#I could talk about these three for hours you don’t understand

[dawngyu]

RAIN LILIES

pairing: soulmate idol choi beomgyu x soulmate fem!reader

Sitting at parties surrounded by lovers, a silent third wheel at movie nights, the friend holding the camera at weddings—your hands are always... alone in the spaces where others are full.

Were you an error in the grand scheme? An anomaly? A glitch in the unforgiving script? Or maybe, he simply doesn’t really… exist.

That’s how you ended up here, standing beside your korean-pop-obsessed friend who practically dragged you out and swore you’d love the show. It all became a blur when your eyes met his.

He’s on stage, gripping the mic impossibly still, staring down back at you like he feels it too.

He shouldn’t be real.

warnings: red-string au, strangers to lovers, reader is two years older, normal society norms, waiting, anxiety, doubts, sasaengs, insecurities, hasty decisions, drunk-in-love beomgyu. pov switching. everything written is a work of fiction. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, explicit-descriptions, missionary, fingering, oral!fem receiving, dom beomgyu.

wc: 20k — playlist.

notes: fighting both my delulu and my demons while writing this. 😭 Might just be the fic I enjoyed writing the most—I hope you love it just as much! so glad to be part of this beautiful event. a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading this. ilysm.

1/5 part of the valentine event with talented moas! see the full masterlist here.

If fate promised you something so certain, how could you not long for it?

Since childhood, you’ve heard the stories. The way people speak in hushed voices, weaving fate into riddles, how somewhere out there, it's waiting—a single red string, unseen until the exact moment it’s meant to appear.

The rules are simple: the second your eyes meet theirs, a delicate crimson thread will wrap and tug around your ring finger, stretching across, tied to the one who is destined to love you.

You watched it happen to everyone else. From playground giggles in elementary school to whispered confessions in high school hallways, to late-night talks in college dorm rooms. You listened as your friends spoke about finding their own soulmates, the feeling—the pull, the process. It's everywhere. In the way, your parents fit together like pages of the same story. On the way your younger sister—still so new to the world found her match.

When you’re told your whole life that destiny is waiting for you, how could you not ache for it?

The universe doesn’t make mistakes. And yet, your hands remained... stringless.

And now you wonder if it did—with you.

"One, two, three, smile!"

You press the shutter, capturing the way they look at each other. You lower the camera, but they don’t even notice—they’re too caught up in their own little world, whispering sentences only they’ll ever understand. They laugh, eyes soft, bodies leaning in just a little closer.

How does love do that? How does it make someone shine like they’re carrying sunlight beneath their skin? Like just standing beside the right person is enough to set them alight?

And why, no matter how long you wait, does that light never seem to find you?

There are days you curse it—this cruel design, this aching uncertain certainty. You tell yourself it would be easier not to know, to live without the quiet hope that somewhere, someone is meant to find you, or that fate had already written your name beside someone else’s.

And then there are days you fear it.

What if they don’t want to find you? What if that’s why you’re still alone? What if they got it wrong, skipped over your name, and he simply… doesn’t exist?

You're an anomaly. A glitch in the well-made script.

You lost count of how many times you wished it was never made this way. That love shouldn’t be a promise. Yet in the deepest hours of the night, you found yourself—gasping, trembling, and sobbing to your palms. The feeling of—

How can you miss someone you've never met?

You want to reach for a hand you’ve never held. You long for a voice you’ve never heard, a scent you’ve never breathed, a shadow you’ve never chased. And more than anything, you wish you had a name to whisper, to give you hope.

You swallow, forcing a smile as you turn back to the couple. "Congratulations," you say, "It’s a beautiful wedding."

"Thank you, Y/N!" Ha-rin squeals, practically glowing as she steps forward to hug you. "And thank you for being our photographer—I know you must be busy."

"You’re welcome," you reply, adjusting your camera strap. "It’s what I do, after all."

Ju-won steps in then, reaching for Ha-rin’s hand like he can’t stand even a moment of space between them. "Thank you, Y/N," he says, his eyes never straying far from his wife.

They were your high school classmates. You remember the day they met—first year, first morning, when their eyes met across the classroom, and just like that, the red string appeared. They grew together, from awkward introductions to effortless friendship, and now, here they were, husband and wife.

A picture of everything the universe had promised them.

Ju-won leans in, pressing a kiss to Ha-rin’s cheek like it’s the first time, like they haven’t spent years by each other’s side. The look in their eyes is so easy, so full of love, that you have to look away.

You can't look.

"Uh, I’ll get some drinks," you say, forcing a smile that feels as out of place as you do. You don’t wait for a response. You just turn, your heels clicking against the polished floor, head spinning as you try to count how many weddings you’ve attended this year.

Or no. You’ve lost count.

Everyone you grew up with—your friends, your classmates—have already found their soulmates. Most are married now, some already raising children.

Your heels dig into your feet with each hurried step, but you don’t slow down. You just keep moving, past everyone. You know exactly where you’ll end up. The same place you always do.

Alone at the sidelines.

You grab a drink, bringing it to your lips a little too quickly, hoping the cool burn will settle the unease twisting in your stomach.

"Hey! It’s been a while!" A voice cuts calls out, familiar—but not familiar enough. You turn to see a girl skidding towards you, her face vaguely recognizable. A former classmate? A clubmate? Someone who once sat next to you in a lecture hall?

"How have you been?" she asks, taking a drink for herself.

"I’m fine, thanks," you reply, forcing an easy nod before taking another sip.

A second passes, and then another girl joins the conversation, breathless with laughter. "Beom-seok finally let me go," she teases, tilting her head toward the man across the room—her soulmate. "The guy’s obsessed."

"Of course he is," the first girl grins. "He’s your soulmate." She swirls her drink before adding, "Mine just got back from overseas. He’ll see me tomorrow once he’s in the city." And there it is again—circling back to the same topic, the one you can never take part in. You nod, offering a small smile, pretending to listen.

Because what is there to say when everyone else has something you don’t?

"Y/N?" Your name pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Did you meet yours yet?" The question hits like a slow, squeezing ache in your chest.

"No," you say, reaching for another drink. It's embarrassing that everyone knows you're empty. "I haven't."

"That's… weird, right?" The first girl tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. "I mean, we sat through those lectures together. Didn’t the studies say most people find their soulmate before twenty-five? That’s what the records say."

There’s no malice in her voice, just matter-of-fact. Like she’s pointing out a statistic, saying out what’s already been made painfully clear to you. it’s the same tired reminder, the same unspoken question: what’s wrong with you?

You’re used to it by now.

"Yeah," you say, unwilling to argue. What’s the point? Your mind slips back to those reckless high school days—the days when older girls, too cool and too cruel, mocked you for not having a soulmate. You remember snapping back, pretending their words didn’t sting.

Later, the tears came on the bus ride home—carving rivers down your cheeks as you sob. Strangers offered tissues, soft words, awkward kindness, but none of it could stitch you back together. You remember your mother's words after seeing her home. To stop them from hurting you, you have to accept all of yourself.

But how do you accept the whole of you, when it doesn’t even feel like you have all of you?

From the corner of your eye, you catch the second girl nudging her. "Don’t mind her, Y/N," she says quickly. "She doesn’t always think before she talks." Then, after a beat, she adds, "Have you tried dating in the meantime? You know, while you're waiting?"

You blink at her, taken aback.

"I mean, it's not like it’s cheating, right? Since you haven’t met them yet."

You set your drink down, your fingers suddenly cold. "Why are you suggesting something you wouldn’t even do?" Your voice is calm, but it makes her shift uncomfortably. "Or did you? Does your soulmate know?"

Neither of them speaks. Guilt in their expressions. You don’t wait for an answer. You're done for tonight.

It’s time to go.

You turn away, not bothering to look back. No one needs you here—your part is done. Your role here is over. You pull out your phone, quickly typing out a polite apology to the bride before slipping it back into your pocket.

The drive home is silent, and the buzz of the engine is the only company you have. Your hands grip the wheel a little too tightly, your thoughts drifting despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. When you finally reach your small apartment, you step out, clutching yet another wedding souvenir in one hand a meaningless token of a night that wasn’t yours to celebrate.

You lock the door behind you and lean against it blinking, exhaling shakily. "I guess today wasn’t the day either," you murmur to no one in particular, wiping away the single tear that managed to escape. "What's taking you so long?"

No matter how often you whispered this question, it never hurt any less.

"What's taking you so long?"

Beomgyu groans from under the covers, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth of his bed. The sudden tug of his blanket makes him blindly reach out, attempting to grab it back. "You shi—"

"Beomgyu, you're the last one. We're all almost ready to go," Soobin says, adjusting his belt in the mirror. "Look at this little child."

Beomgyu stretches with a dramatic yawn. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbles, sitting up sluggishly and blinking against the light. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, feet landing on the bedside table. Soobin shakes his head but doesn't stick around—his job is done. Beomgyu is finally awake.

Minutes later, Beomgyu trudges into the living room, hair a mess, voice still deep with sleep. "Are we eating there?"

The entire room turns to look at him.

"You woke up late, and that’s the first thing you care about?" Yeonjun teases, shaking his head with a laugh.

"Well, I didn’t eat last night," Beomgyu grumbles.

"Oh?"

"Liar," the maknae pipes up from the couch, casually applying lip balm. "You literally snuck out to eat."

"You snitch," Beomgyu gasps, feigning betrayal. "I didn’t raise you to turn on me like this!"

"You? Raise me?" Kai scoffs. "Soobin hyung’s the one who raised me, what are you talking about?"

Soobin smirks and chucks Beomgyu’s towel straight at his face. "Exactly. Now go shower, you idiot."

Laughter erupts around the room as Beomgyu groans, trudging toward the bathroom. "Shower quick, hyung," Taehyun calls out.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Beomgyu’s slightly damp hair clings to the back of his neck. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly before they rushed out of the dorm—there was no room for delays today. A broadcast for their comeback. Another promotion. His stylist would handle it in the green room anyway.

They pile into the van, the usual quiet settling over them. Despite being fully dressed and ready, exhaustion hangs heavy. One by one, his members drift off, heads resting against windows, bodies slumped in their seats. Only Kai remains awake, lost in his own world, music pulsing through his earphones. The maknae was so engrossed on his phone, obviously texting with a small smile on his face.

Beomgyu sighs, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, his breath slightly fogging up the window. Today would be a long day. Rehearsals, performances, a challenge video, taping. He missed this. He missed MOAs. The rush of the stage. The high of performing. And then—

Oh.

The van slows at a red light, and his gaze drifts absentmindedly to the sidewalk. His chest tightens.

A couple walks by, laughing, hands intertwined, completely lost in their own world. The way they move together, effortlessly in sync. In love. Content. Happy. He stares longer than he should.

He can't look away.

His throat feels tight as the van lurches forward again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinks hard, shifting in his seat. The image stayed, pressed into the back of his mind.

All four of his members had already found theirs—their soulmates. The one they could lean on when the world became too loud. Beomgyu was happy for them, of course, he was. He remember how he was when Kai blushed when he met his soulmate recently, right after his 23rd birthday.

Everyone teased the maknae relentlessly for weeks.

Beomgyu had been too busy his whole life, training since he was just a kid, running full speed toward a dream. His mind is busy to the point he sometimes forgets it. He does not mean to. It's just that—he never let himself dwell on it for too long. Pushing it aside became second nature, the same way he’d forget to eat when he was too busy, too distracted.

But every year, without fail, when the room dimmed and the birthday candles in front of him, his wish was always the same.

His soulmate.

It didn’t matter how many years passed or how much he achieved—when the glow of those tiny flames danced in his eyes, it was the only thing his heart whispered.

Beomgyu exhales shakily, his fingers curling into his hoodie. a quiet sigh slipping from his pouting lips.

Where are you?

The stark white walls of the hospital room loom over, mocking your awkwardness.

"There's nothing wrong with you, dear," the woman in front of you says, her lab coat lending a sense of authority to her words. Her voice is gentle, reassuring, but it barely soothes the unease twisting in your chest. "Soulmates do tend to find each other early, statistically speaking. But that’s just a pattern, not a guarantee."

You swallow hard. The lump in your throat stays put. "Is there… any chance this is a mistake?" Your voice is quieter than you intend, fragile in a way you hate. "That someone could go their whole life without one? That—" you hesitate, your chest tightening, "that I’m just… meant to be alone?"

Something flickers across her face—pity, maybe. You’re not sure. "I’ll look into it, I promise," she says after a moment. "I know twenty-six feels late, and I know it’s frustrating. But… trust in destiny a little longer. If you want, I can also recommend a therapist. I know the pressure can get to you."

Her words are meant to be comforting. They only make the weight in your chest heavier. You shake your head, managing a quiet “thank you” before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you.

“How was it?” Da-hee’s voice reaches you before you even look up. She’s already on her feet, eyes scanning your face, searching for an answer. “What did they say?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” You sigh, walking past her. “I told you I should not do this.”

She huffs, crossing her arms as she falls into step beside you. “You never tried it,”

Your best friend doesn’t argue anymore, following you to the counter in silence. The cashier barely looks up as they say, “That consultation is $120 total, plus taxes, bringing it to $145.86. Card or cash?”

You catch Da-hee reaching for her wallet, but you gently push her hand away. “Don’t,” you murmur. “This was for me.”

You hand over your card. A quick swipe, a faint beep. And just like that, you’re down nearly $150 with nothing to show for it but a sinking feeling in your stomach.

That much money for a consultation. A conversation. No treatment, no tests, nothing tangible. Soulmate doctors are expensive. Too expensive. And health insurance? Useless. They don’t cover something as rare, as unquantifiable, as soulmate problems.

Because to them, it’s not a real sickness, proving that you are—once again—the outlier.

Perfect.

“Come on,” you say, nudging your still-guilty-looking friend. She follows you out of the hospital, quiet and pouting.

At the car, she pulls open the driver’s side door. “Let me at least drive?” she offers, voice softer now.

You chuckle at her persistence, shaking your head before tossing her the keys. “Okay.” Sliding into the passenger seat, you reach for the radio, as she pulls out of the parking lot.

"Let's hang out at your place," Da-hee says, and she grins as she sees you nod your head.

Music played softly through the speakers, blending with the casual flow of conversation. The air is light, and easy—until your car rolls past a towering black building.

HYBE.

Funeral wreaths. Trucks. Massive banners.

Your brows furrow as you take it in, the sight so jarring that it silences you for a beat. The road ahead clogs with slowed traffic, people lingering to gawk at the scene.

“What the fuck?” Da-hee mutters, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, eyes darting across the scene. The traffic slows as more people crane their necks to look. You do the same, stomach twisting at the sheer scale of it. "This is insane."

“What’s going on?” you ask, still trying to piece together the meaning behind it all.

