cocks rutting against one another. 

Both of them jolted again before Seonghwa reached out and grabbed Yeosang’s face, kissing him sloppily. Yeosang could tell he’d chilled his tongue on purpose and he responded in kind, raising the temperature of his own tongue slightly as he humped the older immortal. 

“Can’t have you forgettin’ about us, can we?” Whiro’s deep growling voice made Yeosang’s ear flick backwards, though he found himself unable to break the kiss. Instead, he subtly spread his knees wider, lifting his hips and raising his tails to present himself to the fractored deity. 

If the growl he was met with was anything to go by, his display was well appreciated. 

‘I’m going to fucking ruin him’ The god growled, still taking care to make sure he was properly lubricated. Jongho watched the two kiss on top of him and guided his own cock to Seonghwa’s prepped entrance, meeting Whiro’s gaze over both of their shoulders. 

There was a mutual understanding as they pushed into their respective princes at the same time. 

Yeosang groaned, nearly breaking the kiss if Seonghwa didn’t cup his cheeks, kissing him with renewed fervor as he clenched around Jongho’s cock. His eyes fluttered as each piercing rubbed against his rim before massaging along his walls once the ex gunner was fully settled inside. The kitsune rutting against him was equally delighted by the additional pleasure the piercings caused as Whiro’s cock mirrored Jongho’s, throbbing inside of Yeosang as he bit down on his ear again. 

“N-Ngh! S-Stop biting them, they’re sensitive-”

“That’s exactly why I’m gonna continue. Especially when you sound like that afterwards.” Whiro teased against the fur, grinding deep into him as he gripped the base of his tails. 

Yeosang’s eyes widened and he bucked, his cock drooling messily against Seonghwa’s as he swore in a different tongue. 

Jongho, on the other hand, reached around to hug Seonghwa’s midsection, keeping him from moving too much and possibly sliding his cock out. 

“You’re clenching me s-so tight. Mmm…fuck, I’m not going anywhere, Seonghwa, don’t worry. I’m right here.” He coaxed the ex prince into relaxing with his honeyed words, his hands roaming, calloused fingers mapping out Seonghwa’s body like it was the first time. 

Seonghwa finally broke the kiss, reaching behind Yeosang and fisting a handful of Whiro’s blonde locks, yanking him down roughly to kiss him as feverishly. 

Yeosang squirmed, effectively pinned between the god and the First Mate. His ears flicked, hearing every growl and groan directly beside his head as Seonghwa and Whiro bit and kissed at each other. 

“Y-Yeosangie~ Mmm-”

Jongho’s voice drew his attention and he looked down, finding the man had raised his chin, staring adoringly at him as he subtly puckered his lips. 

Yeosang didn’t hesitate, maneuvering around and eventually settling for pushing Seonghwa’s thighs up and folding him with his weight as he sought out Jongho’s lips.

Seonghwa’s moans rose an octave at the stretch, though his body was flexible enough to accommodate the new position, his heart pounding and his cock throbbing as he broke the kiss for air. 

Whiro growled, wrapping shadows around Seonghwa and Yeosang’s cocks, keeping them trapped together as he stroked them in time with his thrusts that began to steadily increase in speed until he was pounding the kitsune into the First Mate. 

“Yes! Yes yes please right there yES! ” Seonghwa had nearly began crying below them, his face screwed up in pleasure as different languages tumbled from his lips. Yeosang matched him, arching his back when he felt the shadows stroke them both faster. 

“L-Look at you two,” Jongho grit out, his grip on Seonghwa locking the taller man in place as he thrusted deeper and harder into him, searching for that sweet spot inside of him. 

“Pretty fuckin’ sight, yeah? Two pretty Princes moaning and makin’ a mess out of each other. And we get to see it from both sides~” Whiro’s voice was a deep, near feral purr as he tugged at the base of Yeosang’s tails, striking his prostate with one of his powerful thrusts. 

In an instant, Yeosang felt his vision go nearly white, arching his back sharply as a LOUD cry spilled from his lips, followed by him cumming all over himself, Seonghwa, and the shadows that kept their cocks together. 

Seonghwa’s eyes rolled, and he nearly arched and squirmed out of Jongho’s lap, had it not have been for the way the younger man tightened his grip, keeping him still as he rocked into him. 

“Don’t go anywhere, nn..right there, stay right there please please-”It wasn’t nearly as loud as the two (even three, Whiro was rather vocal with his growled out groans), but Jongho’s heated begging had shined through. Seonghwa’s hips bucked, thrusting against Yeosang’s as he clamped down on Jongho. 

“G-Give it to me, I’m here I won’t waste a drop c-cmon-” Seonghwa began babbling in his lust-drunk daze, grabbing Yeosang’s ass and keeping his cheeks spread for Whiro to see his own cock sliding in and out of the younger prince before he felt heat flood into him. 

Jongho bit down on his shoulder, eyes rolling as he came, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he felt it wash over him. 

Yeosang glanced down, watching the mess begin to coat Jongho’s cock. Whiro pressed against his back, the growl that left his lips vibrating through Yeosang’s very being as he chuckled. 

“Don’t worry, Foxy. I got somethin’ for you, too.”

Yeosang made the mistake of nearly questioning the got before he felt his prostate getting struck full force. He choked on his own breath for a moment, arching his back and crying out as Whiro looped his arms through Yeosang’s pulling them behind his back so he was arched and on display for Seonghwa and Jongho to see. 

Yeosang noticed this face and whimpered, his ass bouncing with every powerful thrust, unable to keep his eyes open as Whiro rocked up into him. 

“That’s it~ Mmm, such a pretty little fox for us, look at them, they’re practically drooling over themselves for ya~”

Yeosang still couldn’t open his eyes, drowning in the pleasure of each calculated thrust before he felt heat flood into him. His tails tensed, and he nearly passed out from the second sudden orgasm that slammed into him. 

It took a few moments…minutes…? For him to realize he had passed out momentarily from the pleasure. When he was able to focus again, he found Seonghwa was caressing his face lovingly, smiling at him. Yeosang stared up at him, panting as he cupped his hands over Seonghwa’s to keep him flush against him. 

“I love you.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened and he leaned down to kiss him softly. 

“I love you too. Can you move or do you need a moment?”

Yeosang rose his head in confusion. 

“A moment?”

A slow, seductive smile crossed his face. 

“Darling, we’re not done.”

Downstairs, Yunho glanced up from his bowl, cheeks beet red. 

“Should I bring them some water…?” He muttered. Geb rumbled inside of him, considering making them some cucumber water or-

“We should let them have this time to themselves,” San spoke, washing his dishes. Wooyoung stood beside him drying them while Mingi ate quietly at Yunho’s side, eyes fixed on his plate, pushing around a piece of food. 

“You’re right.”/ ”We will need to see Seonghwa afterward, though. He may be convinced he will just power through, but I am concerned over the potency of the poison in his body.” 

The other three men in the room froze, eyes widening. 

“The what? ”

Upstairs, Seonghwa kissed the space between Yeosang’s shoulder blades as he held his hips, grinding deep into him at a near methodically slow pace. 

Jongho caressed the Kitsune’s face, his gaze soft and loving as he guided his head up and down his shaft, making sure he didn’t choke between his muffled moans. 

Whiro wasn’t too far off, claiming Seonghwa’s lips in a demanding kiss that made him lose his tempo several times before he’d reaffirmed his grip and continued. 

It had been…many moons since Seonghwa had been intimate with any of the loves of his life and Yeosang was quickly remembering that the taller prince was quite insatiable when he slipped into the waves of passion. 

Every mood was calculated, and every motion Seonghwa made when he was like this felt like a master chess move. 

He knew all of their limits and stamina, knew who could match his energy, who could surpass it, who may fall behind. Everything he did, it was to maximize their time together and leave them satisfied and honestly? Craving more. 

“Where is your mind, my love?” the chill of his breath fanned over Yeosang’s ear and he bucked, swallowing around Jongho in surprise. When had he and Whiro stopped kissing?

 Seonghwa chuckled, cold fingers roaming his body. 

“I can feel you tightening up, why don’t you let go for me? For us? We got you.” 

Yeosang had half a mind to remind the blonde that they were supposed to be doting on him , but all that came out was a pathetic whimper in need as he once again fell apart, sending a pleading look at Jongho that made him follow suit. 

Yeosang would be flustered to admit later that he’d lost track of how many different positions they’d shifted in and moved to before all three (or, rather, four) of them were satiated enough to collapse in a pile in the center of the bed. 

Yeosang panted, his hair unkempt, and bites covering his body. As he turned his ruby-eyed gaze to Seonghwa, he smiled, finding the man had actually been properly tired out and also was covered in the same bites (and scratches). 

Jongho ran a hand through his hair, looking at the two ex princes with a gentle look. He didn’t verbalize what was on his mind but Yeosang noticed the serious settle in his features as he idly ran his hand through both of their hair. 

Whiro returned to his skin, only after placing surprisingly tender kisses to each of them and holding a stare with them that was rife with words unsaid before he settled along their ex gunner’s skin. 