She exhales, lips pressing into a thin line. “Lee Heeseung. An idol,” she starts. “News got out that he recently went out with his soulmate.” Her voice dips, sadness flickering across her face. “And now… now, people want him out of the group.”

Your stomach twists. “What?”

You strain to read the bold, angry messages plastered across the banners:

GET LEE HEESEUNG OUT OF HYBE.

APOLOGIZE, LEE HEESEUNG.

EXPLAIN THIS, LEE HEESEUNG.

ENHYPEN IS NOW ONLY SIX.

IDOLS WITH SOULMATES ARE NOT IDOLS.

The messages feel suffocating, each one worse than the last. Then you see it—one of the trucks, its LED screen flashing an image like a public execution.

A man, young and striking, caught mid-laughter as he eats ramen with a girl beside him. She’s smiling too, her expression warm, content. The matching caps on their heads make them look like any ordinary couple, but the grainy, long-lens quality of the photo gives it away. Someone had been watching. Someone had been waiting to expose them.

Your stomach turns.

“It’s worse when so many fans are… young,” Da-hee murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most of them are stringless.” She says the last word carefully like she doesn’t want to offend you.

But you almost hear what she isn’t saying.

Stringless people can’t understand the soulmate bond. And when it comes to idols, that misunderstanding twists into darker. As insane as it sounds, they feel entitled. Possessive. Like their devotion should be enough. Like an idol’s life—who they love, who they belong to—should be theirs to control.

It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?

The car inches forward, and your eyes drift back to the scene outside. Security guards push against the surging crowd, their faces strained. The banners wave wildly, like battle flags in a war meant to punish.

You swallow hard. “I don’t get it.” You don’t know him. You don't need to know him to know the injustice of it. “Why treat him like he committed some kind of crime? He’s meant to have someone. He’s a person, not—” You gesture vaguely at the protest, frustration bubbling up. “Not their property.”

Da-hee sighs. “That’s why idols who are caught with their soulmates—especially the ones who confirm it, get cancelled. Fans turn on them. They lose everything.” She shakes her head, voice laced with exhaustion and resignation. “It’s sad that they have to hide it.”

The thought of society hating someone just for loving who they’re meant to love makes your chest feel tight. How could something meant to be beautiful turn into this?

You guess your own situation isn’t the only cruel, unfair thing in this world.

The two of you make it back to your apartment, settling in for a movie with a bowl of popcorn between you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room, a comfortable silence stretching between you—until Da-hee suddenly squeals, nearly knocking the popcorn over in the process.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, shoving the popcorn bowl off her lap as she scrambles to her feet. “OH MY GOD.” She starts stomping in place.

You glance at her, unimpressed. “I want to wipe that ridiculous grin off your face.”

She just giggles and shoves her phone in front of you. “Joon bought me VVIP tickets. I’m going to die.” She pumps a fist in the air, bouncing on her toes like a kid who just won the lottery. “And there’s two. He can’t go—oh my god. Please, please, I am begging you to come with me. It’s next week! That sneaky bastard didn’t even tell me he bought them ages ago.”

You hesitate, already feeling the excuse forming on your tongue. “I don’t think—”

“Come on, Y/N.” She grabs your arm, shaking it dramatically. “Look at me. I have a soulmate, and I still thirst over Tomorrow X Together.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “That’s a long-ass name.”

“They’re my babies,” she says, clutching her chest like she’s been personally blessed by the gods. “You’ll love the show, I promise. And maybe—you’ll be like me. While you wait for your soulmate, it’s harmless to fangirl a little. OMG, what if you become a MOA? That’s my dream. Imagine us going to cafés with photocards, buying merch, collecting albums—”

“Okay, first of all, they are grown men. Not babies.” you cut in before she spirals. You know from experience that once she starts talking about her fangirl life, she never stops. “Anyways, okay, I’ll go. But don’t expect anything.”

Da-hee lets out another excited squeal before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck and squeezing way too tight.

“You won’t regret this!”

You already do.

It was your turn to trail behind Da-hee like a lost puppy, weaving through the sea of fans decked out in carefully coordinated outfits. Everyone is well dressed. So prepared. Keychains and accessories dangled from their bags, the sound of clinking metal filling the air.

"Look at them," Da-hee suddenly stopped, pulling out her phone. You followed her gaze to the massive banner hanging outside the arena.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER

They... didn’t look bad.

"My husbands," Da-hee sighed dreamily spinning turning to you with wide eyes. "Let's take a selfie!"

Before you could protest, she yanked you in, holding her phone high. The two of you posed—her grinning ear to ear, you looking like a reluctant daughter humoring her overexcited mom.

At the ticketing section, an attendant handed you both event wristbands and ID laces. You're about to shove yours into your pocket, but Da-hee looped it around your neck like a medal.

“So you don’t lose it,” she said firmly.

You sighed, adjusting the strap as you followed her toward a merch booth. Fans swarmed the display, eyes gleaming as they scanned the shelves stacked with albums, shirts, and accessories.

"Everyone's so hyped," you muttered, glancing around. "I can see a lot of Da-hees here."

"Of course they are," Da-hee said ignoring your last comment with a dramatic sway of her hand. She skimmed the display. "This comeback is a masterpiece."

You frowned. "What are we even doing here?"

"You need a picket." She says. "And don’t even think about saying no. I’m still heartbroken you refused the lightstick, so at least take this. We’re gonna be right at the barricades, you can’t just stand there empty-handed. Pick one."

You groaned, "Fine."

Your eyes sweep over the options, scanning each face printed on the glossy boards. You won’t say it out loud—not yet—but you’ll admit it now. They’re all… ridiculously handsome.

And one of them stands out.

Soft brown eyes. A small, almost knowing smile. Something about his face makes your breath hitch. "Uh..."

Da-hee leans in, brow furrowing. "What are you picking? Wait. Are you okay? Why are you so red—"

"I'm not," You quickly pointed at the picket, avoiding her stare like your life depended on it. "This one."

A slow, mischievous grin spreads across her face. "Oh-ho." She turns to the waiting merch seller, smiling some more.

"One Beomgyu, please."

You followed her... once again.

You didn’t have much of a choice. But this time, your steps felt… lighter. Movements are less reluctant than when you first arrived.

You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the way the heat had finally eased, the golden glow of late afternoon settling over the pavement. Maybe it was the way MOAs—total strangers—smiled at you like you belonged, their warmth making you feel strangely at ease. Maybe it was the fact of not hearing the word soulmate even once. That you don't feel the odd one out.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the picket you now held carefully in your hands.

You didn’t know how it happened. How you went from teasing Da-hee about her obsession to clutching a piece of laminated paper like it meant something. But the more you looked around, the more you understood.

It wasn’t just about the idols printed on banners or the music playing faintly in the background. But also, it was about them. These people who glowed with excitement, who found joy in simply being here, in loving unapologetically.

You were sceptical of it at first, seeing the front of HYBE last week. The protest. But just like everything, you saw it. The good side of being a fan.

How they shined—not only because of who they adored, but because of how they adored. How happy they were to love, and to share that love with everyone around them.

And somehow, standing here among them, you felt a little brighter, too.

"Where are we going now?"

"MOAZONE," Da-hee answers without hesitation, pulling you toward yet another booth. The concert doors won’t open for another thirty minutes, but she’s on a mission. The funny thing is—she doesn’t really need to drag you anymore.

Something has settled in your bones. You’re going to see this through, stay until the last song fades. And maybe—you’ll find yourself here again next time.

"It’s a booth where you can pull a concert-exclusive photocard," she explains further, eyes shining with excitement.

You nod, letting her lead the way. The line is long. When it’s finally Da-hee’s turn, she gasps, then squeals so loudly people around her chuckle. "Yeonjun!" she cries, clutching the card to her chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. "I got him!"

Then, it’s your turn.

A row of face-down cards is laid out before you. You don’t think too hard about it—you just point to one.

The staff hands it over, and when you flip it, your breath catches.

"You got Beomgyu?!" Da-hee shrieks, bouncing on her toes beside you. You barely hear her. Because there he is.

Elbow propped up, chin resting on his hand, that same small, knowing smile—only this time, it’s wider.

Fucking hell.

Da-hee grabs your arm, shaking you. "Girl, you are officially a Beomgyu magnet. I'm unfriending you if don't start liking them,"

Beomgyu.

Beomgyu. His name loops in your mind, over and over. And for some reason, it fits. His name suits him.

You tried your best not to break a smile. "Come on,"

If you had told yourself a year ago that you’d be here—crammed into a packed venue, surrounded by screaming teenagers—you would’ve laughed. Hard.

And yet, here you are, laughing. Not at the absurdity of it, but with it. Caught up in the moment with Da-hee, the crowd’s energy vibrates as hundreds of voices chant their names.

“It’s soundcheck first,” Da-hee leans in, her voice barely cutting through the noise. “Then the main concert.”

You nod, still grinning. “Okay.”

Then, the opening notes of a song play through the speakers. The crowd erupts. “Oh my god!” Da-hee shrieks, “It’s Deja Vu!”

The five of them step onto the stage. It’s a blur—lights flashing, voices screaming. Your heart pounds against your ribs as the music swells, wrapping around you like something alive.

It’s beautiful.

A tall man—easily the tallest—moves toward your section, waving with an easy smile, deep dimples carving into his soft-looking cheeks. It reminds you of bread. The warmth of it is infectious, and before you even realise it, you're waving back, grinning at someone whose name you didn’t even know this morning.

Then, the song begins to wind down. And that’s when you see him.

Beomgyu.

His steps are slower than the others, like he’s taking his time, scanning the crowd with careful eyes. You tell yourself not to look. Not when he gets closer. Not when that strange, restless nervousness twists in your stomach. You clench your fists and stare at the ground. Why? Why does this feel so overwhelming?

Around you, voices grew. The energy shifts, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. You look up, unsure.

The mic is at his lips, his voice singing into the melody—until suddenly, he stops.

All because his eyes meet yours.

Everything else fades. The crowd, the shake of Da-hee beside you, even the music that was supposed to be loud. All that’s left is the pull—a red thread stretching between, searing itself into your vision, blinding in its intensity—demanding to be seen.

On stage, he stands impossibly still, his fingers gripping the mic like he sees it too.

It can't be real.

“We're trending again,” Taehyun says, flopping onto Beomgyu’s hotel bed with a sigh. “What the hell?”

Beomgyu leans back against the headboard, “How much time do we have?”

Taehyun checks his watch. “Practice is in… oh. Hours.” He exhales, shaking his head in awe. “This is actually happening. A sold-out stadium, Beomgyu. Can you believe that? Remember that tiny, run-down building we used to train in? The cracked floorboards, the growing mushrooms?” He laughs, eyes distant.

“When Yeonjun used to sneak his soulmate in, trying to show off like he was already famous? As a trainee. And now—now, we’re here.”

Beomgyu snorts. “In that practice room, too. I still don’t know how his soulmate put up with that. Or how Yeonjun didn’t get kicked out.”

“Yeah. They just couldn’t let go of each other.” Taehyun laughs, shaking his head. “And I don't think Big Hit will let go of him too."

It had been one of the first rules drilled into them during training—no soulmates. No... searching. And if they already had one? They had to tell them. Have the conversation. An agreement that would turn everything into a secret.

Soulmates were inevitable, unstoppable. Beomgyu still remembers the contract in his hands, the way he read every word over and over, heart pounding. As if somewhere in the fine print, there was a clause that might hurt his soulmate. In the end, he signed.

If he ever found his soulmate, no one could know. Not until everything was over. In other words, disbandment.

"I'm missing her like crazy these days."

Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away. He just shrugs, tossing things out of his suitcase—a hoodie, a toothbrush, whatever his hands find first. He had noticed how restless Taehyun had been, the way he kept his phone glued to his hands, typing, hesitating, typing again. But what was there to say? What could he do about it?

The others were good at pretending. Hiding. The quiet hotel meetups, the stolen hours between schedules. But if Beomgyu was being honest, he could count on both hands the number of times any of the four had actually been with their soulmates since debut.

The fear of getting caught kept them all in line. Not just by the company, but by the fans. The horror stories weren’t just industry rumours—some were ancient, some recent.

If this doesn’t work out, I don’t know if I can take it. Taehyun had said that once. This career was everything. He wasn’t going to risk it. He wasn't ready. And Beomgyu understood. Everyone understood. He could already picture the protest trucks outside the company building if anyone ever slipped up.

"You heard anything from Heeseung?" Taehyun asks, his voice careful, his fingers tightening around his phone. Beomgyu knows him well enough to catch the shift—the way his mind drifts, went from missing his soulmate to remembering the latest scandal in their world.

Heeseung, the newest idol thrown into the fire.

He, who got caught with his soulmate.

"Yeah," Beomgyu says, swallowing. "He's okay, but… his soulmate is taking the worst of it."

Taehyun stills. The thought of his own soulmate being dragged into something like that—starts to burn at the back of his mind. What if it were her?

"Hey, don't overthink it," Beomgyu says because he sees it. He sees it in all of them. The quiet way they carry it, that they aren’t supposed to want. In their world, the idea that you should be free with your soulmate is just that—an idea. Or maybe worse. A peril. A risk too big to take.

He remembers Soobin crying once, blaming himself for wanting this life—this job. And how, in the end, the only person who could calm him down was his soulmate. The same person the company treated like a liability. Yet, the only one with the power to bring their leader back to himself.

The irony.

He also remembers the night he sat with his dad, asking him how he knew Mom was his. He had tilted his head, recounting their encounter, before he said one thing that stuck with him.

"Before I even saw the string, I knew… it was her."

Beomgyu used to cringe at that. Now, he wonders if he'll ever get the chance to feel it.

“Did you see everyone? Insane.” Yeonjun says, eyes wide as they sit in the salon-like chairs. “They’ve been out there since last night.”

Kai glances at him as much as he can without moving his head, his makeup artist carefully blending eyeshadow. “Yeah, I saw them. MOAs are bundled up out there, and it’s freezing. It's worrying me.”

"I feel like I'm about to throw up. I'm nervous,"

Playing a stadium—a sold-out one, this is the dream. The one every trainee chases, the one Beomgyu used to stare at the ceiling imagining, too afraid to believe it could ever be real. And yet, here it is.

His mind pulls him back to the past. The long nights, the aching muscles, the quiet sobs muffled into his pillow. The moments of doubt, the voices—his own, the other's—telling him he wasn’t enough. He remembers how hard they worked. How hard he worked. How many times they shared one meal because they couldn't afford another one. And still, somehow, they held on.

He knows he earned this, and fought for it with everything he had. But standing here now, bathed in the price of it all, it still doesn’t feel real. He stares at his hands once his stylist is done with his eyes. There’s something else tugging at him, a strange feeling that’s been lurking since morning.

What it is, he can’t quite say.

Beomgyu's eyes sweep over the big space. The kind of big that makes his head spin if he thinks about it too much. In a few hours, this place will be much packed. He’s been—on stages just like this, under lights just as bright but somehow, it still knocks the wind out of him.