I love you

They knew the words well, even if the god hadn’t uttered it. It was in his eyes, it was in Jongho’s eyes as he continued to stare at them before he rolled his neck. 

“I should get Yunho and Geb in here. Have them get that poison out of your system.” He looked like he didn’t actually want to get up but he still did, stopping only when Seonghwa reached out to him. 

“Please….have him leave the marks be.” 

Jongho’s lips quirked for a moment. 

“I wouldn’t dream of telling him to get rid of them. If they’re healed in the process, We’ll just have to give you some more of them.” 

Seonghwa blushed before letting him go, closing his eyes and letting his eyes close. 

“Very well. Thank you.”

He left the two prince’s in the room to fetch the doctor. Yeosang gently rolled over, running his hand through Seonghwa’s damp hair and watching as he took a moment to open his eyes again, exhaustion clear on his features now that he wasn’t putting on the front of ‘everything being fine.’

“...I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to…be helpful. To try and walk beside you instead of behind you.”

Seonghwa’s tired expression began to sharpen, and he lifted his head. 

“Yeosang-”

“I won’t be walking behind any of you anymore. I swear.” Yeosang laced their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze. 

“Standing on the sidelines being passive is everything I hated one of my sisters for. I…have done no better than her in that right. I will work harder to never, ever be that man again. So…let me take some of the burden, okay?” He gently caressed his knuckles. 

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, brows pulling up. 

“That goes the same for us.”

Seonghwa turned his gaze to the doorway, finding Yunho walking in quickly with Jongho in tow. Seonghwa moved to push himself out of bed, but Yunho placed his hand on his chest and pushed him back down, shaking his head. 

“Stay there. We’ll get the poison out of your system and heal the wounds your body has been trying to close.”

Seonghwa laid back down, watching as Yunho took a pair of bandage scissors to the wraps around his midsection, narrowing his gaze at the wounds. 

There was an unfamiliar noise that left the man’s lips has he stared at the wounds. He summoned a gerbera daisy and let it over over the wounds, his eyes trained on each one as the magic coming from the flower drew the poison out of each gash. 

They all watched as droplets of purple absorbed into the petals of the daisy. 

“It’s a poison that continues attacking. It’s no wonder your healing is slowed. It’s trying to attack even us through the flower.” Geb rumbled, looking over a the wilting petals of the daisy with a narrowed gaze. Seonghwa’s brows rose in surprise before he looked away from him the moment both the earth god and Yunho fixed im with a stern gaze. 

“When we find out who poisoned you-”

“That won’t be necessary, puppy. Truly.”

Yunho looked unsatisfied, lips pressed into a fine line as he stared at Seonghwa, drawing the last of the poison out and setting the daisy aside. 

He cupped Seonghwa’s cheeks and sighed, pressing their foreheads together. 

“You’re still doing things all on your own, you know.”

He lightly scolded him, though nothing but concern shone in his eyes for the blonde before him. Seonghwa stared back at him, his thumbs gently rubbing patterns in the blanket below him. He wouldn’t bother wasting his breath denying it, especially when they all knew it was true. 

Yunho heard Geb rumble in concern inside of his head and he sighed softly, pulling away from the blonde. 

“Seonghwa, I owe you an apology.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrowed. 

“Seriously, you all do not need to keep apologizing-”

“I told you you weren’t working hard enough and suddenly you’re out here doing reckless things, getting hurt all alone , keeping yourself awake for ungodly hours of time, all in the sake of ‘trying harder’, aren’t you? Is that not a direct result of me unfairly forcing my own inadequacies on you instead of acknowledging we all failed and we all need to try harder? Be better? I fucked up, and I’m sorry.” he pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s head before pulling away, rubbing his thumbs over the man’s cheeks.

“We can…sit down and hash it all out a bit later. For now, you need rest. Between the poison and….your activities this morning, I imagine you’re exhausted, right?”

Seonghwa flexed his fingers, looking at his compass mark for a moment before he nodded, laying down and pressing his cheek to the pillow. 

“Then…if its all the same to you…I’ll rest a bit more. If you need me, please wake me.” He muttered, letting the threads of exhaustion and sleep finally lace into a net, pulling him into sleep not too longer after Yunho nodded at him with a tender smile. 

Once he was sure Seonghwa was asleep, his smile fell and he turned to the others. 

Yeosang looked equally exhausted, but he perked when he saw the frown cross his lover’s face. Jongho was alert and standing not too far off from the bed, a pair of sweatpants settled loose on his hips as he watched the three of them. 

“You all can rest. I…I’ll work on a plan-”

“Nah. How about we wait until we’re all up and about and make a proper plan of action this time?” Jongho and Whiro cut him off bluntly, finger tapping against one of Jongho’s biceps after he crossed his arms. 

Yunho paused for a moment before he looked down at the exhausted blonde sleeping soundly, his brow occasionally twitching every now and again. 

“....Yeah. Actually, that sounds like a better plan. I’ll leave you two to rest, as well. Do either of you want any food?” 

While the three of them chattered, San made his way down the hall in the opposite direction, slipping into Seonghwa’s room and glancing around. 

He probably should wait until the blonde was up and about to do all of this, but San knew the ex prince well enough to know they would continue to dance around everything if he did so. 

San tried not to make it a habit to revert back to his old behaviors from centuries ago when his street smarts and quick hands could get him into whatever locked box or door he needed them to.

Tried to , did not mean he was above doing so. 

San scanned the room carefully before he found a box with a few papers sticking out from it. He made his way over to it, scanning the contents inside before humming and grabbing the papers, laying them out and reading through them. 

His lips pressed into a fine line the more he read before his eyes widened. 

He glanced behind him at the door as if he could peer through it before having a seat at Seonghwa’s desk, reading everything with increasing amounts of worry settling in his being. 

Outside, Mingi passed by the First Mate’s door, casting a sidelong stare at it. Cheese perked, sniffing once, twice, before wagging his tail, seemingly unbothered. 

Mingi, however, stared at the handle for a long time before he let out the smallest scoff and continued his way down the hall. 

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2:30 pm

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“Can…I ask your advice on something?” 

Miyavi looked up, stopping mid guitar pluck to look at Hongjoong as he stood in the doorway to his and his wife’s room. 

He sat up in an instant, setting the guitar aside and nodding. 

“Of course, little one. C’mere. What’s up?”

Hongjoong plopped down across the foot of the bed, his legs dangling over the edge as he stared at the ceiling. Miyavi looked at him curiously, waiting for his son to gather his thoughts. 

“I…I’m confused.”

“Okay, about what?” 

Hongjoong paused again, worrying his lip between his teeth. He wanted to blurt out to his father that he’d been having dreams that feel like memories, about the fact that he’d seen at least two men with some form of supernatural powers, gods are real and one of them is inside of his boyfriend and-

-instead, something else tumbled from his lips. 

“I only just started dating Yunho but I also feel an attraction towards some of the others.”

Miyavi blinked. Hongjoong blinked. 

It took everything in him not to facepalm. 

“...It must be overwhelming, yeah? All of these new emotions so suddenly.”

Miyavi hummed quietly, reaching over to ruffle his son’s two toned hair. Hongjoong let him, nodding quietly. 

“I…don’t know what to do…”

“What does your heart want?”

“Yunho’s the only boyfriend…the only partner I’ve ever had. I can’t just go ‘hey, we’ve been dating for about a week but your boyfriends look fine too’, y’know? That’s just…”

Miyavi laughed, smiling down at his son and tilting his head. 

“So be honest with Yunho, but also take your time. You know where your heart is tugging you, but you’ve got a good enough head on your shoulders to know that Rome wasn’t built in a day. It takes time. But the first step is to make sure you’re clear and on equal footing and understanding. Misunderstandings and secrets are the downfall to any relationship.” He pressed his index finger lightly to Hongjoong’s forehead until the younger musician met his gaze, nodding with a small sigh.

“You’re right…”

“Yunho looks like an approachable man, just be honest with him and reassure him your gaze isn’t wandering…it’s simply…mm…expanding? Yes, that makes sense.” He chuckled having paused to find the words for his analogy.

Hongjoong laughed lightly before he looked at him. 

“You….don’t think it’s weird?”

“Polyamory? Not at all. I just care first and foremost that you are safe and happy . You’re my son, I’d give my world to make sure you and your siblings are smiling and happy. I’ll be with you every step of the way to make sure that happens.” He smiled and watched as Hongjoong sat up, fixing his hair before a bit of the tension he was holding in his body was lessened. 

“I….I have more I’d like to talk about but I….don’t know how to word it yet. It kind of makes my head hurt when I think about it.” Hongjoong rubbed his neck. 

It wasn’t a complete lie, but still. 

Miyavi watched him silently. He had a good hunch on what it was, but that would be a far more treacherous conversation to wade into than relationship advice on rekindled feelings. 

“Whenever you’re ready, your mother and I are here to listen. Just let us know.” Miyavi stood and rolled his shoulder before setting his guitar back in its case. 

“C’mon, let’s head out for a walk, it’s a beautiful day out.”