It's soundcheck. He likes it because, with the lights up, he can actually see everyone. It was one of the rare moments he could see faces. He likes it as much as the offline fan signs. They move through the set, running back and forth across the stage, but his feet keep pulling him toward one side—like an instinct.

Beomgyu likes looking at MOAs. It feels good. Familiar, almost. Sometimes, he even recognizes a face— it was a feeling like a reminder of home, a classmate from school, someone he’d seen before. And then there’s the simple joy of it all. The way someone’s face brightens up because of him. It never gets old. It never stops making him happy, too.

But then, he notices one weird thing.

It’s strange. He’s right here. He could understand if you were looking at another member—fans have their favourites, after all. But you’re not looking at anyone. You're staring at the floor?

You’re not looking at all.

He tilts his head, trying to see better—to get a curious glimpse, and suddenly, his whole world shifts. His heart slams to a stop. It’s so sudden, so overwhelming, he almost stumbles forward, yanking him toward the barricade. "What?"

And then—you move, as if you heard his thoughts.

Just the slightest turn of your head, your face lifting, eyes locking onto his. He stops breathing. His fingers go numb around the mic. Everything slows, softens, blurs at the edges until there’s nothing but this moment. Just the two of you, staring.

The closeness of Beomgyu makes the crowd shift, bodies pressing closer—but you don’t move. You just stand there—still, steady—while the rest of the world shifts around you. Like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, holding on as everything else rushes past.

He swears he would’ve stayed like that forever—frozen, staring, lost—if not for the firm hand on his shoulder. A small tug. He blinks, the spell breaking just enough for reality to slip back in.

"Beomgyu? What's wrong?" Soobin. His leader gives him a look of worry and urgency, and that’s when he hears it, the music. He closes his agape lips, and clears his throat. The song is still playing. Right. He’s supposed to be—

But then his gaze flickers back to you.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. You’re just so so pretty. That’s all. Maybe it was your eyes or your hair or the way you did it. It was just fucking cute. It doesn’t mean anything. And—

His breath falters. He sees it.

He hadn’t noticed before. He had been too busy looking at you. Too caught up in the moment that he missed it entirely. Something all of the members have. Something Beomgyu had waited for his whole life.

The thread.

Thin, and so impossibly red. A string stretched between, glowing faintly under the stage lights. He looks down at his hand—at his ring finger— it's tied there. His eyes trace its path. To you. His chest tightens.

"Before I even saw the string, I knew… it was her."

Soulmate.

You’re his. After everything—after all this time—

He finally found you.

The dressing room is a blur of movement, stylists rushing, last-minute adjustments being made, and voices overlapping but he just sits there. Staring at the floor.

He’s dressed. He’s ready. He should be used to this by now, the pre-show jitters, the nervous energy that always sits in his chest before he steps on stage. But—his soulmate is out there. Somewhere in the crowd. And the thought grips him so tight it almost hurts. What if he never sees you again? What if you’re gone before he can find you?

Your face lingers in his mind, vivid and haunting. The way the lights hit your dress, the way you looked at him—it knocked the breath right out of his lungs. He was completely unprepared for it. You were so beautiful that he almost forgot what he was doing.

He’s never been shaken like that before. Not in his personal life. Not as an idol. Not in school, at the company, on stage, meeting seniors, at award shows—never.

Waiting for the music queue, he finally lifts his head.

Muscle memory takes over. His body knows what to do. He’s trained for this, conditioned for it. Every movement, every note, every expression—it’s muscle memory now. His instincts take over before his thoughts can catch up. This is his life. His career. The one thing he chose, out of everything he could have been. How many people in the world get to do this? To stand under those lights, to hear thousands of voices calling his name, to live a dream most wouldn’t even dare to chase?

Would he trade it all, just to see you again?

His feet move—before he can stop them, despite his thoughts, his heart pulls him stronger toward your section. It's a force beyond his control. When he finally sees you again, it feels like a miracle. You’re still near the barricade, still close enough that he doesn’t have to search.

He keeps up, waves, and makes faces—things for MOAs, things he’s done a thousand times before. But his mind isn’t on them. It’s on you. And you’re just standing there again, frozen in place like you don’t trust yourself to move.

He waves again, but this time, it’s for you. Directly. You tilt your head, hesitant, and then—an unsure wave back. It’s so small, so subtle, but it makes him smile. His grin spreads before he can think twice.

Got you, beautiful.

He pumps his fist in an exaggerated show of triumph, like he just won a game only the two of you are playing. He watches as your eyes go wide, and if the lights weren’t so blinding, he swears he’d see the warmth rising to your cheeks. He fists his hand, trying to hold back from reaching out to you.

He crouches, and the fans around you surge forward, eager to be seen, but you don’t move. And then, he sees it—your eyes kept flickering downward, tracing the thread again and again, like you were making sure.

Yet you see it perfectly too.

You smile—small, hesitant, like you’re not sure this is really happening. Then, as if on impulse, you lift your hand, forming a careful, uncertain hand heart.

He doesn’t even wait a second before returning it.

His eagerness made you laugh. A breathless, disbelieving kind of laugh. He can’t hear it, not over the noise of the crowd, but he sees it in the way your shoulders shake, the way your eyes crease at the corners. His chest aches.

You're even more beautiful when you laugh.

He tosses a few kisses out into the air, but he gives his last kiss, the last one to you. You hesitate for only a second before sending one back. His response is instant—dramatic, ridiculous—clutching his chest like you’ve just shot him straight through the heart. He stumbles back, clutches at his clothes, so completely gone for you.

It’s meant to be a joke, but it isn’t.

Because you do have his heart, don’t you? And the strangest thing is, he doesn’t even know your name. Has never heard your voice. But right now, none of that matters. Maybe he’d stay here forever if he could, but the next song cut through the air, pulling him back to the present. His feet move, leading him away—away from you.

Before he joins the centre, just for a second, he looks back. A second to meet your eyes again, to make sure you're watching him.

And you are.

"Hyung," he breathes out.

Soobin turns, both of them standing still as stylists tug their sweat-drenched shirts off, replacing them with fresh ones.

But Beomgyu isn’t thinking about the show anymore.

He’s looking at Soobin. Waiting. Searching for the right way to ask without anyone else catching on. He doesn’t want them to hear. Doesn’t want them to know.

Not yet.

Soobin frowns slightly. “What? You've been looking distracted since earlier. Are you okay?”

“Your soulmate…” His eyes flicker down. He hesitates, searching for the right words. The right way to say this. "At—Tokyo? How did you…?"

He doesn’t need to finish the thought. How can the older forget the only time he managed to sneak his soulmate backstage? Soobin stares at Beomgyu. The latter's face is practically screaming his questions. How did you do it? How did you get them backstage? How did you make it happen?

Beomgyu has to see you. In front of him. Next to him. Because what if you disappear? What if he lets this slip through his fingers, and suddenly—you’re just gone? And what if this is his only chance?

The room moves around him—zippers, voices, fabric rustling—but all he can hear is his own ragged breathing. He moves his eyes. And there, watching him is their leader who knows him better than anyone—with that equally knowing look on his face.

"Let's talk. Just the two of us."

Beomgyu is your soulmate.

The boys just disappeared backstage, their song still ringing in your ears, but your hands won’t stop shaking. Your chest is tight, your throat burns, and there’s a sting at the corners of your eyes.

You're not a mistake. He’s here. He saw you.

His eyes, his smile. The way he moves, the faint dimple that appears when he does. The thought is too much—it makes your knees weak, and forces you to grip the barricade to keep yourself upright.

"Girl, I swear Beomgyu kept looking over here," Da-hee says, nudging you, completely oblivious to the storm unraveling in your chest. Then she catches sight of your face—at your trembling fingers, at the way you can’t seem to catch your breath.

“Y/N?” Her voice softens. “What’s wrong?”

The words leave your lips before you can even think. "I saw my soulmate."

Your voice shakes, barely above a whisper, but Da-hee hears it. Her eyes go wide. "Wait, what? Oh my god—where is he? Is he a MOA? Is he—”

She doesn’t even get to finish the thought before she freezes.

It clicks.

Then, slowly, her face shifts—from confusion to shock to absolute disbelief. The finding out, then the realising. She stares at you, her mouth slightly open, her hands hovering in the air like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh my fucking god.” Her hands fly to her mouth, like she needs to physically stop herself from screaming. Then she grabs her hair, like that’s going to help her process this.

“Is he—is Beomgyu—” She cuts herself off, whisper-shouting now, eyes darting toward the stage, toward the place where he just was. “Is that why he kept coming back over here?”

Her grip tightens on your arm, searching your face, waiting for you to confirm what she already knows. But you can’t say anything. All you can give is a small nod.

Minutes pass. The music swells and fades, song after song drifting through the speakers.

Da-hee stays by your side, rubbing soothing circles on your back, whispering reassurances you can’t fully process. At some point, you catch her sniffling into her hands, wiping away her own tears.

Sixteen years.

Sixteen years of friendship, of growing up together, of knowing each other better than anyone else ever could. She’s seen every version of you—the messy, the broken, the parts of you even you struggled to accept. She’s cried with you, cried for you, carried your grief like it was her own. Even after finding her own soulmate, she never left you behind. Never made you feel like you were missing something, like you were less.

And now—now she’s the reason you’re here.

She’s the reason you met him.

You think of every birthday candle she ever closed her eyes for, every whispered wish she made on your behalf—because she believed that if two people wished for the same thing, the universe had to listen.

And maybe she was right.

It doesn’t matter if he never speaks to you. If the lights were too bright, if the crowd was too big, if he never even saw the thread at all.

It doesn’t matter. Because you saw it.

And that means you were never a mistake. Never some error in the grand design.

He exists.

Da-hee squeezes your hands, grounding you as a woman in staff uniform approaches. Her eyes lock onto yours, scanning your face, your outfit—like she’s confirming, making sure. Then, she stops directly in front of you. “We need to check some information on your tickets.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. You’re not stupid. You know what this is. You know they wouldn’t say it outright, not here, not in front of all these people.

“I—I have a friend with me,”

The staff member hesitates, studying you for a beat too long. Then she nods. “She can come with you, but she’ll have to wait in the holding room.”

You turn to Da-hee, and she’s already looking at you, her eyes wide and glassy. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she forces a wobbly smile.

Let's go.

You’re going to meet Beomgyu.

The walk was terrifying. Your hands clench tighter with every step, nails digging into your palms, but it does nothing to steady you. Every passing glance burns into your skin—people sneaking curious glances—staff members, crew, people who know exactly why you’re here.

Da-hee had to stay behind in the outer lounge. Now, it’s just you and the staff member leading you deeper into the backstage hallways. The air is thick, suffocating, and you force yourself to breathe through it.

Then she stops. A white door stands in front of you. Dressing Room is printed neatly on a sign, but the words blur as your mind spins.

She knocks. Opens it.

Panic rushes in. What if he doesn’t want this? What if he only let you come here to reject you—to tell you, to your face, that even if the universe says you’re meant to be, he doesn’t want you? What if—

The thought vanishes the second you see him.

Beomgyu.

He’s mid-step, like he’s been pacing. He removes his hands from his face, his eyes widening just slightly before he clears his throat. “Come in,” he says, voice softer than you expected. It’s meant for the staff member, but his gaze never left yours.

The staff steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. Heat crawls up your neck as you force yourself to move, hyper-aware of the way he’s watching every step.

“You have 60 minutes, Beomgyu,” she says before closing the door behind you.

Beomgyu stares at you, and you stare back.

For a moment, neither of you move. Just standing there, eyes locked, as if the world has paused just for this. To anyone else, it might look awkward—but you can't look away as he does.

Your eyes traces over his face, bare and fresh like he just washed up. The soft curve of his cheekbones, the freckles and moles scattered like constellations—proof that the universe took its time with him. Perfect in a way that makes your chest ache.

He blinks, and your eyes catch on his lashes—delicate, dark, fluttering against his skin like something out of a dream.

How can someone be made this perfect?

The question lodges itself in your throat, and before you can stop it, your vision blurs. Tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away. You don’t even know if he wants this yet—

"What’s your name?" Beomgyu asks, his voice quieter than he expected. He watches the way you blink, the slight parting of your lips like you hadn’t expected him to speak first.

His hands curl into fists at his sides. The urge to reach out—to cup your face, to feel your skin—is overwhelming. But he holds himself back.

Beomgyu has never considered himself the kind of person to take the first step. But not this. Not with you. He wants to start a conversation, anything—to get you talking, to hear your voice, to know you.

"Y/N." The sound of your voice stills him. It settles in his chest, not as something new, but as something he swears he’s always known—like a song he’s heard in a dream, waiting to be remembered. His lips twitch into a small, almost dazed smile.

Your voice is so pretty, he thinks. So pretty that it hurts.

He repeats your name, slower this time, rolling it over his tongue like he’s memorizing the way it feels to say it. And when you smile—just the faintest curve of your lips—his own smile widens into a grin.

"So, uh, hi?" Beomgyu says, and it pulls a laugh from you. His heart stumbles over itself at the sound, warmth blooming in his chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily you affect him.

"Did you come here alone?" he asks, trying to steady himself.

"I was with a friend," you say, and his eyes flicker—just for a second—to your lips before settling back on yours. "She’s outside."

"Hm." Beomgyu nods slowly, as if letting the thought settle. Then, slowly, he reaches out—his palm open, facing up, an unspoken invitation for you to give your hand out.

Your breath catches. Hesitation flickers for just a moment before you place your hand in his. Beomgyu feels warmth creep up his neck the second your skin meets, a flush he hopes you don’t notice. His fingers curl gently around yours, testing the weight of your hand in his own.

"Come on," he says, his voice softer now. He tugs you forward—careful, gentle, afraid he's hurt you in any way if he pulls too hard. "You should sit. You must be tired from standing out there."

"I could say the same," you murmur as you both sink into the couch. Beomgyu turns slightly toward you, his knee brushing yours, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. His thumb traces absentminded circles against your skin. "You danced and ran around the stage all night," you add, tilting your head at him.

He chuckles, the sound low and a little breathless. Your eyes drift around the room—clothing racks, scattered bags, the quiet remnants of a space that had been buzzing with energy just minutes ago.

"Yeah, I was pretty tired," he admits. Then, after a pause, softer this time, when you look at him again, he’s already staring. "But not anymore."

Beomgyu takes in everything—your lips, the way the light catches in your eyes, the soft of your hand in his. He doesn’t even think before he speaks, before the thought that’s been looping in his head since he first saw you finally slips past his lips.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Beomgyu watches as your cheeks flush, the warmth creeping up your skin like the slow bloom of dawn. He knew—you were his soulmate. Fates stitched together long before this moment, yet nothing could have prepared him for the way you looked right now. He never imagined that watching you blush under his words would feel this intoxicating.