Hongjoong glanced outside, blinking in surprise at the sunshine that had begun to peek through the clouds. He could’ve sworn the forecast said it was supposed to be overcast all day. He stood and nodded, smiling at his father as they made their way to the door. 

“Let me get my shoes, then!” Hongjoong darted out and Miyavi laughed, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“Slow down, we have time.”

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April 3rd

5:30am

-218 Days Remain-

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Seonghwa sat up, rubbing his neck and sighing. Today was the day. The scent of cinnamon off to his left nearly distracted him from his thoughts.

He had to go train with Jaemin and see if he could come up with a method to-

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes snapped to the corner of the room, landing on San as he smiled from ear to ear, his eyes crescents. 

“San…?”

“Good morning, handsome. Slept well?” 

Seonghwa’s brows furrowed as he looked to the man sitting at his desk, a bright smile on his face. 

“What…?”

San held up the papers, head tilting. 

“Planning to go train all on your lonesome today, hm? Do you even know what today is?” He inquired. Seonghwa’s lips pressed together, racking his brain. 

It didn’t bother him that the younger man had gone through his papers nearly as much as it did that he had missed something important. 

April, it was April, he’d been in his own head so much, had he missed someone’s anniversary or-

“CHEESE CANNOT WAIT ANY LONGER. HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPTIAN PRINCE SEONGHWA MASTER SIR!!!!! CHEESE HAS COME WITH GIFTS!”

Seonghwa had a sense of dejavu as Cheese threw himself onto his bed once more, landing on his chest. A muffled groan came from his left and Seonghwa finally clued in to the others in the room. 

Yeosang was beside him, ears twitching as he rubbed his eye. The groan came from his left, as Yunho lifted his head, squinting into the room at the excited dog. 

“Cheese, its so early….”

“Why is everyone in my room?” Seonghwa inquired, sitting up more and spotting Wooyoung curled up in Yeosang’s arms, still asleep. 

“To make sure you don’t try and do something silly like go off fighting whoever it is you’re fighting on your birthday .” San set the papers down and sighed, leaning on the table.

“I’m sorry for snooping, but I don’t…like seeing you with these dark circles and slumping from exhaustion. You’re…working really hard, aren’t you? At least for a day, let’s all take some time and decompress. We can talk about your findings and train together, I’m still pissed I got my ass kicked so easily…but above all else, we need to do better to take care of each other.” He tapped his finger against the table and smiled at Seonghwa. 

“So, will you join us for the totally not at all planned birthday celebration?” 

Seonghwa laughed softly, petting Cheese and nodded. 

“Where’s Jongho and…?”He trailed off, leaving the tail end of his inquiry open ended. San’s smile faltered slightly, brow ticking in subtle annoyance before the look cleared up. 

Seonghwa caught it.

Ah, Mingi probably didn’t want to share a room with them, so Jongho stayed with him so he wouldn’t be alone.

He sighed, shoulders dropping before he was immediately distracted by Cheese thrusting his snout in his face.

“CHEESE HAS TRAVELED OVERNIGHT TO GET THIS.”  

Seonghwa tilted his head and watched as Cheese nudged his palm open. Once Seonghwa obliged him, he dropped a spear-tip shaped piece of ice into it, tail wagging. 

The ex prince cocked his head, looking at it in wonder. 

“There’s some kind of…power surging through this. What is this, Cheese?”

“CHEESE TOOK A TRIP TO THE LAND OF FROST GIANTS AND ASKED LADY SKADI IF CHEESE MAY HAVE SOME ICE! Cheese is friends with Kaldr so she said yes. She is a very nice lady.”

“I’m sorry, did you say the land of the frost gi-”

“ HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Seonghwa stared at the dog, aghast. He really needed to keep track of him when he went running off. In the meantime, he looked down at the shard, rolling it around in his palm. 

“....thank you, Cheese. You’re a very good boy.”

Cheese’s tail stopped wagging in an instant and he stared at Seonghwa for a while before pressing his head to Seonghwa’s. 

“Cheese…is not the smartest Cheese, but Cheese loves his masters very much and will do anything to make them happy. Happy birthday!”

Seonghwa laughed softly and made room for the dog to lie down on his chest. 

“Fine…if you insist, I’ll take the day off. We should sleep in.” He nuzzled the canine and San smiled, moving to lie beside Yunho. 

“That’s a lot more like it.”

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    10:30am

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“You look handsome.”

Seonghwa smiled softly, looking at himself in the mirror. Yunho, San, and Wooyoung had bought him a new outfit. 

Wooyoung adjusted the black turtleneck on the taller man, brushing his fingertips over Seonghwa’s jawline. There was a matching black thigh-length pea coat that was left open. His pants were form fitting-also black-, with shimmering chains dangling from his belt hoops and pockets. 

“You look like a model.” San nodded in approval and Yunho held his hand out, creating an ice blue flower to tuck into his chest pocket. 

Seonghwa smoothed his hands over the clothing, smiling. San had styled his hair, brushing his bangs out of his face before smiling and pointing to the seat. 

“Yeosang said he’d do your makeup, then we can get going.”

The blonde would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good, to be doted on by everyone. It reminded him of when he was a prince, the days he’d spend seated on a cushion between his mother’s legs as she gently combed and brushed his hair. 

“Mon bebe, such beautiful hair. Not a knot in sight. One day, you won’t need your mother to brush your hair.”

“No, Mother, I will always want you to…it feels nice and you always have this pretty smile when you do.”

Seonghwa felt himself tearing up, startled as Yeosang paused with a brush hovering over his cheek. 

“S-Seonghwa…?” He frowned, leaning away from him. Seonghwa blinked before straightening up. 

“Apologies. I was…thinking of my mother.” He smiled and sat down, pulling Yeosang into his lap. 

“I will sit still, continue.”

Yeosang straddled him, wiping his tears and carefully doing his makeup. He’d learned a lot in the time they’d spent with Hongjoong and his friends. 

Honestly, he was surprised Seonghwa agreed to let him do this for him. The older immortal held his hips and sat in silence, his eyes trained on Yeosang. 

“It's truly amazing.” 

Yeosang blinked down at him. 

“What is?”

“It’s been centuries, and my heart still flutters when I’m this close to you all.” He reached up and caressed Yeosang’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

“No matter how many moons have came and went, I still love the seven of you with my whole heart.”

Yeosang bit his lip, feeling his eyes get misty before he stole a kiss from Seonghwa. 

“D-Don’t make me cry, dammit. I’m trying to dote on you.”

Seonghwa chuckled and nodded, not saying much else as he stared at the kitsune.

When they were finished, Seonghwa walked downstairs, looking around subconsciously, counting the heads. 

He paused, eyes landing on Mingi, and he perked.

“Are you coming?”

Mingi cast a glance at San, arms crossed. San stared back, cocking a single brow at him.

‘Someone wouldn’t leave me alone until I did’./ “Yes. It is your birthday.” He answered, rubbing his ear and toying with the strap to his satchel.

Seonghwa fought back the way his smile nearly faltered from his face. Everything in his body language screamed that he didn’t really want to go out. 

He took a breath and pushed down any of those emotions and walked up to Mingi. 

“I appreciate you getting dressed. I…know you’re not very fond of me anymore, if you don’t want to come out, it’s alright. We can…reschedule? Or maybe I can break the day up so you’re not left alone?”

San bristled behind him and Jongho frowned, pushing himself off of the wall he’d been leaning against. 

“Hold on-”

“I’m not going to force him to come. I know Mingi has been hurt the most by me in these years, he has every right to not come with me.” Seonghwa spoke firmly, glancing at the others one by one before looking back to Mingi. 

Mingi held his gaze for a long while before sighing softly and rubbing his neck. He felt the gaze of everyone land on him and it immediately made him feel ill.

“I’m going. I…don’t have a gift for you, though. I’m sorry.”

Seonghwa’s smile softened. 

“Are you sure? I will not take offense if you don’t want to?”

“Staying cooped up in the house isn’t going to help me get out of my own head, either.” 

Seonghwa smiled wider, gently touching the back of Mingi’s hand for a brief moment. Mingi didn’t pull his hand away and Seonghwa took it as a small victory, turning to the others. 

“Alright, gentlemen, where are we going?”

Yunho placed his hand at the small of Mingi’s back, making sure he was truly alright before smiling at Seonghwa. 

“Let’s get in the car. We got an idea from Hongjoong and the others.”

One by one, the men walked out of the home with Cheese faithfully trotting beside them. 

San followed Mingi with his eyes, pressing his lips together in a frown before taking his place at Wooyoung’s side as they piled into the car.

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12:30 pm

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“Woo~ Well hello handsome~” Yeonjun whistled, their hands on their hips as the group of immortals walked up to their human friends. 

Seonghwa bowed in greeting, smiling at the others. 

“Oh, are you all going to enjoy this day with me?” 

“Of course, you’re our friend now!” Moa beamed, handing him a wrapped gift. 

“What is this?” He inquired. She smiled and put her hands on her hips. 

“It's a set of earrings! We all pooled together and had them made for you in a jiffy!” 