"You’re the one who’s beautiful," you murmur, barely above a whisper. The words feel foreign on your tongue, yet true in a way that unsettles you. You clear your throat, trying to mask the way your heart stumbles over itself, but Beomgyu only tightens his grip on your hand.

You wonder how you even got here. This morning, you woke up with no idea that by evening, you'd be sitting across from your soulmate, flirting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He chuckles—Beomgyu has heard the word beautiful more times than he can count. It’s been thrown at him in passing, whispered through screams from fans, printed in glossy magazines. But somehow, from your lips, it sounds different.

The next few minutes passed in easy conversation. Beomgyu had already pieced together bits of your life—you were only here because Da-hee dragged you along—he’d been hoping to meet her too, if only to thank her.

He knew you worked a corporate job, that photography was your escape. That you were two years older than him, a fact that he immediately latched onto, whispering noona in a teasing lilt just to see the way you’d roll your eyes laugh and swat his arm. But the truth was, he didn’t want to call you that. It was your name he wanted to say. He felt like he’d already spent a lifetime missing it, and now that he knew it, he never wanted to stop saying it.

You had learned things about him, too. That he’d loved music since he was a kid, that he picked up a guitar before he fully understood its chords. That he was cast as a trainee before he even hit the climax of his teenage years, and that six years had passed since he debuted. Things you could have easily searched online, or you could have read every article, and watched every interview, but nothing made your heart flutter quite like the way he told his own story.

The contrast between your lives was undeniable. Maybe that’s why it took so long for fate to push you toward each other.

While you were drowning in homework, he was in a practice room, chasing a dream. While you sat through lectures and worried about exams, he was in a studio, recording songs that would echo through stadiums. While you cried over a failed job interview, he stayed up until dawn, running through choreography again and again until his legs gave out. Your society—were parallel lines moving in different directions.

But sitting here, watching him scrunch his nose in laughter, none of that seemed to matter. Two people from different worlds, felt like it had faded into one—just by being next to each other.

He hadn’t once let go of your hand for the past hour.

"No, I just—I didn’t know where else to put it, so I stuck it there." You fumble for an excuse, cheeks burning as Beomgyu grins at you. He had spotted the photocard of him tucked into the back of your phone case, and he hadn’t let it go since.

“And it was random,” you add quickly, feeling your face heat up. “You have to randomly pick it.”

The truth is, Beomgyu knows. He knows it was a random selection. He knows you’re flustered. And he loves it. Loves the way you try to explain yourself, loves hearing you ramble, loves the way your face heats up under his stare. And to be honest, if it had been another member’s face staring back at him, no matter how petty it sounded, he also knows he wouldn’t have been too thrilled about it.

He’s in deep.

"Beomgyu, it's time to go." The same staff member says, pulling you both back to reality. You didn't even hear the doors opening. Her eyes flicker to your joined hands for a second, but she doesn’t say anything—just turns and steps outside.

You glance at Beomgyu, and he’s pouting. "We’re flying to Japan tomorrow morning, Y/N."

"Oh." The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You just met your soulmate, and by morning, he’d be gone. "Okay."

You stand up, expecting him to do the same, but he doesn’t move. Your hands dangle between you because he still hasn’t let go. "Beomgyu?"

"I’ll see you as soon as I get back, okay?" His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to find the right words. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a moment, before he finally stands. He squeezes your hands gently. "It won’t be too long."

"Alright… we have each other's numbers, so… text me."

"Just know your phone might be buzzing non-stop,"

"Got it." You roll your eyes, smiling. "I’ll survive."

"And wear warm clothes—it’s winter."

"You too."

"Eat on time."

"You’re the one doing concerts. I should be the one saying that."

He ignores your deflection, pressing on. "Sleep well. Lock your doors properly. You live alone, so it’s dangerous. Don’t go out too late. And if you do, call me, okay? Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t go out too late at all. Please—make sure you don’t—"

He doesn’t get to finish. Before he can say another word, you reach up, sliding your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him into a hug. His words cut off instantly, replaced by a soft inhale—like he hadn’t breathed since he started speaking. Your heart squuezes over itself at his endless concern, spreading through your chest. Blinking rapidly, trying to push away the tears threatening to spill.

For the first time tonight, Beomgyu lets go of your hand—only to wrap both arms around you, one firm around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

"I’ll see you soon, Beomgyu," you murmur.

You feel him tilt his head slightly before pressing a fleeting, warm kiss to your temple. "I’ll see you soon."

Elevators terrify you. It scares you because it feels like everything could come crashing down at any second. Why would you trust something that rises so quickly—too fast?

It can't last, doesn't it?

You feel him snuggle to you more, and you chuckle, pressed against him, his scent, his arms around you, holding you safely—his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, as if whispering that the fall you fear will never come.

Elevators terrified you.

You wish you could have captured Da-hee’s face when she saw you walking over with Beomgyu beside you, his hand resting firmly on your back. Her eyes widened, mouth slightly agape, before she shot you a knowing look.

Beomgyu offered her a quick thanks, the paper bag with your heels swinging from your hands, and you stood there in the fresh pair of sneakers he’d somehow found in your size—because he wanted to. His eyes met yours for just a second longer before he turned to leave.

The second you stepped into the parking lot, Da-hee lost it. She let out a squeal so loud you had to clamp a hand over her mouth, laughing as she practically vibrated with excitement. "What just happened?!" she whispered against your palm, her eyes sparkling.

That night, as soon as you got home, your phone rang. His name lit up the screen.

It took only a second before answering.

It was awkward at first—neither of you really knowing what to say—but before you knew it, you were talking about everything and nothing, voices laced with exhaustion but neither willing to hang up first. He was leaving in a few hours, and you had to be the one to convince him to sleep, reminding him—more than once—that he had a flight to catch.

You had just curled up in your blankets when your phone buzzed again. Dozy, you reached for it, thumb swiping across the screen.

Choi Beomgyu I’m sorry for making you wait. I promise we’ll make up for all the time we lost. Sleep well, beautiful.

Even as sleep pulled you under, the smile on your lips never faded.

You wake up to the relentless ringing of your doorbell. A groan slips past your lips as you burrow deeper into your blankets. It’s Sunday. No work. No alarms. Just sleep—at least, that was the plan.

The doorbell rings again.

With an exaggerated sigh, you drag yourself out of bed, doing the bare minimum to look somewhat presentable. Your hair is probably a mess, your face still puffy from sleep, but you don’t care. Whoever decided to disturb your well-earned rest better have a damn good reason.

You glance at the clock on your way out. Oh. It’s not even early—it’s almost 1 PM.

Squinting against the bright light as you crack the door open, you’re met with a sight that instantly wakes you up. A delivery man stands there, arms full, holding the biggest bouquet of red roses you’ve ever seen. The sheer number of petals is overwhelming, a deep sea of crimson spilling over the edges of his grasp.

"What—" Your brain struggles to catch up, and then it clicks. Beomgyu. He asked for your address yesterday.

"Y/N?" The man confirms, struggling under the bouquet.

Your eyes widen. "Damn, just how many are in there?"

"Three hundred and fifteen roses," he says, barely holding onto the mass of flowers. "Please sign here."

Three hundred and fifteen. You’re smiling as you take the pen from him.

You stumble slightly, still half-dazed as you carefully set the massive bouquet down, trying not to crush a single petal. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the small card nestled between the roses, your heart already beating a little too fast.

315 months of not being with you. This won’t make up for it, but I hope it makes you happy.

You inhale sharply. Your chest tightens. 315 months. He counted. Beomgyu counted the exact number of months you’ve been alive—how does he even think like this? Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. He’s ridiculous. He’s thoughtful in a way that completely undoes you.

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you’re running. Not walking—running. Because suddenly, every second without hearing his voice feels like a second wasted.

Your fingers fumble as you dial his number, pressing the phone to your ear. It barely rings once before the line clicks open—like he had been waiting for this call all along. “Beomgyu—” your voice comes out uneven, breathless.

He chuckles softly, “So… I take it you liked it?”

It’s already 3 PM.

Somehow, you lost track of time, carefully splitting the bundle into smaller arrangements, placing them in vases around your apartment. Now, your living room and kitchen are drenched in the scent of roses—not that you’re complaining.

Beomgyu had stayed on the phone with you the entire time, talking about his morning, his voice in the background as you worked. That is, until someone called for him on the other end, reminding him he had things to do.

You sighed when the call ended. It's sunday, and his sunday is like the worst day of your week. And you're here, resting.

Now, fresh out of the shower, droplets of water still clung to your skin as you stepped onto the cool tile. A shiver ran down your spine as you grabbed a towel, pressing it to your face, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of fabric softener.

Dressed in cozy clothes, you curled up on the couch, remote in one hand, a bowl of yogurt and berries resting on your lap. Television played softly as you mindlessly scrolled through channels, enjoying the quiet.

Until your phone buzzed. You unlocked it, eyes immediately landing on the message.

Nut-job Da-hee. Girl! He's extra glowy today!! OMG <link>

You tapped the link, expecting a video to pop up, but instead, it directed you to download an app. You went along with it, quickly signing in and typing out a cheeky username.

The video loaded—Soobin and Beomgyu, in a hotel room. A small table sat near the camera, cluttered with food containers and drinks. Beomgyu was on the bed, lounging comfortably but still close enough to be part of the frame.

And Da-hee wasn’t exaggerating—he looked good. The black shirt fit him just right, his dark hair falling effortlessly, lips tinted a soft pink. A phone in hand, completely unaware of just how stunning he looked.

An idea sparked in your mind.

"It's not barley tea, MOA," Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head as Soobin insists otherwise. No matter how many times their leader repeats himself, the comments keep flooding in, doubting him.

"Choi Beomgyu really traumatized you, huh?" he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"What do you mean?" Beomgyu argues, but Soobin is already moving on, reading a new comment aloud. "Barley tea is healthy,"

Just then, Beomgyu’s phone buzzes. He glances down at the screen.

My Y/N Live?

His back immediately straightens. Shit. You’re watching? He’s about to type out a response when another message pops up.

You look handsome.

Beomgyu presses a hand over his mouth, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He wants to—

"Beomgyu, MOAs are asking what you're doing," Soobin interrupts, his eyes full of silent curiosity.

"Nothing," Beomgyu says too quickly. "Kai sent a meme." He shifts closer to the camera, Soobin right beside him. With his phone in his hands, he types a message, fully aware that Soobin is peeking at his screen. They probably look ridiculous—both of them staring down at their phones while thousands of people watch.

You're watching?

A few seconds pass before your reply pops up.

Yes.

Beomgyu inhales, trying to focus as Soobin keeps talking. His fingers move instinctively.

I'm shy.

Why? You look good.

A pause. Then another message.

Wait, stop looking at your phone. Let MOA see you? Username: 315flowersmyass.

Beomgyu chokes on a laugh. His lips curl up as he locks his phone and holds it up to the camera, as if to prove he’s done. As if to prove that he followed your words.

"So cute," he sings, the words slipping out without thought. The chat erupts, MOAs spamming hearts and messages.

Then he catches it.

315flowersmyass kekekeke -

His grin stretches wider. He closes his face on the screen. "Hi, MOA." He giggles.

This—this is cute. He’s always enjoyed going live, but now he knows you’re watching, he discovers a love for it he never even knew was possible.

The live eventually comes to an end. As soon as it does, Soobin turns to Beomgyu with a knowing smile. "I'm happy you finally found her," he says simply. Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away—just smiles, warmth spreading through his chest. Then his phone buzzes.

He checks it, and the moment he does, a gasp slips past his lips.

It’s a picture. You.

A snack is held near your face, your expression relaxed. You’re in cozy clothes, looking effortlessly beautiful, breathtaking. The picture made Beomgyu wish he could fly back to you right there and then. Over his shoulder, Soobin leans in. "Is that her?" he asks, then grins. "She's pretty."

Beomgyu doesn’t look away from his phone as his lips curl into a smile.

"She is," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"She’s here."

Ji-an’s voice pulls you from your focus. She’s standing beside your desk, phone pressed to her ear, while you scan last week’s finance report. Your eyes flick over the spreadsheet, catching an error in a formula, but before you can fix it, Ji-an calls your name. "Y/N, there’s a delivery for you. They’re at the door."

"Oh," you murmur, pushing your reading glasses up the bridge of your nose. Contacts felt like too much trouble today. "Thanks."

As you stand, a familiar warmth spreads through your chest. Outside, the delivery man hands you a bouquet—this time, white roses.

You peek at the note while walking back, the click of your heels filling the space. Your way back to your desk by the window. The skyline stretches endlessly beyond the glass, a vast expanse of city lights and open sky.

Ow! I fell! Fell for you~ —bg <3

A laugh escapes before you can stop it—he's so silly. One of the things you realised recently.

"That's the fourth bouquet this month, Y/N," Ji-an muses, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "I know you just met your soulmate, but flowers every week? That’s next-level sweet. I’m jealous—mine isn't really a flowers kind of person."

You return her smile, "Yeah, he's the sweetest."

It’s been a month since you met Beomgyu. A single day—that’s all you had together. And yet, in the weeks that followed, he never let distance become an excuse. Even with his tour in full swing, miles stretching endlessly between you, he still found ways to reach you. A call in the middle of the night. A voice note filled with sleepy laughter. And these flowers—his way of saying, I'm here. I'm coming back to you soon.

Ji-an leans against your desk, eyes glinting with curiosity. "So… when do we get to meet him?" she asks, wiggling her brows. "You know the drill—everyone meets everyone’s soulmate. It’s basically tradition. At least one or two quick bond drinks a year, right?"

The playful edge in her voice makes your stomach twist. Because as much as you want to laugh along, to pretend that everything is as simple as it should be… you know the truth.

They can’t meet him. Your friends, your family—none of them can. Maybe not now. Maybe not ever. You don’t even know when you will see him again.

You swallow, forcing down the sudden tightness in your throat. The warmth you felt just moments ago, thinking about him, is now laced with something heavier.

"He's—he's busy," you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. You glance at the bouquet on your desk, fingers tracing the petals as if they hold an answer you don’t have. "Maybe next time."

The day finally ends, and you’re grateful Ji-an didn’t push for more.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter as you step into the elevator, the faint scent of roses lingering in the air. By the time you make it to the parking lot, exhaustion weighs on you—but then you remember.

You forgot to send a text. Pulling out your phone, you type: I’m heading home now.

The message sends, and a small smile tugs at your lips. Beomgyu is probably fast asleep by now, lost in a time zone opposite yours. He won’t see it for hours, but you text him anyway—because you can already hear his voice in your head, playful and pouty. You forgot to tell me again, he’d whine. Can you please let me know?

You’ve learned a lot from him in such a short time. How simple it is to make someone feel remembered. How easy it is to reach out. How even in the busiest moments, there’s always a second to say, I haven’t forgotten you.