He opened the box, surprised by the green stones. He took a close look at the pattern in the snowflake-shaped stones and blinked in surprise.

They looked like feathers.

“It's a seraphinite stone. They bring out the color in your eyes.” Chungha told him, rocking on the balls of her feet. Seonghwa’s eyes softened as he put the earrings in. 

“Snowflakes, eh?” He smiled. 

“I suggested it.”

Seonghwa turned his attention towards the back of the group, watching as Hongjoong came up to him. His heart squeezed and he looked down as Hongjoong stopped in front of him. 

“Snowflakes. And why did you choose that shape?”

Hongjoong scratched his cheek, his free hand barely hiding a different bag from you. 

“Something about you just…reminds me of the night of a fresh snow. It’s cold, and for some people, it appears to not be very welcoming but it's actually one of the most beautiful gifts nature gives us. Ah, sorry, that sounds really cheesy-” He went beet red and handed him the bag, his ears burning in embarrassment. 

Seonghwa blushed, as well, looking down at the bag. 

Inside, bold red letters stared at him. 

“What is a…’Lego’?”

Chan looked at Hongjoong in confusion. 

“You got him a Lego set?”

Hongjoong blushed as Seonghwa pulled out one of two boxes. 

“I got him two, actually.”

Seonghwa stared at the first set. There were over 300 pieces to the set and a bunch of small little…animal mascots?? on it.

“This is…cute? I never expected something like this as a gift. Do I just assemble-”He choked on his own words as he looked at the second box.

Seonghwa’s hand shook subtly as he picked it up, staring at the second large Lego set. 

It was a pirate ship. 

“It…felt right. Sorry if its childish.” Hongjoong muttered. Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek, his lips trembling as memories hit him like a brick. 

-”This ship is my pride an’ joy, Hwa. Everyone aboard it is essential to her smooth sailin’. Tha’s why a good Captian needs to take care of his crew like he does his ship.” 

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, listening to the short Captain once again boast about his ship to him. 

Seonghwa’s kingdom had more impressive ships, that much was for sure. He also found it interesting, a ship being ran by women fleeing their lives in lieu of one on the great blue sea. 

One misstep and they’d all be hunted down and destroyed, but oddly enough, Seonghwa had never seen a happier bunch. 

“Putois, you don’t need to sell me on this ship. I’ve already agreed to sail with you on it. I wouldn’t still be on it if I thought it would fall apart.”

Hongjoong laughed and leaned over the rail, the wind blowing his bangs wildly.

“Maybe, but I’ll keep singin’ her praises until you love her, Seonghwa.”

The blonde stared at him for a long time before coming to his side, arms brushing as he leaned against the rail.

“....I suppose she is quite beautiful, Captain.”-

Hongjoong let out a noise of surprise as Seonghwa pulled him into a strong hug, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. 

“It makes me very happy to know you got me gifts despite knowing me for such a short period of time. I will cherish them for the rest of my life.”

Yeonjun pouted from behind them and Changkyun cleared his throat. 

“We should go inside. We have a lot to see.”

Seonghwa looked up at the art museum and smiled. 

“Let’s go. Its been quite a while since I’ve been to a museum.” 

“We found one that will allow Cheese, too. Are you excited, little dude?” Felix inquired, petting Cheese. Cheese wagged his tail, walking directly beside Seonghwa, ears perked and alert. 

“THIS PLEASES CHEESE GREATLY, HUMAN.”

The boys bit back their laughs at the energetic hound and walked inside. 

Seonghwa found himself enjoying the pieces between scanning the crowd, making sure he had laid eyes on all of his loves and their friends. 

“You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.” Wooyoung’s soft voice drew his attention as he stopped beside him, looking at a set of blown glass animals. Seonghwa looked down at it, humming. 

“I can’t help it. No matter where I go, I find myself looking for the seven of you.” He answered honestly. Wooyoung glanced over at him, gently taking Seonghwa’s free hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. 

“There’s always been something so…inspiring about the way you say things, Seonghwa.” He rocked on the balls of his feet, guiding Seonghwa and Cheese to the next painting. The three of them looked at the goofy art, with the card beside it explaining that it was made by the art director’s pet cat running across their paint and then the canvas. 

“There have been plenty of times, especially as of late, where I find myself at a loss for words or lacking the proper ones to say.” Seonghwa spoke honestly but Wooyoung shook his head once. 

“You still have this…unwavering determination I’m honestly jealous of. It takes me so long to get the words out for things I want to say and by time I’ve gathered the heart to do so, the words get caught in my throat.” 

Seonghwa put his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, pulling him closer. 

“If its about not speaking up when Mingi and I would argue, do know I do not hold it against you, or anyone. My behavior, the cause and effect they have created, are my own fault and its no one else’s fault but mine. If there’s anything our Captain has instilled in me, it’s an unwavering, bullheaded and sometimes idiotic determination to charge forward towards what you believe in.” Seonghwa ran his cool fingers over Wooyoung’s shoulder, putting his head above his. 

“Even if it hurts, even if I get tired, I won’t ever give up. You all are worth fighting for, and come Hell or high water, I’ll repair what was lost.”

Wooyoung looked up at him, lips parted, before he closed his mouth, standing on his tip toes to press a small kiss to the corner of Seonghwa’s lips. 

“I…have a lot to learn from you all. But I’ll get the courage and get on the same level as you one day.”

Seonghwa chuckled and guided him to the next one.

At some point, Hongjoong beckoned them over, pointing to a painting of a large wolf in a snow storm that was made entirely of different shades of blue.

Yeonjun stared at the painting in delight, chattering about different painting techniques to Chungha. Seonghwa stopped beside them, the art reminding him of the painting he had made for his beloved all those centuries ago.

“This one grabbed my interest,” Hongjoong explained, looking up at it with a gentle smile. Cheese carefully approached, nuzzling Hongjoong’s hand and wagging his tail when the pianist gently gave his head a pet. 

Seonghwa took in the brush strokes, staring into the eyes of the wolf for a long time before he nodded. 

“It is quite eye-catching, isn’t it? I wonder what kind of story it has to tell.”

“Cheese thinks Cheese is a more handsome doggo than the painting doggo. Though Cheese wonders if the blue doggo has blue toe beans.”

Seonghwa snorted quietly, looking down at the dog incredulously. Yeonjun perked, tilting their head. 

“Your dog is very chatty today. Isn’t that right?” They grinned, bending to pet Cheese. To them, it simply appeared to be gruff dog babbel. Cheese’s tail wagged and he licked Yeonjun’s face. 

“You have no idea! Cheese can talk faster than any doggo!”

Seonghwa smiled fondly at them before noticing Hongjoong’s hands, slightly wringing the bottom of his jacket as he stared at the painting. 

“Hm…would you like to go on a walk with me, Hongjoong? I’m a bit famished.” Seonghwa offered. 

Hongjoong perked and nodded, smiling. 

“Have you not eaten yet? C’mon, there’s a food court around here somewhere.” He looked towards Wooyoung and Yeonjun, but the former waved a hand kindly. 

“Go, go. I’ll bring Cheese over to the others so he can keep looking at exhibits.” He beamed. Yeonjun arched a brow at their friend, but Wooyoung hooked an arm under their arm, dragging them off before they could say a word. 

Seonghwa watched the trio go before turning his attention back to Hongjoong. 

“I’ll follow your lead.” 

Hongjoong walked through the art exhibit, only a few paces in front of Seonghwa. He slowed after a minute or two, rubbing his neck. 

“I…want to ask you something.”

“I figured you wanted to speak with me. What is it?” 

Hongjoong stopped, reaching and touching Seonghwa’s wrist over the compass mark he knew was there. 

“I…know you all, don’t I? Somehow…and you all know me.”

Seonghwa could see the frustration settle in his brow, and he knew the smaller man had probably been having the beginning pulses of a migraine. Seonghwa hummed, flipping his hand and taking Hongjoong’s. 

“I am learning a lot about you, yes. It’s very pleasant.” 

Hongjoong looked at him in confusion, staring at their hands. 

“But…That’s not what I mean. Not ‘me’ but-”

“It doesn’t matter much to me if I knew you before or if I’ve just met you now. My feelings are the same.” 

The two toned man’s eyes widened, staring at him in surprise as Seonghwa chuckled and brought his hand up to his cold cheek. 

“It’s my birthday, yes? May I be selfish and ask to enjoy this time with you without stress and worry? Even if its only for the day, whatever hard conversations may come, they can come on another.”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, feeling flustered as he moved his hand. 

“I’m going to get flustered if you talk like that.”

“Is it the worst thing if you do?” Seonghwa laughed gently and moved to the vendors selling food. Hongjoong watched him before he snapped back to reality and shuffled after him quickly. 

The two sat together, quietly people-watching as they ate some rather generously sized crepes. Hongjoong’s eyes were fixed on Seonghwa’s side profile more than the people around him, though. 

He really did look like a prince. His face was all sharp angles, yet they had a…soft quality to them that had the musician idly thinking he’d be a great idol.

“Did you do your makeup today?” He spoke without thinking and Seonghwa cut his steel gaze at him, humming as he licked creme from his lips. 

Hongjoong would admit to no one that he followed the motion like a hawk before looking back into his eyes. 

“Yeosang did. He’s learned a lot from Chungha, it seems. He was happy to try it on me so I let him. I’m not displeased.” 

“You look… really good.” 

Seonghwa chuckled and took another bite of his crepe, chewing thoughtfully. Hongjoong felt embarrassment creep into him once more. He’d asked Seonghwa to come with him, but now he was at a loss as to how to proceed now that Seonghwa had gently steered him away from prying on this whole…memory business.

Instead, he shoved a bite much too big to be considered polite into his mouth to keep himself from blurting out anything else in embarrassment. 

Seonghwa stared at him before he covered his mouth to keep himself from possibly spitting out any food as he laughed. 

“Dun lauf at meh!” Hongjoong struggled, cheeks round as his face went beet red. Seonghwa laughed harder still, joy shining in his eyes as he looked at the goofy two toned man in front of him. 

“Ah, apologies apologies. You just…you look very cute.” He smiled, one that reached his eyes as he put his head in his palm, staring at Hongjoong in a way that certainly didn’t help his flustered demeanor.  Seonghwa took in his appearance, cheeks rounded and his mismatched hair falling over his forehead as he tried to avoid his gaze.

"Küçük çizgili sincap~” 

Hongjoong blinked in confusion, swallowing his food before he squinted. He had recognized when Seonghwa had called him a small ferret before, but whatever he had said a moment ago went right over his head. 

“What did you say just now?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Seonghwa stood, a triumphant smile on his face as he turned away from him. 

“Shall we head back, küçük çizgili sincap ?”

“What are you calling me? Hey! Park Seonghwa-ya, wipe that smile off your face, what did you call me?!” Hongjoong complained, following close behind the blonde as he walked away. Seonghwa smiled, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, just something just for you.”

“What does that mean? Seonghwa? Hey, don’t speed up your paces! God, why are your legs so long- Seonghwa!!”

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

Meanwhile…..

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“THAT ASSHOLE FORGOT ABOUT OUR ARRANGEMENT!”

Jeno watched as Jaemin cursed and swore up a storm, referring to the blonde ex prince. He glanced at Renjun and the man waved a hand, indicating he’d pay Jaemin’s ire no mind. 

“I’m sure there’s a good reason. Take the time to prepare.”

“I’m gonna wring their damn necks, wasting my damn time!”

Renjun rolled his eyes. 

“You’re the god of it. Just make more time.”

“Easy for you to say!”

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤

Taglist----

-----

@jacksons-goddess-gaia @kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @angel0taiyo @gettin-a-lil-hanse @aeyla @eversionic @itsatinyworld @unatempesta-dipensieri @lonely10vely @yunhosblackgf @not-majestic-bluenicorn @moonmin-miya @snowstaytiny @delphinium3000 @just-a-starfruit @skmoonchild @allthestarsrcloser @im-what-iam @stayatinyfics @smallfrye @atinyteez @bangteezbaby @seomisaho @kirisimpma @chaos-ground-writing @daniblogs164 @yunhofingers @stormiestories @billboard-singer @asyamonet22 @perfectlysane24 @drunk-on-hwa @shingisimp @xuxibelle @twistedsiren @heesuncore @dreamyinception-world @justatiredhuman @serialee @eribear23 @spooo00oky @shymexican @stardragongalaxy @horizonmoonfics @ateezswonderland

[fire-fira]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @linzerj for this, so without further ado:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On Ao3 I currently have 70 (though that number is going to increase soon), and on ffn (all my oldest stuff) I have 34. (Dear lord I need to eventually move my older stuff to Ao3. Maybe under a secondary pseud at some point... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

201,448

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Looooots of DC stuff, some TMNT, and with my older stuff I also wrote for Sonic, DBZ, Legend of Zelda, FMA, Gargoyles, Peter Pan, and Megaman. (I also have some early-stages fic and plans for Planet of the Apes fics, but I haven't posted any of that yet.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Head Trauma - One of my earliest Bluepulse OT3 fics. YJA-based; Jaime gets knocked out on a mission and the team gets their first exposure to Khaji Da directly.

Loving an Alien Shouldn't be this Complex - Another Bluepulse OT3. YJA-based; Bart's part in what's intended to be a trilogy of fics about the same circumstances/events. Crushing on Jaime is one thing, but realizing he's crushing on Khaji Da is a whole different ballpark.

If You Think My Truth Is A Lie, You Can Get Bent - Bluepulse OT3 yet again, though background in this case rather than front and center. Mostly YJA-based; Bart is trans, in college, and entirely fed up with an obnoxious classmate who was perfectly fine with him and the fact that he's a guy up until she found out he's trans.

The Weirdness That You Know - Pre-Bluepulse OT3, pre-finding-out-Khaji-Da's-name. YJA-based; During some downtime on base after the events of season 2, Jaime winds up finding out that Bart and Khaji Da are very similar in terms of their sense of humor. The two of them getting along should probably be concerning.

Familia: Not Simple, but Needed - Bluepulse OT3. Mostly YJA-based; What happens when you have a sleep-deprived scarab who stubbornly has stayed awake for about three weeks? Nothing good and nothing the three of them would have ever expected if Khaji Da was coherent enough to think through the consequences of their actions before doing something.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to. Sometimes I wind up replying waaaaaayyyyyy later (when my emotional energy tanks it takes a lot for me to drag myself into talking to people in general, but I try to reply when I'm in a better spot), but if I have my way then I'll eventually reply to everything (unless there's literally nothing else to say).

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would honestly have to be either my Bluepulse OT3 poem I Am Your Loss or my La'gaan-centric fic I Tried To Warn You. I Am Your Loss is focused on Khaji Da outliving Jaime and Bart and all the feelings involved with that, and I Tried To Warn You is an examination of La'gaan's emotionally abusive relationship with M'gann and him coming to terms with the fact that he was manipulated and abused. So yeah. Heavy.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's a tough one. The Name That Calls You Home is one contender, along with Fatherhood Isn't Easy, and Trusting Again Can Be The Hardest Thing. Two of those are focused on family and finding home (TNTCYH and FIE), and two are La'gaan-centric (FIE and TACBTHT). So yay for one of my TMNT AUs and two of my La'gaan fics meeting the mark? (Though all three have some painful circumstances that make the good that much more pronounced. Yeah, that was unintentional.)

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

The only time I've ever gotten any 'hate' was someone trying to be pissy about an old poem series I wrote back in highschool because they didn't feel it was a 'serious poetic work' and was 'amateurish'.

That. On character-based poetry. For freaking Sonic characters. Seriously just-

9. Do you write smut?

Almost never. (I can't say never because I did publish one fic on Ao3, but by a lot of people's standards it's really tame.)

10. Do you write crossovers?

I'm not opposed to crossovers, but I very rarely do. Usually I find my mind playing with multiverse iterations of characters meeting each other, but it's very rare my mind goes to wildly different stories getting a crossover-- in no small part because it usually tends to devolve into a case of 'Wouldn't it be cool if these characters met? Look how cool this character is!' in my head with no real decent plot. (That said, thanks to some old RPs with a friend of mine I am fond of Mass Effect's femshep and Voltron's Allura as a ship. It was a chaotic RP. lol)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know, NOPE. If I'm fortunate it'll never happen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes actually! Both I Tried To Warn You and Unstoppable Until I Break that I know of. (Unfortunately I can't read Chinese, so finding them on the site they're hosted on is difficult for me, but I do know they're there somewhere.) La'gaan keeps winning. lol

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Only one, and it's Devilfish. Beneath the Surface was a fun collaboration between me and onyxdragonx back before tumblr's purge in 2018. I have no idea if he left tumblr entirely, but I'm glad we wrote it.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

Ngl, it varies by series/franchise and how I'm feeling. I used to be pretty solid in single ships for characters for a long time, but as time has gone by I've drifted more into multi-shipper territory. At the moment though, the one that's eating at my brain the most is Devilfish-- La'gaan/Eddie-- because hell yes for my crack ship.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Maybe it's over-optimistic of me, but I don't look at any of my WIPs as 'abandoned' or as something I'll 'never' complete. Back when I was posting my writing only to ffn I used to joke about my trademarked 'delays of doom'. It's always a case of I will get to said stories eventually and I do work on old things from time to time, but due to shifting interests/life junk/life-junk-that-causes-a-low-creative-battery/etc. it can take me a long time to get back to something.