Because that’s what he’s been doing for you all along.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, ready to head to your car when someone stops you. Your steps slow, brows knitting together as your scan lands on a girl—sitting right on the hood of your car.

Your car. She’s perched there like she belongs, fingers idly tracing patterns against the metal.

"Hey," you call out, keeping your voice even. "It’s not really polite to sit on someone else’s car, sweetheart."

Her head lifts, eyes locking onto yours with disdain, "Don't sweetheart me, you slut."

The venom in her words knocks the air from your lungs. Your breath catches, shock flashing through you as she stands. She’s young. Much younger than you.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" she snaps.

Your instincts flare—this isn’t normal. You take a step back, "Leave. Now. Before I call the police."

But she doesn’t move. Instead, she tilts her head, and smirked. "You’re Beomgyu’s soulmate, aren’t you?"

Your body locks up. How does she know? Your fingers tighten around the stems of the flowers, the thorns pressing into your palm. You want to speak, to deny, to do something, but the words won’t come.

Because you know—whatever you say next could make this worse.

She clicks her tongue, taking a slow step toward you. "Do this while I’m still being nice," she says, voice eerily light. "Stay away from him. Or I’ll destroy everything." She tilts her head again, a slow blink. "I’d rather see him ruined than with you, unnie."

She steps past you then, her shoulder knocking into yours just hard enough to make you stumble back. Your hands cold, heart hammering against your ribs. She doesn’t look back. Not until she’s a few feet away.

"Don’t think I won’t do it," she murmurs. "Just think about how I knew. Your name. Your workplace. Your parking spot."

She smiles, "Don’t test me."

I’m heading home now.

Beomgyu rubs the sleep from his eyes, his fingers fumbling for his phone the moment he wakes up. Checking for your messages has become second nature—his first instinct, before he even fully shakes off sleep.

The corners of his lips curl into a soft smile as he reads your text. You remembered.

God, he misses you.

When he gets back, he’s not letting you out of his sight. He’ll beg his company if he has to—anything to steal just a little more time with you. He wants to spoil you, to show up with flowers every single day just to see that shy smile of yours. He’d buy you things you didn’t even know you needed, take pictures of you at every chance, make playlists for you, drag you into late-night game sessions just to hear you laugh and call him ridiculous. Love is effort. That’s what his parents always told him. He’d give it—all of it.

Maybe one day, he’d convince you to visit Daegu with him. Introduce you to his family, let his mom fuss over you, watch his brother tease him relentlessly. And Toto… Would you like Toto?

The thought makes him chuckle as he taps your contact and presses call. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. His smile falters.

Then, voicemail.

His brows knit together. He tries again. Straight to voicemail. The phone feels heavier in his hand now.

It’s the first time you haven’t picked up.

He’s in the van now. It’s been hours.

Beomgyu grips his phone, scrolling through his notifications, eyes darting to every new alert. His heart lifts for a second—only to sink just as fast when he realizes it’s not you. The screen dims in his hands, but he doesn’t put it down. He can’t.

"You still haven’t heard from her?" Soobin asked. He’s the only one still awake, eyes heavy but observant. Beomgyu hadn’t meant to make it obvious, but he’s never been good at hiding things—not to his members.

"No," Beomgyu mutters, shaking his head. His throat feels tight. "We always talk before she falls asleep."

Soobin exhales, tilting his head back against the seat. "She probably crashed as soon as she got home. Long day, maybe?" He keeps his tone easy, reassuring. "Just focus on later's concert. She’ll probably be awake by then."

Beomgyu nods, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, hyung."

Soobin claps a hand on his back. "Don't think about it too much."

Beomgyu did his best to push thoughts of you aside during the concert. He smiled, he sang, he danced—gave everything to the stage like he always did. But the second he was backstage, drenched in sweat and breathless from the high of performing, his hands were already reaching for his phone.

Still nothing.

Back at the hotel, Soobin and Yeonjun made sure he ate. He forced down a few bites, just enough to keep them from worrying. Now, fresh from a shower, exhaustion settles deep in his bones. His muscles ache, the weight of the night pressing down on him, but sleep won’t come.

His phone sits beside him on the bed. You’re probably asleep. He tells himself that. He should leave it alone.

But knowing doesn’t stop him from pressing call. It rings.

Once. Twice.

He’s about to give up when the line clicks.

“H-Hello?” Beomgyu stutters, his voice unsteady. No response. His heart pounds as he pulls the phone away, checking the screen just to be sure. The call is still connected. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Beomgyu.” The way you say his name makes his breath catch.

“Are you okay? I’ve been—”

“Beomgyu.” You cut him off again, your voice softer this time. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” He hears you take a shaky breath. “I’ve just been thinking for the past couple of hours, and…” His grip on the phone tightens.

"What is it?"

“Maybe we should lie low for a bit? You’re busy, and you’re at the peak of your career.” A pause. “It’s not that I’m going away,” you add quickly, “I’m your soulmate, after all.” The last part is barely a whisper.

Beomgyu shoots up from where he’s sitting, running a hand through his hair, fingers pulling at the strands. He feels cold all over. His pulse pounds in his ears.

“Where is this coming from?” His voice is raw, edged dangerously close to panic. “What happened, Y/N?”

“Nothing, really,” you say too quickly. “It just… crossed my mind.” There’s a pause. A beat of silence that feels like a lifetime. “It’s late there. It’s 2 AM. Please sleep.”

His chest tightens. “Are you breaking up with me?” The words feel foreign in his mouth. His voice drops to a whisper. “Do you not want me? Do you not want this?”

“Beomgyu, please.” You voice wavers. “Our fate is certain. But right now… I just feel like it’s not working.” You exhale slowly. “You should sleep, okay? Let’s talk again… soon.”

And then the line goes dead.

Beomgyu stares at his screen, his fingers frozen, his mind racing to process what just happened. His chest caves in, breath shaky as he stumbles back onto the bed. And then—he breaks.

His hands cover his face, shoulders trembling as it all crashes down on him. He had a feeling when you didn't answer his call. A whisper of doubt, an inkling of fear.

And now, it’s real.

4 AM, and Beomgyu still hasn’t slept. His eyes burn from exhaustion, but his mind won’t shut off. He’s been texting you, calling you—over and over—but every attempt goes straight to voicemail. At some point, your phone must have died, or worse, you turned it off.

He lies on the stiff hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s unfamiliar. Cold. But then again, when was the last time anything in his life felt familiar? Felt like home?

His phone dings.

He scrambles for it, heartbeat hammering, but before he can check the notification, an unknown number flashes across the screen. It’s stupid to answer an unknown call at this hour. Their managers had given them talks about it. But something—something in his gut—tells him to pick up.

“Hello?” His voice is hoarse.

“Beomgyu.” A pause. Then— “It’s Da-hee,”

His breath catches.

“She’s going to be angry if she finds out I called you,” Da-hee says, voice hushed, urgent. “But I can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Just listen to me. I’m going to tell you everything—from the start.”

"Please."

"Don’t think I won’t do it," she murmurs. "Just think about how I knew. Your name. Your workplace. Your parking spot."

She smiles, "Don’t test me."

You take another sip of whiskey, curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest. The tears won’t stop. No matter how many times you wipe them away, they keep coming, slipping down your cheeks, burning just as much as the liquor sliding down your throat.

Your thoughts won’t stop either.

Beomgyu.

He has everything—his dream, his career, a future so bright it could swallow you whole. He has the world at his feet. And you? You’re just… you. Not worth the risk. Not worth the detour. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to be. Maybe that’s why your paths were never meant to cross in the first place. You saw the consequence, felt it when you passed the Hybe building, that heavy reminder of the impossible divide between your worlds.

It should be enough. Enough that you got to know him, enough that he even knows your name. Enough that you get to see him on a screen. It should be enough.

But is it?

“Fuck,” you choke out, voice breaking. You press the heel of your palm against your eyes, as if that could stop the ache. “Just when I finally saw you… What a joke.” You shake your head, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “The universe is a fucking idiot for ever thinking we were meant to be.”

You take another drink, and it burns.

“Y/N.”

You blink up, vision swimming, to see Da-hee standing in the doorway, concern etched across her face.

“I’ve been ringing your doorbell,” she says, stepping closer. “I used the spare key—why are you crying?”

You don’t respond. You just stare at her, eyes glassy, cheeks wet. She moves toward you, eyes flickering to the near-empty glass in your hand. You’ve been drinking for hours. You already called in sick to work—there’s no way you could function like this.

"Oh, honey," She sighs, reaches for the glass, and you don’t fight it. You let it go. "What happened?"

“Fate is already taking back what it let me borrow.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Da-hee hears it. She your holds your hand.

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Explain.”

You swallow hard. Your throat feels tight, like every word is fighting to stay buried. But you force them out.

“A sasaeng,” you murmur, watching as Da-hee’s eyes widen in alarm. “She found out about me. She knows everything, Da-hee. Where I live, where I work, my family—everything.” You suck in a shaky breath, blinking back fresh tears. “And the worst of it, she fucking said she’s going to ruin Beomgyu.”

The moment the words leave your lips, your resolve shatters. You cry—like a child finally breaking after being scolded in front of everyone, holding it all in until no one’s around to see. Da-hee pulled you into her arms as you sobbed. You cling to her, hands fisting her sweater. “I have to let him go,” you choke out. “I can’t do this to him. To them. They don’t deserve this.”

Da-hee pulls back, her hands firm on your shoulders. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to do this alone. We can go to the police. We can tell Beomgyu—”

“And then what?” you cut in, voice hollow. “What can they really do? Stop her from telling the world? Keep every single person quiet? Even if she gets caught, the damage will already be done.”

Da-hee doesn’t answer. She just sinks onto the couch beside you, eyes shining with unshed tears, because she knows you well. She knows you too well—knows that the emotional version of you wouldn’t be able to hear her, not right now. Not until the sobs quiet down and the pain in your chest eases just a little. So, she just holds you.

Your phone screen lights up between you. Another call.

Beomgyu. He’s still calling. Still trying.

"I don’t think it’s best to answer it right now—"

But you don’t listen to Da-hee’s warning. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the screen. You have to end this. Now. While you still have the strength. Because deep down, you know—

If you wake up tomorrow, you might not be able to let him go.

“H-Hello?” He stutters on the other line, his voice unsteady. Your breath catches in your throat. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Everything. Everything is wrong.

“Beomgyu.”

I miss you. How can I go on without you?

“Are you okay? I’ve been—”

“Beomgyu.” You cut him off again, your voice softer this time. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” You take a shaky breath. “I’ve just been thinking for the past couple of hours, and…” You hesitate.

I’m not okay. I’ve been thinking about you, only you, and how my existence could ruin everything you’ve worked for.

"What?" His inhale is sharp, laced with the beginnings of panic.

“Maybe we should lie low for a bit? You’re busy, and you’re at the peak of your career.” You pause, fingers trembling. “It’s not that I’m going away,” you add quickly, desperate to believe your own words. “I’m your soulmate, after all.” The last part is barely a whisper.

I should be replaceable. And I shouldn’t be your priority. You press a hand to your mouth, as if you can keep the words from spilling out—keep the truth from bleeding through.

“Where is this coming from? What happened, Y/N?”

My heart is breaking. And you’re too far away to hold it together.

“Nothing, really,” you say too quickly. “It just… crossed my mind.” You pause, swallowing. “It’s late there. It’s 2 AM. Please sleep.”

Please sleep. And forget about me.

“Are you breaking up with me? Do you not want me? Do you not want this?”

I want you more than anything. That’s why I have to do this. If I can save you from losing everything, I’ll do it. Even if it means losing you.

“Beomgyu, please.” You voice wavers. “Our fate is certain. But right now… I just feel like it’s not working.” You exhale slowly. “You should sleep, okay? Let’s talk again… soon.”

You press the end button.

The sobs rip through you, shaking your whole body and stealing the air from your lungs. You curl in on yourself, pressing your fist to your mouth, as if that could stop the sound, as if that could stop the pain. How can love be this cruel? How can the same thing that made you feel so alive now leave you feeling so hollow?

But this is for him. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a desperate attempt to make it hurt less.

You’ll do this for him. Even if it destroys you.

Da-hee wipes at her eyes, sniffling as she looks at you—curled up in the fetal position, your body tense like you’re bracing for impact even in sleep. She managed to get you into bed, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

She’d do anything for you.

Carefully, she tiptoes to the bedside table and picks up your phone. Her heart pounds. If anyone’s watching me, I’ll beg for forgiveness later. But right now, she comes first.

She types in your usual password. 8888. Incorrect. She frowns, thinking. You changed it? Then, almost without realizing it, her fingers move on their own. 0313. The screen unlocks.

Beomgyu’s birthday.

Da-hee lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You idiot,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You love him so much, and yet you’re willing to walk away. How can you be this selfless?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she scrolls through your contacts, searching for his name. Her thumb hovers over it for only a second before she types his number on her own phone.

You’ll be furious. You might never forgive her. But if there’s even the slightest chance this stops you from making the biggest mistake of your life—she’ll take that risk.

Someone has to tell him the things that you can’t.

The line connects, and Da-hee inhales. “She’s going to be angry if she finds out I called you, but I can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Just listen to me. I’m going to tell you everything—from the start.”

She’ll prepare her apology later—more than that, she hopes Beomgyu will fight for you.

"I want to go home." Beomgyu’s voice is firm, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His manager looks up from his laptop, brows furrowing.

The door bursts open. Soobin stumbles in, slightly out of breath—he must’ve run after him. Beomgyu doesn’t care.

Beomgyu already knows everything—Da-hee told him. Every sickening detail. And now, standing here, he has no idea how to fix this. No idol has ever come out of this unscathed. But none of that matters right now. His only priority is getting to you.

His manager sighs, already exasperated. “You’re flying back home in a few days, Beomgyu.”

“No,” he says, jaw tightening. “I mean now. I need a few days. To rest. To handle something personal.”

“You know your schedule is packed—”

“Then move everything,” Beomgyu interrupts sharply. He feels Soobin’s hand on his shoulder, hears his name spoken softly, but he shrugs it off. No one is stopping him from getting to you.

His manager sighs again, firmer this time. “We can’t do that.”

“You won’t even try?” His voice wavers between frustration and desperation. “You won’t even let the management know?”

“We can’t make last-minute changes like this.”

Beomgyu lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Of course.” He clenches his fists. All his life, he’s done everything they asked. Pushed through exhaustion, smiled through sickness, showed up even when his body begged him to stop. “I won’t follow you on this,” he says, voice steady. “I can’t do this. Not this time. If you won’t let me go, I’ll still leave.”

“Beomgyu, let’s talk about this when you’re calm,” Soobin says gently, patting Beomgyu’s back. “Please.”