If I was going to narrow it down to the one that I'm not sure when precisely I'll get back to and is the most likely to take me a while to get back to (more than anything else), then it'd probably have to be an Elfquest fic with Leeta/Cutter/Rayek as endgame. Either that or the Planet of the Apes series kicking around in my head that I haven't quite figured out how to frame yet.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

FEELINGS. Emotions, getting into characters' heads and hitting that emotional gut-punch that makes people feel things.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Aside from my delays-of-doom™️, I can get SO damned wordy. And cerebral. Which isn't always a bad thing if I want my readers to know what's going on in a character's head, but it's a royal pain in the ass if I want to give a decent description of the space characters are in or have actual conversation and events happening while a character is getting lost in their head.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

YES. I WANT. GIVE.

lol Seriously though, while it might be rare for me to write full-blown conversations in a different language, if a character is multilingual then I personally prefer including indications of that with their word choices. Usually that results in an offhand word or several here or there in places where it flows naturally, but unless I'm confident in how things flow with that other language (whatever it is) then I'm unlikely to go for a full on conversation. If I am confident in the translation of what I'm writing and the switch into that other language makes sense for the characters in context then it's highly likely I'll go for it-- albeit with including the hover-over translation thing that Ao3 offers so readers don't have to bounce back-and-forth between where they're at in the story and the translation at the end of the chapter/fic. (Though I don't mind when other authors take that tactic.)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic, and though I didn't put any online until 2003, I wrote a whole convoluted series back in middle school and on up into early high school I think (I suspect most of it's lost because it was all on an OLD computer), and even before that I remember a script-styled Sonic fic that I never finished that I was writing back when I was like... 5? ...7? Somewhere in there. Point is my first fandom is from a LONG time ago.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Yeeeeeet another hard one. If I don't cop out with Unstoppable Until I Break and I pull in my older stuff, then I guess it'd have to be Two Sides. It's a Legend of Zelda fic playing with the concept of Zelda and Sheik as simultaneously being and not being the same person, and while I'd probably write it differently now (dear gods I published it back in 2008) I still love the concept and think it's intriguing as hell. Just the very idea of Zelda and Sheik having once been the same person and remembering it in subsequent lives is just... There is a TON of potential there.

Will I ever revisit the idea? Maybe one day. For now, it is what it is.

As for who I'm tagging: @sounddrive, @brightlotusmoon, @radioactive-earthshine, and whoever else would like to do this. n.n

[lingeringmirth]

also mermaid at the seaside hotel???

Here's a snippet. This is for Seaside Hotel fandom (microfandom where I've written all three of the fics that have the pairing that's in this fic SAD.) This is coming out for mermay, as soon as I edit it.

-

Her reasons are good and solid, that is what she tells herself. They are the same reasons why her father hadn’t wanted her to come work here by the sea. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust her to keep herself safe, he just knows that sometimes the sea’s call can overrule even the best of intentions.

Fie’s mother had always had the very best of intentions, had been so very careful, and yet had become sea-foam in the end, well before her time.

ASK ME ABOUT MY WIPS?

[all-about-kyu]

𝐍𝐂𝐓 𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐬 & 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 𝐈𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

Brought to you by the MTG; Sam @slightlymore , Wren @horanghoe , Rai @raibebe , Bee @kthpurplesyou , Angel @moonctzeny , Pat @just-come-baek , Summer @sun-kore , Fie @atiny-piratequeen , and myself!

All of the messages below are what was pinned on our starboard but there's always something to cackle about in daily talking with these people <3 all the messages below are from our primary comedians (ft me) though.

MINORS PLEASE DNI THE FOLLOWING CONTENT HAS ADULT LANGUAGE AND IMPLICATIONS

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐡: “raw coochie?” - Angel

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐠: “are condoms tested on vampire sperm?” - Angel

𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚: “surrounded by ass lovers and cum eaters” - Wren

𝐐𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐮𝐧: “you’ll fuck 4 men at the same time cause I see 4 wands” - Rai doing a tarot reading

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠: “the 2 baddies are my tits” - Sam

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐪𝐢𝐧 (𝐓𝐞𝐧): “in hind sight i might get eye cancer” - Rai

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧: “is now the right moment to come out as straight?” - Sam

𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠 (𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐧): “sam got the anal card” - Angel

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐨: “what’s the verb for brain empty” - Pat

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐞: “Joe Biden survived the french revolution” - me

𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐣𝐮𝐧: “Bella he has a crush on the egg you carry in your uterus!!!” - Sam

𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 (𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐲): “wrapping spaghetti around his dick” - Rai

𝐇𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧: “yes whore I’m busy” - Wren

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐨: “I have a huge dick for the both of us, he can be in charge of titties.” - Pat

𝐍𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧: “please serve cunt” - Angel

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤 (𝐇𝐚𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧): “plow her into the afterlife king” - Wren

𝐋𝐮𝐢 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠: “serving rizz on this sweet Thursday afternoon” - Sam

𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐞: “hit him with your car” - Sam

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠: “don’t babies drink blood from your umbilical cord?” - Angel

𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

“please don’t terminate yourself you’re too sexy for that 💕” - Rai “Gaslight, girlkeep, gateboss or smin” - Wren “Am I sucking Satan’s cock this life cycle or” - Wren “The dude who I share the corpse work with wanted me to look his stuff on the machine over 🥺” - Rai “If I were to write a verse I would prohibit men from showing their toes” - Angel “Omg these shrooms were from God fr fr” - Sam “Kpop enjoyment and creative writing ma’am do you mean porn???” - Pat “Alright guys keep it pg // when have we ever?” - Wren and Rai “Can puppy hybrids scratch their heads with their leg? // no. that’s cursed.” - Rai and I “My legs are divorced” - me “wait I need to find the G spot” - Pat “I need to chain myself to a tree or sth rn” - Pat

another crackhead post to say I love my girlies and I would risk the world for them <3 without them I wouldn't be able to say that I laugh every single day. (hell I literally met Rai because of them 💕)

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

[princeresnikov]

heart in my hand (still beating) {The Son}

{ it's in my nature masterlist }

Summary: Clementine is forever cleaning up The Son's messes. He doesn't even realise the lengths she goes to for him until he comes face to face with the ugly truth after refusing to listen to her again and getting them both taken hostage after trusting the wrong asshole in Vegas. // Fie, my lord, fie, heir apparent and afeard? What need you fear who knows it when none can call my power to account? Yet who would have thought the young man to have had so much blood in him...

A/N: 3925 words. the quotes from Lady Macbeth are due to the image i have in my head of Clementine washing the blood from her hands in this moment, edited to fit Clementine's thoughts as The Son looks on in horror. also ive kind of pulled from the John Wick universe regarding body disposal crew logic. This is very unedited but idk how else i can put this in the fic; it's the moment The Son started to view Clementine as a monster.

PLEASE PAY CLOSE ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS !!

Warnings: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, murder, blood and gore, attempted non-con, non-consensual drug use, mutilation, murder with kitchen utensils, hurt and attempted comfort but clementine's not great at it because she's mentally checked out, immobility. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Taglist: @venusthepirate @malar-region @tangerinesgf @esmaada @sarcastic-sourwolf @djjskfkskjf @justshutupmars @somikesoc @chachadelight @andydre4m @evangelineflowers @darkchai @basementsoup @bellatrix124 @kunikidaswhore @thewinterschildren178 @deadtildeath @perksofbeingamultifandomm @aniglio18 @geeiz @mimidior @justice-333 @ltlthetrifecta @salsasadd @xkawax @hellsgatelove22 @brownficgirl @tangerineswife @cigarettesandfigureskates @ceciliahargrove @welcometothescreaming20s @moonlight-matcha @lovv24 @emilia527 @tangerinefics @charlemagnethesecond @little-miss-bi @megplant @kalli0pes @aaronperryjohnson @nachtcirce @literatureisair

Golden hour is upon them, sunset streaming through the wall of windows past the adjoining, open-planned living room. The sleek, white décor of the penthouse is painted gold and orange, at least where it's not splattered and dripping red.

This blood will take hours to scrub from the walls. 

Clementine's only solace as she's rigorously washing the blood from her hands with Dawn dish soap over the kitchen sink, is that the penthouse they'd been tricked into was almost completely tiled. Small miracles. The rushing water is a pleasant, luke-warm, focusing on the sensation of her soap-slicked hands sliding against one another as she runs on autopilot, thorough without even having to spare the task itself, or even the events that had just come to pass, more than a second thought, focus instead upon considering what her next course of action would be. However the moment of levity that had come with her momentary mental drift had vanished as the blood she's otherwise covered in begun to cool, and she's pretty sure the hoard of large men who'd left her dress in tatters won't have another in her size. As she began to splash water and soap further up her arms, the grimace turns to a frown and she wonders if The White Death will make her pay for the body disposal service, or if she can convince him that his idiot son aught to. 

It was all his fault, after all. 

He's looking at her. She knows he's looking at her. She wishes he'd stop, wishes he'd listened to her in the first place about not bringing that insipid little weasel with the bad gambling habit with them to Vegas. But why would he start listening to her for the first time in his life in the middle of a particularly hedonistic bender that he'd started over a week ago, just before his birthday. Of course he hadn't. So why couldn't he remain so consistent in this moment and stop fucking looking at her?