Beomgyu turns to him, his eyes dark with frustration. “I love MOAs, hyung. I love all of you. They gave me everything.” His voice wavers, but he pushes through. “But Y/N… she is my everything.” His breath hitches. He can't even explain it properly. How badly he needs you. “You’re lucky. All of you. Your soulmates—"

“So this is about your soulmate?” The manager exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Don’t you see? She’s making you choose between her and your career.”

“No.” Beomgyu’s voice breaks, his chest tightens, and the lump in his throat is unbearable. “She’s not making me choose. She’s already choosing for me.” His next breath is shaky. “She’s leaving. Can you let your own soulmate leave?”

The room falls silent. Soobin watches him, stunned. He’d never seen Beomgyu like this before—this angry, this desperate. And the question stings the older.

Beomgyu turns away, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. Explaining further is useless. He’s already said everything that matters. Nothing is going to stop him now. When he steps into the hallway, he sees Yeonjun standing there, leaning against the wall.

He’s been listening the whole time.

Yeonjun immediately reaches out, tugging at his arm. “Yah, Choi Beomgyu, come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s talk with everyone.” Beomgyu exhales shakily. If there's anyone he owes an explanation. It's them. His brothers.

So Beomgyu told them everything.

About the sasaeng. About the threats. About how you were walking away to protect him. About how he refused to let that happen. And just like he knew they would, the four of them listened—not as bandmates, not as colleagues, but as brothers.

No one understood him better than they did.

They didn’t tell him to reconsider. They didn’t tell him to stay. Instead, they held onto him, arms wrapped tight, as if they could shield him from the storm that was already brewing. They prayed—not for him to change his mind, but for the world to understand.

Kai was the first to break. His voice barely above a whisper, “Is it really worth it… if the world doesn’t want us to have soulmates?”

It shattered something in all of them.

Beomgyu didn’t answer—not with words. Because what kind of world was it, where love had to be hidden? Where choosing your own heart felt like a betrayal?

With the help of his members, he managed to slip through the cracks, securing a last-minute flight. Now, as he sat on the plane, adjusting his mask, pulling his cap low, he caught his own reflection in the window.

Maybe it was time. Time to stop pretending. Time to stop hiding.

Because an idol in love isn’t supposed to be shameful. Because having a soulmate shouldn’t be treated like a scandal. Because loving you would never make him love his dream any less.

He just had to believe in MOAs. In the people who gave him everything. What he has with them, he treasures so much that the thought of baring his heart isn’t impossible.

And he would.

Completely.

He would trade it all, just to see you again.

The pounding in your head hasn’t let up, a dull, relentless throb that even the hot shower couldn’t wash away. You pop an aspirin, sighing as you press your fingertips against your temples, willing the ache—and everything else—to disappear.

Then the doorbell rings. Right. The food.

Dragging your feet toward the door, you barely think as you swing it open—then freeze.

Choi Beomgyu.

His face bare, a backpack slung over his shoulder. A car idles in your driveway, but you barely process it. Your eyes lock onto the messy strands of blonde peeking out from under his hoodie, his gaze searching yours. He looks at you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

“Y/N—” The door slams shut in his face before he can say another word.

Your breath stumbles. Your pulse pounds. The damp strands of your hair cling to your neck as you press your back against the door, fingers gripping the handle like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Shit. He fucking looks good with his new dyed hair— wait. Don't think about that. What is he doing here?

“I’m parked out front,” his voice comes through the door, muffled but you hear it. “I just want to talk.” A shaky inhale. Then softer, “Baby, I’m here. When you’re ready, just open the door.”

His footsteps retreat.

You start pacing, your heart ricocheting against your ribs. He’s here. He came all this way. After everything you stupidly said. You hurt him yet—

The doorbell rings again.

You yank it open, “Wait, my ass—”

“Chinese takeout for Y/N?” The delivery guy blinks at you, holding up the bag.

“Oh.” You blush, embarrassed. You fumble for your wallet, signing the receipt with shaky hands. Your eyes keep drifting past him, toward the car still parked in front of your house.

Just like what he said. He's there.

The hours slip away unnoticed, morning fading seamlessly into afternoon. Every time you steal a glance through the curtain, he’s still there. Evening creeps in as you start making dinner. Without thinking, you plate portions for two. Your hands hesitate over the dishes, your heart heavy. When you check the clock, it’s 8 p.m. He’s been outside for twelve hours—silent, waiting.

Just like he promised. He never knocked again. Twelve hours. Your hands tremble as you turn off the stove. He must’ve just come from another gruelling day, looking like he’d stepped off a plane after hours in the air—rumpled, drained, and still without rest.

Why did you let him wait this long?

You don’t stop to think anymore. You grab your keys, shove your feet into your slippers, and head straight for his car, blinking back the tears that blur your vision.

He must see you coming because, before you even reach him, the car door swings open.

And there he is.

His hoodie is pushed back now, his hair slightly dishevelled like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His face is drawn, exhausted. His eyes—red-rimmed, heavy, like he’s been crying for hours. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Come inside,” Your voice cracks, but you don’t stop. You just turn around and head back toward the door. You don’t have to look back to know he’s following.

He steps inside, his tall frame filling the space as you quietly shut the door behind him. Your apartment looks small with him around. When you turn, your eyes meet, "Beomgyu—"

You barely get his name out before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked outside, so effortless—your hair pinned up, the simplicity of your everyday clothes, and yet, you somehow seemed untouchable. He envisions a life with you, a routine, your soft smile waiting for him when he comes home, you looking like something angelic—his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never open the door."

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.

"I get it. I know you don’t mean it—that you really believe this is for the best." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "But did it ever cross your mind what I want? What I think is best for me? For us?"

“I'm sorry,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

"I'll always forgive you." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "Because your words could never hurt me as much as your leaving does."

You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"

"I need you, baby. Or I'll go crazy." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, seeking the place where the string was tied. The red thread appears, and he lifts it to his lips. A kiss—featherlight, reverent—pressed against the place where destiny tied you to him.

“It's going to be okay…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.

"I'll fix it for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore. He goes down further—kisses down and the smell of you is divine.

His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows—salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you were really gonna leave me? And I was gonna miss this?" He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.

When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.

“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—"I'm sorry it took this long."

"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"

“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.

"Beomgyu, I— It was selfish of me—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.

“Shh, no,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head. "None of this is your fault," he murmurs. "But you have to trust me now."

All the horrors inside you dissolve with every kiss he presses to your skin, each one stripping away the fear, the doubt, the self-imposed distance. He kisses you like he’s rewriting everything, like he knows exactly where every shattered piece of you belongs. As if he’s memorized the map of your ruin and decided, you were always meant to be whole.

And you let him.

Because now, in his arms, with his lips claiming yours over and over, only pulls away when breathing becomes a necessity—his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting second before his mouth finds yours again, as if letting go for too long might break him, you realise the truth—it was foolish of you to think that pushing him away would solve it all.

It was foolish to ever believe you could ever live without him.

Waking up with Beomgyu’s arm draped over your bare waist felt like something out of a dream.

The second you tried to slip away, he pulled you right back in, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sleepy rough hum. His grip was loose but unwilling, like even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. He filled your morning with lazy kisses, tangled limbs, and muffled laughter, his fingers tracing over your bare skin.

You could live a lifetime like this and still never believe it was real.

Now, you sit at your vanity, dressed for work, fastening an earring as Beomgyu, fresh from the shower, tugs on a clean hoodie. He catches your eye in the mirror and grins as he walks over. “What are you doing baby? Dolled up and all.”

“Drying my hair,” you say, “I’m actually early today. Da-hee is dropping by later too, by the way.”

“Okay. I’ll drive you.” He leans down, eyes flickering to the hairdryer on the desk. He picks it up, flipping it on. “I know how to do this.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh. I could probably do your makeup too.” He presses a teasing kiss to your cheek, making you giggle.

The warmth of the dryer was against your scalp as he carefully runs his fingers through your hair, drying it with surprising patience. His touch lingers even after the dryer clicks off, his fingers gently gathering strands of your hair.

“I used to braid my mom’s hair when I was younger,” he murmurs. “I want to do yours too.” You nod, watching him through the mirror, watching the way he looks at you with so much quiet devotion it nearly steals your breath. "It will be an honour to do this every day for you, you know."

And just like that, you fall in love all over again.

You sit in the passenger seat, your hair loosely braided—the proof that he wasn’t just bluffing. His fingers lace with yours as he drives, his thumb idly tracing circles against your skin. Every time the car slows at a red light, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I love you,”

He grins, that same cheeky, heart-stopping smile. "Love you more," he replies.

You let out a quiet breath, leaning your head against the window, watching the world blur past. But then—out of the corner of your eye—you see it.

And your breath catches in your throat.

Rain Lilies.

Flowers that shine the brightest in the wake of the storm.

It looks out of place. You remembered last night’s rain. It had come down in furious sheets, drowning the streets, washing everything away. The pavement is still slick, puddles reflecting the grey morning sky. And yet—there it is.

Small. Alive.

In the middle of a city that never stops, where people rush past without a second glance, too busy to care about a thing so insignificant, so easily overlooked—it stands, untouched. A quiet defiance against the cruelty that tried to take it.

It looks out of place, and it's beautiful.

If something this fragile can survive and still bloom—maybe, just maybe, so can you.

"Hyung!" Beomgyu’s laughter rings through the air as he runs straight into his brother’s arms. They embrace, laughing like they’re kids again, the older one attempting to lift him off the ground. Behind them, his parents rush to catch up, smiles stretched wide across their faces. The house, with its endless stretch of green, looks like out of a memory—soft, a paradise.

Beomgyu turns to you then, his hand resting gently on your back. His eyes soft when he speaks.

"Mom, Dad," he says, "This is Y/N."

You bow politely, but before you can even rise fully, his mother pulls you into a hug. "I’ve wanted to meet you for so long, dear," she murmurs against your shoulder.

When Beomgyu’s father steps forward, you feel your chest tighten. He smiles, and for a second, it’s like looking at Beomgyu in the years to come. His hug is just as warm, just as safe.

Lunch is a blur of laughter and stories, of hands brushing, of Beomgyu sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

His parents laugh along with your stories—the one about meeting his sweet members, and how Da-hee had begged to meet them in person. You describe her pale face, wide-eyed and on the verge of fainting the entire time, and how Beomgyu grew irritated every time Yeonjun jokingly flirted with you, insisting he should be your favorite.

But it’s the story of Beomgyu meeting your family last week that really gets them, how he’d been so polite, yet adorably nervous, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he tried to make the right impression.

His mom grins, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ll have to meet them soon,” she says, already making plans in her head, as if you’ve always been part of the family. At some point, Beomgyu tells them you’ll be staying for the week. They are overjoyed, and Toto, takes an instant liking to you.

Beomgyu sits on the porch, it's evening now.

This deck—he’s spent years here—on this very step, staring out at the world, wondering when he’d find you. Wondering if he ever would.

His fingers tighten around the handwritten letter on his phone screen, the words waiting to be sent out into the world. His heart pounds. What if they don’t understand? What if this changes everything? What if—

Laughter drifts from inside the house, yours mixing with his mom’s, his brother’s. It was the only assurance he'd ever need.

He exhales sharply, thumb hovering for only a second longer before he clicks post. It loads. He doesn’t watch. Just locks his phone and sets it aside as the front door creaks open.

"You’re trying to escape me, cookie?" Your voice is playful, arms crossing as you step toward him. Beomgyu only grins, shaking his head at the nickname his father gave him. He slips an arm around your shoulders as soon as you sit down, pulling you while he presses kisses on the side of your head.

"Never," His fingers find yours, a new habit of his—thumb caressing over your ring finger. His thoughts slip to the diamond ring hidden in his dorm, the one he bought after a week of meeting you. He just needs to find the right moment, the right words. Because even now, after everything, you still make him nervous. The way his heart races when you walk into a room, how everything seems to stop for a moment when you look his way.

He meets your smile with one of his own. Would he ever be this lucky in another life? To find you, to love you—not by destiny’s design, not by some divine script, but by choice?

Even without a soulmate mark, even without fate—

It would always be you.

Maybe in another world, the sky is burning, the world is ending, an apocalypse, and he still falls in love with you. Maybe in another life, he is a man undone, a husband who shatters more than he mends, but even then, he would spend eternity piecing himself back together just to be worthy of you.

Beomgyu knows this much: no matter the lifetime, no matter the universe, he will love you. Again and again, without hesitation, without end. As if loving you is written into the very fabric of his existence.

His fingers graze your cheek, and you lean into him like you were always meant to—like the universe has been bringing you back to him for centuries. Your smile reaches your eyes, soft and certain. His missing piece. The better half of him.

Beomgyu looks at you, and to him, you are something that comes after the rain—the hush of the earth reborn, the golden light breaking through the clouds, the promise that even the chaos was worth it.

He can’t help himself. Not when you’re looking at him like that. Not when your smile is the only thing he ever wants to see.

So he leans in.

The phone sits forgotten, lighting up with messages—teary words, heartfelt congratulations, the world calling for him. But none of it matters.

Because right now, you are in his arms. Right now, he is kissing the soft of your addicting lips. And right now, that is all that ever was, all that ever is, all that ever will be.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @beombunni @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @imlonelydontsendhelp @yunverie @baekberrie @soobabby @hyunelixbun @kejingken @blossommi @sumzysworld @tyunningstar @filmnings @channieismylove @frankghgr @missychief1404 @fatbixchwithanopinion @saejinniestar @brrytears @sbnslver @hoefororeo @pagelets @urlocal-moa @ewsnup @moagyuu @melmochii

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 2

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: angst; hurt/comfort; reader might have a crush on Kyra ;)

Word count: 3.4k

| PART 1 HERE |

Over the next few days, Kyra and Y/n settle into a comfortable, domestic routine.

Kyra was the first to wake up each day. She went straight to Y/n’s room to check on her and give her her morning medication, along with a cup of black coffee.

Y/n didn’t like mornings, especially now with the heavy cast on her leg. Kyra, on the other hand, loved mornings, so she sat by Y/n’s bed and chatted for 20 minutes straight while Y/n nodded along to whatever Kyra was saying.

“—And that's how we’re beating Man United this weekend,” Kyra concluded after a long thought process about technical strategies that would lead the Gunners to yet another victory. “I mean, they can’t keep putting her as a winger, right?” Kyra turned to Y/n, waiting for her to nod again.

“How can you have so much to say at 7 am?” Y/n asked, hiding her face in her pillow.

“I just do, it’s a talent, you wouldn’t know it, Grumpy,” Kyra shrugged and threw herself on the bed next to Y/n, the sunlight hitting Kyra’s freckles.

Kyra was wearing tracksuit bottoms and an old, oversized t-shirt, she looked pretty, comfy, and very cuddly too.

“Will you come with me today?” Kyra asked, changing the subjects, caution in her voice.

“Where?” Y/n asked confused, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t supposed to go to physiotherapy or the doctor for another two weeks.

“Training?” Kyra explained, holding her head with one hand as she rested her elbow on the mattress. “They miss you, the girls, I mean. You could go there for a few hours, talk to Alessia, Leah, Steph… I bet Win misses you too,”

“I’m not in the mood,” Y/n said, turning her back to Kyra. Y/n missed the girls, but it would be too upsetting to see them running around while she could barely stand on her own.

“You’ve said that the last three times, Y/n” Kyra sighed. “You haven’t left the house, not once, and you also won’t talk to anyone but me and your mom. That’s worrying. You can’t just wait for me to come home every day, you also need to do relaxing and fun things for yourself.” Y/n felt a pleasant pressure on her shoulder. It was Kyra’s hand.

You can’t just stay here in bed and rot, maybe you could start a new hobby! Painting, sudoku, I don’t know!””Kyra continued, using the serious tone she never used with Y/n. “You need to see people, see your friends, get some fresh air.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “And do what? Talk about how miserable I am all the time?” Y/n said bitterly.

Kyra didn’t understand.

She had never been seriously injured before, she didn’t know what it was like to just go to bed every day not knowing what the future held. Football was everything to Y/n. It was her passion, her hobby and her career. Ninety per cent of her friends were footballers themselves, her whole social circle revolved around football.

Without it, she was nothing Football’s been her thing since she was a kid. Y/n had grown up with a ball on her feet, and now it was gone, and she didn’t know if she would get it back. Right now, Y/n was nothing.

Kyra pressed her lips together and stared at the girl, trying to think of what to say.

“Go away please, I want to be alone,” Y/n muttered after the room had gone quiet.

“No,” Kyra said. “Let’s talk about this, let’s—”

“Go. Away.” Y/n snapped.

Y/n felt the shift in the mattress. Kyra wasn’t sitting on it anymore. “You can’t keep pushing people away, it’ll only hurt you even more,” Kyra said quietly. “You can’t let yourself go like that, you know how easy it is for us athletes to get depressed after an injury, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I’m not depressed, Kyra!” Y/n locked eyes with the other girl, anger slowly building in her chest. “I just don’t have anything! If I talk to the girls all I’ll think about is how they’re playing and I’m not.

“You don’t have anything?!” Kyra raised her voice. “What do you mean you have nothing? You’re not just your fucking leg, or your football—You’re a whole person! Just because you can’t play right now doesn’t mean you have no worth.”

Y/n remained silent as Kyra’s voice escalated. Kyra was starting to get angry with her. Kyra had never been angry with her before.

“You are injured! Your tibia split in two, of course, it’ll take some time to heal. Does that mean you have to stay in the house for the remaining months? Of course not!” Kyra’s face was flushed, and she was out of breath.

“Kyra, my whole life had been inside a pitch, I don’t know how the fuck to live without knowing if I’ll ever be in one again!” Y/n exploded, pointing at her cast “And this fucking leg hurts all the time, it’s always a reminder of how unhappy I am and how the world kept on moving while I just stay here!”

“But you don’t have to just stay here! You are the one who is avoiding the world, but it hasn’t stopped for you, it never has! Especially because you have people who care about you! You would know that if you would answered your phone when your friends called,” Kyra rubbed her eyes, tiredly.

“Why is it so hard for you to be kind and patient with yourself?” Kyra asked, looking genuinely confused, trying to find the answer to her question on Y/n’s face. “It’s so easy to treat you well, I don’t know why you find it so difficult.”

Kyra finally took a deep breath, and then another.

“Okay, I’m calm now. I’m sorry,” Kyra said, unclenching her fist. “I didn’t mean to get mad at you, I know you’re frustrated and angry right now. I just wish you’d be more compassionate with yourself and your body.

The room was silent.

“I’ll just… go then. I have to be at training in half an hour anyway,” Kyra took a step closer to where Y/n was lying, she dropped a soft kiss on her cheek. “Just don’t—rot in bed the whole day, ok? I’ll buy you some food and send it over at lunchtime so you can eat something other than crisps”.

Y/n felt her skin warm where Kyra had kissed her. She barely had time to process it before Kyra pulled away. “Okay, thank you,” Y/n whispered, she couldn’t help the blush creeping up her neck.

She should say something, she should say how sorry she was and how ungrateful she had been, Kyra didn’t complain about having to put up with her. Often Y/n felt that she didn’t deserve to have Kyra by her side and now was one of those times. She felt embarrassed by the way she just acted.

Y/n wasn’t someone who felt at ease with vulnerability. She didn’t normally let people see her at her lowest, except her closest friend, of course, but even now the thought of seeing them, of going back to Arsenal, even if for a few hours, felt excruciating.

It was as if life was mocking Y/n. Everyone’s life would go on, even if hers was frozen in time. Arsenal still had good and healthy athletes to train.

Kyra still had responsibilities to attend ttoY/n didn’t, not for the months ahead of her.

Eight months the doctor said, eight months until (and if) she could run. Would she be this bitter for that long? Was she going to stay frustrated with everything and everyone forever? Was she going to shut herself off from her teammates—her friends—if she didn’t heal the way she intended?

Change was a slow process, but Y/n decided to start it right now.

“Ky?” Y/n called.

“Yeah?”

“I’m being an idiot,” Y/n admitted.

Kyra smiled. “Yeah, you kind of are.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/n apologized. Small steps.

“It’s fine, you are a lot meaner when you lose at UNO, it didn’t scare me.”

Both girls smiled at each other.

Kyra held no grudges; it was one of the things Y/n admired the most about her.

“But if you really want me to forgive you, you’ll let me do something,” Kyra added, mischievous in her voice.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “What?’

“You’ll see,” Kyra said before leaving the room. “I’ll be back around 3 pm, see you!”

Y/n heard the front door close, and now she was alone. Y/n thought she enjoyed being alone, but deep down she didn’t. She missed Kyra when she was away. The house no longer felt warm and comforting; instead; it felt cold and isolated.

Y/n thought about Kyra’s words; about her being kind to others and not to herself. When Beth and Viv tore their ACLs, Y/n committed herself to take their dogs on a walk every day, since the couple couldn’t walk.

When Vic got injured Y/n made sure she was left alone during the physio sessions. When Leah also tore her ACL she made sure to call her every day to see how she was doing; Leah, unlike Y/n, answered her calls.

Y/n had so much love and support around her. She needed it to allow herself to receive it.

Y/n looked around her room. It felt strange now. Before her surgery, she had thought the room was rather cosy, with its green walls and light wooden furniture, but now it felt like a prison.

Maybe Kyra would agree to put on a mattress in the living room and make it into a bed. Then both girls could just sleep there, and watch some films. It would probably bring Y/n some comfort.

..

Hours later Kyra came back from training wearing a black kit. Her hair was in a ponytail, with grass and dirt on it. Y/n wasn’t sure if it was because of their fight earlier, but Kyra seemed different somehow . Even though Kyra was all dirty, y/n couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked. She realised she hadn’t seen Kyra with her hair in a ponytail before, she always wore it in a bun. It was nice, maybe the new hairstyle was the reason why Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off of her.

Cute, Kyra is cute.

She has always been cute, of course, but in the last few days, she looked even prettier. It’s okay to think your friends are cute. It was normal. Y/n thought to herself as Kyra bent down to take out her shoes, the black legging hugging her body. The book Y/n had in hand long forgotten.

Hot. Y/n thought. She was hot.

Maybe it wasn’t okay to think your friends were hot.

“Sorry?” Kyra asked turning to face Y/n.

Y/n widened her eyes. “What? Y/n said, her cheeks flushed. Fuck, had she said that out loud? And why did she sound so defensive? Chill out. “I didn’t say anything., she said, in a calmer tone, closing her book.

“Yes, you did,” Kyra insisted, looking at her with a smile. She let her hair out of the ponytail, letting it fall over her shoulder.

“Nop! You’re going mad, I’m afraid.” Y/n asserted, chin up.

“It must be all the time we spend together, then” Kyra raised a brow.

A lot of time together, indeed.

“Wait, is that a book? I haven’t seen you with a book for a while, I’m proud you still know your letters.” Kyra continued, a smirk on her face

Kyra was right, thought. With football and national camps, she hadn’t had time to read. It had been embarrassing years since she picked up a book. But now she had time, so she just took advantage of it.

“Haha you’re so funny,” Y/n said dryly. “You told me to do something nice for myself, so I decided to read this book I had lying around,” Y/n said, proudly.

Kyra looked dramatically surprised. “Wow, you actually listened to me? Did something happen while I was gone? Did you fall? Oh, you might have brain haemorrhage!”

“The ability you have to turn a normal conversation into a sarcastic one will always blow my mind,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

“Good thing I love to blow your mind,” Kyra said before realizing the double meaning of what she just said.

The girls stared at each other.

“Okay that was awkward,” Kyra mumbled, blushing. “I mean it like—”

Y/n laughed, thinking it was cute how embarrassed Kyra looked. Usually, Kyra was the one who put people in awkward situations.

“It’s all right, I got what you meant,” Y/n said, offering a small smile. “So—” She changed the subject, not wanting Kyra to feel uncomfortable. “What was that thing you wanted me to do so you can forgive me?”

Kyra looked at her watch. “You won’t have to do anything. But they will be here soon.”

Y/n frowned slightly. “Did you get that line from some horror film? Who the hell are they?”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, I’m trying to be mysterious here”.

“You sound suspicious, not mysterious!”

“Oh, shut up, just sit there and look pretty, no more questions, please.”

Y/n welcomed the compliment “Why, because you won’t be able not to tell me?” She challenged.

Kyra was the worst secret keeper she had ever known.

“You know me so well actually!” Kyra said. “Stop asking questions. I’m going to take a shower, but I’ll be right back,” Kyra said before heading upstairs.

Don’t go. Y/n almost said. Almost begged her to keep that kit on so Y/n could just look at her for a few moments.

The thing was: Y/n got used to having Kyra around, not just because she needed Kyra’s help to get things done, but because she just…appreciated her presence.

Y/n was always bored to tears while Kyra was away for training or a match day, so when Kyra came home, Y/n wanted her all to herself. Which was a bit strange.

Kyra Cooney-Cross was making Y/n think of very, very weird things. She wasn’t necessarily upset about it, though.

Minutes later Kyra stepped out of the shower, wearing sweatpants and an Arsenal hoodie. Y/n welcomed the sight more than she’d ever admit. Kyra was pretty, prettier than yesterday and the day before that.

Was Y/n suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning? Could that be the reason she was fancying Kyra? As it genuinely finding her attractive and not a bets mate type of way?

Kyra was attractive, of course. But Y/n hadn’t realised just how much it messed with her mind, and mostly her body. Kyra was her friend. Not as in a friends-with-benefits thing, but oh they could be, Y/n would be happy about that.

Kyra moved in to help me out, that’s all. She doesn’t like me that way, and that’s fine. Totally fine. Y/n bit her nails, trying to convince herself.

Before Y/n could spiral any further, Kyra clapped her hands and told Y/n to get ready, because apparently, the visitors they were having over were about to arrive.

An hour later Alessia and Leah stopped by with a warm lasagna on Leah’s hands.

It turned out that Kyra was only forgiving Y/n if she agreed to meet some of their friends and socialise for a few hours. “It’ll do you good” Kyra had said.d

“Hey, pest,” Leah greeted Kyra at the door. “How’s your pest doing? She hasn’t been answering mine or Lessie’s messages for a while now, is she dead? Did you kill her?”

“Well good evening to you too, Leah,” Kyra said ironically, letting both Leah and Alessia in, after kissing Alessia on the cheek.

“Why can’t you be like Alessia, she is so nice!” Kyra pouted, pointing at the blonde girl, “She doesn’t call me a pest or anything.”

Leah laughed and handed Kyra the lasagna. “Lessie girl is too nice to ever tell you the truth.”

Kyra and Leah continued their bickering while Alessia made herself at home. The girl was very familiar with Y/n’s house, having spent many film night’s here with Y/n and Kyra before Y/n’s injury.

Alessia went into the living room, where she found Y/n sitting on the couch, crutches propped up to the side.

“Less” y/n said cheerfully.

“Hey sweetie, how are you doing?” Alessia sat by Y/n’s side, hugging her. “God, I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

Y/n smiled and leaned further into Alessia’s embrace. “I missed you too, I feel like dying every time Kyra goes to training and I have to stay here by myself., Y/n confessed.

“Oh, so you miss me when I’m away. That is so lovely to hear!” Kyra's mischievous voice filled the living room as the girl elbowed Leah, “See, I told you she wasn’t bored of me yet.”

“Take me with you, Less, please.” Y/n playfully whispered in Alessia’s ear before the girl’s body was replaced by a taller and leaner one.

Leah hugged Y/n and patted her back before lightly smacking the top of her head.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Y/n whined, pouting.

“Me, Beth, Less, Kim—we’ve all been texting you non-stop, and you won’t text us back!” Leah scolded. “We’re not just your teammates, we’re your friends, in case you forgot!”

“Tough love. Told you.” Kyra chimed in from the corner of the room.

“Shut up, Kyra,” Leah and Y/n said in unison.

Y/n kept her eyes down, feeling a little embarrassed. Leah wasn’t wrong, though. Over the past week, she’d only been texting two people: her mom—because otherwise, she’d probably sent the police down; and Kyra—so she could pick up some snacks for Y/n on her way home.

“I know being injured is hard, but you can’t isolate yourself, especially form us!” Leah continued with a gentle reprimand. “You’re only going to feel worse.”

Leah pointed at Alessia, who was now standing next to Kyra. “Lessie told me you didn’t laugh at the memes she sent you! It’s Less, mate—you can’t make Lessie sad.”

If Y/n wasn’t being lectured by her captain, she would’ve laughed at how Leah was using Alessia’s sweetheart personally to make Y/n feel remorse about being a bad friend.

“Also,” Leah continued, now turning to Kyra. “Can you imagine how hard it is to rely on someone like Kyra for updates? Yesterday, she thought it’d be funny to tell Steph one of your bone screws had come loose.”

Y/n snapped her head towards Kyra, who suddenly looked like a kid caught red-handed. “I didn’t even get screws in my surgery! The doctor used locking compression plates instead!” Y/n argued.

“Well, you tell that to Steph,” Leah said dryly. “She cried and said we should call the surgeon responsible for letting you leave the hospital with a loose screw in your leg before Kyra finally told her she was just joking and that you were fine at home.”

“I didn’t think she would actually believe it,” Kyra winced, looking away, a small blush crept onto her cheeks.

“Steph got back at Kyra, don’t worry, Y/n,” Alessia added smiling. “Kyra is now responsible for walking Win every day before training.”

“I hate walking,” Kyra mumbled.

“Should’ve thought of that before messing with Steph,” Leah smirked.

“I was just trying to lighten the mood!” Kyra groaned.