It's not like he's never seen the aftermath of her violence; he's seen her washing bloody hands, seen her scuffed knuckles and scratches across her from when her victims had tried to fight their fate and Clementine's objective, he's seen her tend to her own wounds, and throw punches and - 

Except she knows it's not the same; he could walk away from those, could ignore them, refuse to entertain further thoughts about what it all means about her and the work his father asks of her. It's always been at the peripheries of their interactions, if there at all. Before, he could pretend like it's all a bad dream, that Clementine was simply his pretty, little minder, perhaps clumsy enough to be covered in mystery bruises and scratches. When he'd held her close, she'd only ever been soft and pliant and eager to please; she knew it made him happy to think that this was how she always was. So maybe she tried to downplay it, even when his recklessness would put him in the line of fire. 

It hadn't even occurred to her before this that perhaps she'd done too good of a job, that the subtlety with which she'd dealt with the threats around him had allowed him to feel a false sense of security.

Did he know she was even capable of this? 

Instead of looking at him, she bends her face to the tap, taking another large mouthful of water, just as she had the moment after she'd let go of that weaselly bastard and let him fall to the floor. But it still felt like she could taste the blood and last gasping breath of one of the others where she'd made a very good attempt at ripping his throat out with her teeth. Salty and metallic, it covers the taste of the Rohypnol they'd thought would work against her, just as it obviously had on The Son where they'd been tied to chairs, side by side. Part of the training she'd undergone during her youth, and that she'd made sure to keep up with, was developing an almost inhumanly high tolerance against as many of the more easily available drugs that were used maliciously; the fact that she had cause, in her line of work, to be grateful for her practical immunity to most common roofies, multiple times made her sick to think about. 

God, she she should shower, scrub all of this horrible event from her skin. Except that she'd still need to have another one after scrubbing the blood from practically every surface; the body disposal crew did only as much as their name entailed, she'd learned the hard way when she first began working for The White Death. Fuck, she should make sure his Son is okay, right? Except that that bastard was still watching her, she could feel it, and his gaze was one she was unfamiliar with. It was making her skin crawl. So maybe she should start cleaning. Or call the disposal crew immediately. Or begin to deal with the consequences of killing The Son's traitorous acquaintance too. It had to be done, she'd reasoned, but the aftermath was still a chore in it's own right. 

A deep breath grounds her in the horror of this moment, sticky-hot and metallic even after she'd rinsed the blood from her mouth, waking a small voice in the back of her mind that weeps not for the situation, but her detachment to it all. There's something putrid in the air, the stench of death and waste and things that should be on the insides of people being very much on the outside. It smells like rot, even though all eight others were alive only an hour ago.

Exhaling, Clementine shut off the tap. 

The sudden silence bares down upon them, humid, claustrophobic, nightmarish. 

In the following moments, still contemplating what to do first, she cast her gaze around, finally settling on her charge, the man she'd been trying so hard to ignore. Except The Son isn't looking at her, not really. Crumpled on the ground yet still tied to a chair, he was trapped in his own body, and the half embrace of the corpse who had taken him to the ground since he'd tried to use The Son as a shield once the fighting had broken out. Even before that, he'd barely been able to move a muscle, since he shared neither Clementine's irregular upbringing, nor her unnaturally high tolerance for strong sedatives. Part of her knows she should check on him, the tile floor and extra body had made for a hard fall, not to mention the knife that had been at his neck; clearly he's alive, breathing and blinking, if nothing else. For a moment, his gaze flicks to meet hers, but it's somehow shocked and vacant all at once, like he's still processing it all, doesn't quite know how to feel, before it flicks back down. There's almost relief, except Clementine knows he's not looking at her. 

The body of his traitorous, rat of an acquaintance who'd sold him out to the cartel was slumped against the counter right beside her, far warmer than the others, tear tracks still drying on his cheeks and expression as distraught as when she'd spiked a carving knife up into him, mid panic attack, through the soft, underside of his jaw. While his death was of course necessary, given the circumstances of the betrayal, he had simply been a greedy fool who couldn't have suspected the consequences of his actions; she wasn't going to prolong his death if she could help it. There's blood and his own sick shining down his shirt in the golden sunset, like a moment trapped in amber, and finally Clementine knows what she has to do first. 

Find her bag. 

The body disposal crew tells her that their branch closest to her location will dispatch a team within the hour. It's the delicate work she's decided to do first, sewing the seeds of an alternate story to obfuscate the truth. After putting her phone back in her bag she digs around the host of medical supplies that had been steadily growing over the years, pulling on a pair of disposable, surgical gloves. 

Still, The Son is silent. He hadn't been able to properly speak since the drugs hit his system, and he'd stopped attempting to communicate after he'd hit the ground, not too long into the fight itself. Now, however, he is watching her. His eyes follow her as she moves around the room, picks through his acquaintance's pockets with a practiced kind boredom. His eyes follow her as she picks her way over to the Cartel leader to search his pockets too for his phone, his left hand still pinned to the table with a paring knife as he'd been reaching for his pearl-handled revolver as she'd snapped his neck. His eyes follow her still, fixed to her, with that same unreadable expression as before, watching as she uses the dead mens' fingerprints to unlock their phones and build the false narrative. 

After setting up an exchange via messages between the two mobiles, that the traitor was thought to be unreliable, and owed the cartel far more than he was able to pay back, Clementine used the cartel leader's phone to call the traitor several times, letting phone ring out each and every time, following it with a series of furious, threatening texts from the cartel. No longer having a need for the cartel leader's phone, she removed the SIM card, obliterating it with the still-bloody meat mallet from the surprisingly well-stocked kitchen. She throws the phone and it's SIM into the garbage disposal for good measure, and puts the traitor's phone in her bag. 

The Son's gaze had never once waivered from her.

When Clementine approaches him, finally, he looks almost reproachful, but he remains silent. Neither one makes a sound as she unties him from the chair, always gentle, especially as she extracted him from the corpse that looked like he was half clinging to the back of The Son's chair, carving fork buried in his throat at an angle, it's prongs just breaching his skin on the other side. Clementine hadn't noticed in the moment he'd died, nor in the moments after, how he'd bled out against The Son's back, leaving the two of them in a pool of his blood, ruining one of his favourite shirts in the process.

Still, she hauls him with relative ease to the spacious bathroom, sitting him upright against the counter as she turned on the shower. Everything she does now, she does with delicacy; she lets the water run until it is a pleasant warmth, she places both her own phone and the traitor's on the counter, and shifts The Son to sit against the wall by the shower. She angles the water so it's hitting him without hitting his face, and he finally looks away from her. Following his gaze, they both watch the blood leech from his clothes as they grow damp, swirling and diluting down the drain. 

Clementine steps away for a moment to grab a wash cloth, but she's back by his side in an instant, kneeling by his side beneath the water. Her hands don't shake as she began to carefully unbutton his shirt. Again, he's watching her. Again, she doesn't want to meet his gaze. The water is washing her of the evidence of the carnage she'd just enacted, and here she was, with the only living witness, treating him like porcelain. Being sweet to him came just as naturally to her as violence did, and so her mind drifts as she strips him of the clothes stained with one of his captor's blood, leaving him in a similar state of undress to her, both appearing vulnerable, in their underwear, beneath the comfortingly warm water. 

Clementine's mind is elsewhere as she washes his hair, his face, checking anywhere and everywhere for any injuries he may have received; it seemed the knife to his throat had merely been a bluff, since he didn't even have a scratch. She's wondering when the disposal crew will text her to say they've arrived, and if they'd brought the extra bleach she'd requested, she's wondering if her set up for the traitor will be believable enough after she fabricates a few more false details to make it seem like he fled the country and went into hiding, she's wondering how his father, The White Death, would handle her report of the situation. She's wondering a great many things that have taken her focus from the moment at hand, so she doesn't immediately realise that the look in The Son's eyes had once again changed, and again, it wasn't for the better. Though part of her was irritated at the dour look in his eyes, as if this wasn't his fault, his mess, his carelessness. 

Even if he could have answered properly, she wouldn't have bothered asking. 

With the water turned off, both clean of the bloody horror of just moments ago, Clementine dries him, and wraps him in one of the fluffy bathrobes, taking the other for herself. 

As she picks him up, his gaze shifts, his expression too, which is a good sign that he's getting some of the movement back in his face, but he looks almost... embarrassed. All his notions of her supposed submissiveness seemed to have slipped down the drain alongside all that blood. Now all he can see is the truth of her, and the more he seems to think about it, the less he likes what he sees. Usually Clementine would have dedicated herself to nursing his obviously bruised ego, but unfortunately for The Son, though she's sure his father will understand, she needed to tend to the eight bodies in the other room, and making sure they can make it back to Japan without suspicion. 

One of the phones buzz in the pocket of her bathrobe as she deposits The Son on the plush hotel bed, and she leaves him there without another word. At least he understands well enough now that he needs to respect Clementine's work, and to not draw attention to himself; he remains quiet once she closes the door. Part of her hopes he'll just fall asleep, to rest himself after witnessing such a slaughter. Another part, right in the back of her mind, quietly hopes the drugs effect him the way they do many other victims, stealing his memories of this terrible afternoon, and of the brutality Clementine had enacted to make sure he was safe, and that no-one connected to the traitor's deal was able to come after him in future.

It's growing darker now, sunset rapidly descending into an inky night, and Clementine texts the disposal crew with one hand as she meticulously draws the blinds across all the various windows with the other. It's impossible, however, to walk through the room without tracking blood across the floor. Once the blinds are closed, she turns on all the lights, and heads back to the bedroom, hovering by the door as to not trail blood out of the main living area, pulling off her bathrobe and tossing it to the other side of the room to keep it clean for the task ahead. 

Once more in only her lingerie, a state with which she is far too familiar, she answers the door when there comes an almost clinical knock. Very few words are exchanged with the disposal team, however she thanks them for the extra bleach, and sets about mopping the tile floor as they begin to prepare the corpses. They don't ask about Clementine's state of undress. They don't ask about the state of the bodies. They don't ask questions when she orders them to stay away from the closed bedroom door, to give her client privacy. 

There's a sparseness to the space when the bodies have been disposed of, and the crew having left with as few questions as they'd arrived with. Clementine sat gingerly on the white, leather sofa, unphased by the memory of playing the victim upon it just an hour ago. Perhaps that was the catalyst for the change in The Son's demeanour; watching a man's gut split and spill while his cock is out, over the girl he'd been attempting to assault would change anyone. Anyone not horrifically desensitised to the kind of sexual violence Clementine has learned to endure and exploit over the years. The cartel had wanted to humiliate him, to make him feel powerless, make him watch as they treated the pretty, little thing who wouldn't leave his side like a prize, but they couldn't have known what Clementine would do, what he'd end up seeing instead. 

For a moment, holding the phone of the man he'd once called a friend, she feels the ache of exhaustion, and a twinge of regret for how unrestrained she'd allowed herself to be in her frustration. No; regret only that he'd witnessed it, regret only that it had gone that far, regret that she hadn't been more insistent in the first place, regret that she hadn't trusted her gut when his weasley friend had admitted with a guilty smile that he 'really shouldn't head to Vegas, because he makes bad decisions, but ah, it's what, two nights? What's the worst that could happen?'

Her fingers begin flying across the phone's touch screen while her mind is a million miles away, enacting her plan, continuing to set up the alternate version of events. His search will read like he was searching for countries to hide out in, his bank and email will show purchases for plane tickets to various countries, all at the same time from the same place, while it seems like he's asked Google if that kind of stunt would make him harder to find. Part of her wants a cigarette, wants that head rush and the taste of smoke and anything that's not the candle-covered bleach smell that's quickly disappearing with each moment that passes. Tomorrow she will take the long way back to New York; she'll drive them both to California and take the SIM card out of that phone, disposing both in separate bins inside of LAX, and get back in the car and drive herself and The Son across the Mexican border, no matter how long it will take. Days, at least. She'll see if that enforcer of El Saguano's is around for a few shots to take the edge off before she starting chartering them a way back to Japan; The Wolf, she thinks his name is, he's always fun to drink with, even if he's never taken much of a liking to The Son of The White Death. And speaking of; 

She will tell The Son to keep his mouth shut, and for once, she knows he will listen.

Leaving the phone on the counter for the time being, Clementine finally heads back to the bedroom, to her immobile charge, to see what kind of state he was in. Sleeping. Soundly, thankfully. Clementine pulls on her fluffy bathrobe once more, and leaves him be. Curling upon the sofa she'd been held down on mere hours ago, all she can do is wait, hoping the drugs have taken their course through The Son's blood by the time he wakes. 

Clearly he's still feeling trace amounts by the time he finally rises; the noise he makes in getting up gives him away. Though she doesn't see his unsteadiness first-hand, he holds the doorframe when he finally leaves the bedroom, when he finally sees her again. 

Slowly, Clementine stands. 

Each movement is so slow, like a performance, like a dance, as she makes her way across the room to him. There's a guarded look in his eyes that's different from before; it's almost resent. Carefully, she touches him, his bare arm, the light stubble on his jaw, the still-damp hair curling by his temple. This close, she can see his arm is shaking - all of him is shaking with exertion. When she wraps a careful arm around him, he lets go of the door, and she guides them both to sit on the cool, tile floor, unwilling to sustain his weight upon her any more than she had to. Like this, she holds him close, arms around him as he presses his face, against the soft bathrobe and her chest. The tightness with which he holds her waist would be tight enough to be uncomfortable in any other situation, Clementine is sure, but this isn't any other situation. 

"I didn't mean to scare you," she finally says, voice barely a whisper, her cheek pressed to the top of his head as he was draped against her. The words come out with a soft, almost caring tone, but her expression is glassy, unchanged.

"You didn't," comes his muffled response. He holds her a little tighter; she thinks she might feel him shaking if he wasn't holding her so tightly. Silence stretches out between them. Clementine takes slow, even breathes; The Son's head rises against the gentle movement of her chest, his own breathing far more uneven. 

"You didn't have to let them touch you like that," The Son says, in a tone that Clementine can't begin to decipher, but he continues, "you didn't have to lure my friend like that; it was..." he doesn't say cruel, but they can both hear it, just like they can both hear the horror, the disgust as it creeps into his voice. Clementine wonders if he's trying to hurt her, with the tight hold he had on her in this moment. It was clear he was still coming to terms with how easily and comfortably Clementine had victimised herself to lull her victims into a false sense of security; that on it's own had been bad enough to witness, to see how far she was willing to let them go, how blatantly she'd play upon their emotions when she had to, but for it to be followed so quickly with such visceral violence... She wonders if she'd ever be able to repair his perceptions of her, or if she truly wanted to. 

Cradling him tenderly in this moment, she pressed her lips to his hair, murmuring that his friend had been a liability -

The Son's face rises, malice and fury and disbelief in his eyes as he hissed back that his friend was just an idiot. 

But Clementine's expression is cold. Just as it had been in the hours that had passed. Unchanged. Glassy. Unaffected. Nose-to-nose, he can see that there's no light behind her eyes; she wonders if she can see the resentment she's trying to hide, forever having to clean up his mistakes. 

"I love you," she tells him with a sweet-sounding warmth and a dead-eyed stare, "I'm just glad we're alive." 

It takes a very long moment for those words to sink in, for The Son to process the situation at hand, finally understanding the lesson for what it was. Slowly, the shaking stops, the tension he was holding dropped, the grip around Clementine's waist eases to something far more comfortable, and The Son sinks back into her embrace for the time being, adding only one more thing before he presses his face back against the soft, warmth of her bathrobe.

"I love you too," with only contempt for her in his eyes.

[nekoannie-chan]

Glitter

Title: “Glitter”

Ship: Deanoru (Love).

Word count: 507 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: O3 “Sequins/Glitter”.

Summary: Karolina loves glitter, Nico doesn’t.

Warnings/Tags: Glitter, fluff, femslash.

A/N: This is my entry to @marvelrarepairbingo​  @marvelrarepairs​ MarvelRarePair Bingo Round 2 2023. Annie MRP-066.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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It was another quiet night at the hostel. Nico and Karolina were in the latter's room. They were cuddled up in bed, sharing secrets and laughter, when Karolina started talking about her love for glitter.

“You know, Nico," Karolina said with a huge smile on her face, attracting Nico's attention. “I really love glitter. It makes me feel full of magic and life. I love how it sparkles and how I can spread it all over the place. It's like I'm bringing a little bit of joy and light wherever I go.

Nico looked at her fondly, admiring the passion and excitement in Karolina's eyes. Although she herself was not as fanatical about glitter as Karolina, she understood how important it was to her; maybe that's why she had fallen in love with it; they were complete opposites.

“Karolina," Nico called to her softly, gently stroking Karolina's arm. "I couldn't help but notice how you look when you use your powers. It's as if you are surrounded by an aura of beauty and power. I love how your eyes sparkle with that special light and how your hair moves gracefully when you channel your energy. You really are beautiful; whether you use your powers or not, you really are like a princess.

Karolina smiled shyly. Never before had anyone expressed to her in that way how special she was to her when she used her powers; she even came to think she was too strange until... until they found out everything, but still, no one else changed her appearance so much when she used her powers.

“You're amazing, and I'm grateful to have you by my side,” Karolina said.

Both girls hugged each other tenderly.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a flash of bright light enveloped the room, illuminating their faces with a warm, magical glow. They both looked at each other in awe, unable to believe what they were witnessing.

Suddenly, a dimensional portal opened in front of them. Nico approached carefully, gripping the staff firmly, sensing no danger. She conjured a spell to reveal if there were any enemies or anything that could harm them.

The spell revealed that the portal was safe. Nico and Karolina held hands and crossed the threshold.

The place was a beautiful field, as the two had once dreamed of. They began to explore it; it really was a safe place; perhaps they had found their special place.

Sometimes they would snuggle in the grass, sharing secrets and laughter under the glow of the stars.

That field became their refuge, a place where they could be free and authentic. They spent hours exploring together, enjoying each other's company, and creating unforgettable memories. Ultimately, it would be their secret; no one else would know about it, even though they didn't know how they had found it or if anyone had sent it to them.

What they liked the most were the nights when glitter fell from the sky; they were not stars, but the field ended up shining, and they started dancing.