“You don’t always have to fix things with jokes,” Y/n said smiling. “But I appreciate you are—at some point— giving updates to the girls. Still, leave that to me, I’ll start texting you guys back. I am sorry” Y/n apologized, glancing at Leah and Alessia.

“It’s all right kid, we’ve all been there, injuries bring out the worst in us,” Leah said, patting Y/n’s shoulder. “Now can we please eat the lasagna Lessie has made us? I’m starving!”

“You made your lasagna?” Y/n asked, her mouth-watering.

“Sure did. I know it’s your favourite,” Alessia said with a wink.

“May you be blessed for all eternity, Less,” Y/n said with an utmost stone face. “It’s been days since I’ve had good food.”

Kyra helped Y/n with her crutches before asking, a firm hand on her lower back. “Days? I’ve been making nutritious meals for us since you got back from the hospital!”

“Putting frozen pizza in the oven isn’t ‘making nutritious meals,’” Y/n teased, accepting Alessia’s hand as she sat down on the dining chair.

“I’m trying my best here,” Kyra huffed, crossing her arms.

Y/n leaned in, pressing a kiss to Kyra’s cheek. “Yeah, Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it very much.” She smiled.” Now let’s eat before Leah passes out from hunger.”

..

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

Tell me if you would like to read any special scene with Kyra and reader!

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[dooblesdoodles]

Save me elves that are in no way shape or form connected or foils…

[tonycries]

Like An Animal - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, cúmplay, mating press, chóking, overstim, oral (female receiving), créampie, dirty talk, Toji really REALLY wants to get you pregnant, spitting, mentioned kids, absolutely filthy, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Need this man so bad you don’t even understand AAA.

Toji Fushiguro didn’t want any more kids. Why would he? They were messy, expensive, and it was a sheer miracle that Megumi wasn’t anything like the little demons he’s seen during drop-off at the kindergarten. He didn’t need another reason to watch Babyshark for five hours straight - and he wasn’t about to change his mind anytime soon. 

Or, so he thought.

“Hey doll, m’home- what the f-”

“Toji! Language!” you hiss, hastily covering the ears of a very oblivious Yuji, who was deeply engrossed in mixing icing. 

Oh? 

Now, there have only been three times in his life that Toji has been truly taken aback. The first being when he discovered that yes, Megumi’s hair really does stand up that way naturally. Second, when he realized that he was falling for you - and that oh shit maybe he does still have feelings somewhere in there after all. 

And finally, right now, the sight of you covered in flour and wrestling three giggly toddlers into some semblance of order in the kitchen. “Welcome home, handsome.”

Oh. 

It made something deep inside him lurch so strangely.

“Why…” Toji rasps, eyes flitting between the mixing bowls messily clinked together and the three toddlers happily stood on stools, flour in their hair and matching smiles on your faces. “Why have they multiplied?” 

“We’re baking cookies!” Yuji exclaims from the counter, swiping a thick wad of dough on Nobara’s hair. To which the latter responds with a swift smack on the head. 

You smirk at your dumbfounded boyfriend, “Well, Toji, it seems that when you leave me alone with a batch of cookies to bake, I have a tendency to summon reinforcements.” Gesturing at the chaos surrounding you, “Megs wanted to bake some cookies before his sleepover at Yuji’s so I had these three over because we have more than enough space.”

“I see…does insurance cover this kitchen?”

Rolling your eyes, “Oh c’mon, don’t be such a spoilsport.” You reach for the batch of freshly baked goods, “You’re just in time to taste-test our latest creation!”

And, well, how could he ever say no to you? Although - flour-dusted and disheveled - some strange part of himself thinks you look even more gorgeous than usual right now, as if that was even possible. His girl was so pretty, even when you’re wrangling three little gremlins. Too pretty. Toji just couldn’t get his head around that nagging little voice saying you looked so pretty especially when you’re wrangling three little gre-

“Ehh? Fushiguro is your dad blushing?”

“Gross.”

“You idiots he isn’t blushing, it’s called ‘swooning’. My mommy says it’s a grown-up thing.”

It was hard to not hear the (extremely loud) whispers from behind you, but it was even harder to ignore the slight red tinting Toji’s ears as he pointedly reached out for the tray you were holding. Fingers barely even brushing against the cookies before a tiny voice speaks up, “Mama, can I have one too?”

You freeze. Toji freezes. You think the whole world freezes except for Yuji and Nobara who stifle giggles behind their hands.

“Look Kugisaki, now he’s really swooning.”

“Yeah, my mommy says that’s also how you get babies. You swoon and pop! they appear.”

Toji raises a brow at Nobara, gritting out a strained, “Your mommy says a lot, huh?” That jolts you out of your reverie, and you flash a gentle smile at a very red-faced Megumi. Leaning down to reply, “Of course, sweetie.”

And as he mumbles a quick “Thank you”, hastily grabbing another cookie and retreating to a corner of the kitchen - hoping to disappear into the shadows - you risk a glance at Toji. Cheeks flushed hard enough to rival Megumi’s, ah, like father like son. 

“Anyway, don’t just stand there. Come help me n’ the kids, Yuji’s grandpa’s coming to pick them up soon!” you playfully swat at your boyfriend’s sculpted chest, going back to busying yourself with the icing. 

Toji, however, was having an epiphany that was altering his perception of reality, one that he’d probably been denying ever since he stepped in through that damn front door. You. The kids. You and the kids. You and his kids. 

“Mama.”

And Megumi’s little slip-up had been the final nail on his coffin to certify that oh Toji Fushiguro was utterly and irrevocably screwed. And he’d like to blame it all on you being such a goddamn wonder, but he’s got a nagging feeling that the three little gremlins currently decorating cookies share an equal part of the blame. 

What was it that girl had said? Swooning is how you get babies? Because, well, eyeing the way you scooped up a pouty Megumi in your arms, chatting animatedly with a tittering Nobara and Yuji, only one thought rings through his mind - damn right, kid.

---

“-and make sure to brush your teeth. No faking this time, okay? I’ve told Yuji’s grandpa to check. And-”

“No summoning demons, and no summoning the police. Though you’re probably too young for that.” Toji interrupts your little tirade, ruffling the hair of a very disgruntled Megumi. “Have fun, little man.”

You giggle at the usual father-son dynamic, but as you waved off Megumi and his friends, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something in the air felt a bit different. Something a bit tense. A bit exciting.

Maybe it was the heavy silence that hung in the room after that door slammed shut, leaving just you and Toji all alone in the house. Forcing you to register the heat of his large frame looming behind yours. When did he get so close? Or maybe it was the prickly of his gaze on your back, a resounding slam! echoing in your ears as he cages you against the door. 

Or maybe - just maybe - it was the way he leaned down to whisper in your ear, husky and tinged with something so utterly dangerous. 

“So…mama, huh?” 

A thrill goes down your spine at his words. “Oh, stop.” you wave off, though you feel your cheeks flaring up in response. Especially as he plows on, “Why? I think you make a great mama.”

You scoff, casting a sidelong glance at the muscular arm just inches away from your head. “Don’t joke, Megs was so embarrassed after that.”

“I’m not joking.”

Your back hits the cool door before you can react. Toji’s hands almost painful on your shoulders, muscles rippling as he turns you to face him. You raise your eyes to meet his and oh-

Oh shit. 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies as you take in the man before you. His expression darkened, breaths slightly labored, eyes half-lidded and locked on you. You’d almost have been worried at the sudden flip of personality had it not been for the words that spill from his lips. 

“I’m not joking.” he repeats, voice strangled. 

Great, the man has finally lost it. Despite the traitorous throbbing in your cunt, you try to make sense of the situation. “Toji, this joke has-”

Your words get caught in your throat as he raises a hand to squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrassing pout, looking down at you through dazed eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking, doll?” Leaning down to lick a stripe up a smudge of icing on your cheek. Lingering far too long, murmuring into your skin, “What do you think?” 

In the heat of it all, you manage to choke out, “W-what?”

“Don’t you think,” he mutters, as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each word that comes out of his mouth. “That you’d make the best mama?”

“I mean- yes-”

And then his lips are on yours, shutting you up - bruising. Such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he drinks you in with an aching desperation. Toji breathes in your gasp as you feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your front. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth. “Not enough, ma. Need you s’bad.”

The buttons hit the floor before you realize what’s happening. Toji’s fisting your shirt in one hand, too impatient - too starved - he pulls down, down, down. Ripping. Urgently moving down to your shorts- “Those are expensi-” you yelp. 

But it’s useless - the tattered fabric hits the ground faster than your jaw as he groans out a quick, “I’ll buy ya a new one when we shop for baby clothes.”

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, hands trailing up your thighs. He swiftly unclasps your bra, mouth dropping into a soft little oh! at the sight, immediately groping each and every inch of skin he could reach. Tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples on his fingers in wonder. “Oh, doll. These are gonna be s’full, huh? Wan’ taste how sweet you’ll be.”

“T-Toji hah-” you whine, as he takes one nipple in his mouth. Lips wrapped so prettily around your tit as he tugs lightly, sucking harshly like he was miraculously trying to draw milk out. Looking up at you so obscenely through his thick lashes. “Ngh- wan’ more.” you buck your hips, grinding against his thick cock. 

And, well, how could Toji ever deny the mother of his children?

Because he immediately drops to his knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties. Tugging with his teeth, “This what you want, ma?” he slurs. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy, “Wan’ me to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt? Jus’ say the word.”

“Please, daddy.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

And then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds with his teeth. Flashing you a devilish grin at the sinful strings of slick that connect you to the flimsy fabric. Oh Toji had half the mind to tease you about how wet you were already, but no, he had no time to waste.

With a guttural, fucked-out little grunt, he’s surging forward, diving face first into your pretty pussy. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit, licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. 

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, as he buries himself deeper into your dripping cunt. Tongue bullying its way past your folds to lap at your slick, not stopping till he’s had his fill of your sweet juices. “M-more.”

Two large hands dip into your waist as he wraps his glossy lips around your pulsing clit to suck harshly, both keeping you still and supporting your weight as your knees weaken. Toji can’t have his pretty girl hurt herself right before he fills her up n’ gets her pregnant, right?

“Sure ya can handle more, ma?” Electricity runs up your spine as your boyfriend rolls his tongue across your clit just the way he knew you liked. “Y’should be thanking me for not jus’ stuffing you full of my cock like I want to right now.” 

“Then hah- why don’t you?”

Toji pulls away ever-so-slightly, relishing in the delirious little whine of disappointment that leaves you. One that quickly turns into a surprised squeal as he spit a steady stream of spit into your quivering cunt, spreading it across your pussy with his thumb.

Sloppy - it was so fucking sloppy. He looked at you like you were his favorite meal and ate you out just as much. 

Your juices decorating his lips like a badge of honor. Smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw. One which moves as he utters, “Can’t break the mother of my kids, doll.” 

But oh how you’d beg to differ as he brings his face to your sloppy pussy once more, tongue darting out to catch the obscene little drip! drip! drip! of your slick. “Gon’ be the best fucking dad to all three of ‘em.”

“T-three?”

And with that, he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Throwing your left leg over his sculpted shoulder to make out deeper with your cunt. You tug on his hair pathetically, impatiently. Cute little whines of his name leaving you each time he drips into your sloppy pussy, stretching you out, swiping at your clit, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Yeah, three.” he mutters into your folds, “Gon’ give me two more beautiful babies? Gon’ be so round n’ pretty with my kids?” Tongue curling deftly against that one spot he knew would have you keening and rocking your pretty cunt into his mouth. 

“Ah- fuck fuck fuck- hngh- yes!” you moan, body jerking violently at the way he hit that spot over and over.  

He huffs out a laugh, hungry gaze taking in that cute, desperate expression on your face. Toji just couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. “Use your words, ma.”

“H-huh?”

“Tell me what you want.”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “Want to so badly. Wan’ you to hah- fill me up hngh- W-wan’ cum-”

“So demanding.” he titters teasingly into your cunt, vibrations making you drag your pussy more erratically on his mean mouth. Now, Toji could tease you with his tongue for hours until you’re crying and begging for his cock. But right now, he doesn’t think he has any more patience nor sanity. “I love that.”

Toji knows by the way your pretty pussy clenches around his tongue that you’re close, pulse urgent on his face as he greedily laps at your cunt. So he speeds up his movements, drinking you in like a madman. 

A hand snaking up to plunge knuckle-deep into your sloppy entrance. Pussy taking him so readily after being stretched out on his tongue. Your adorable, fucked-out little whines of his name going straight to his rock-hard dick as he fucks you with his fingers the way he wants to with his cock. Two fingers thrusting in and out while his thumb draws rapid little circles on your clit. Sinking his teeth gently into your swollen folds.

Bucking into his touch, “Hah! S’too much, daddy. Hngh, g-gonna cum ah! Gonna cum-”

“Then cum, doll.”

And you are - fast and violent. 

Plushy walls clamping down on Toji’s fingers as if your fluttering cunt was trying to suck him up. Mind hazy and your only thoughts being about Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Mmm taste s’sweet, love you on m’tongue.” he grunts, breathing you in and letting your juices slide down his throat. Lewd squelches in time with your cute lil’ whines as you ride out your orgasm on his pretty face. Tongue fucking you through your high. 

“Had fun, ma?” Toji grins once you blink back your vision, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Dangerous little smile only growing at your barely-lucid nod. 

Ah, but even the ever-confident Toji Fushiguro faltered as your shaky hands reached out to pet his achingly hard cock. Swollen and leaking a mouthwatering dark patch against his trousers. 

“Wan’ your cock now, daddy.” you murmur, watching the way his darkened eyes widen ever-so-slightly, breath hitching. “Wan’ you to fill me up over n’ over like you promised.”

Oh you little minx, with all your dirty tricks - you were going to be the death of him. 

With a dark little chuckle of disbelief, Toji rises to his full height. Lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss - tongue licking at the seam of your mouth and intertwining with yours. Forcing you to taste yourself on him. So sweet of sin and all his dreams of stuffing you till you were sure to have his kids - two of them, in fact. 

“Anything y’want, doll.” he whispers into your lips. 

And that’s all that is said before the clinking of a belt rings in the heady air. The realization that you were so naked and splayed out for him while he was still unfairly clothed finally hitting as Toji peels his shirt off. Your mouth waters at the chiseled front, hands immediately reaching to squeeze his large pecs. Running your hands along his body. 

“Ah, fuck.” he shudders, “Y’never change, huh?” 

Yet your greedy hands are momentarily stunned as he lets his pants fall to the floor with his boxers. Rock-hard cock springing up and hitting his stomach. 

He was so painfully hard that it made your cunt quiver in anticipation. Red and throbbing, soaked in precum and glistening in the dim lighting. Twitching at the sound of your voice as you say “Want you to fucking ruin me, daddy.” you blink up at Toji, all doe-eyed and teary after your last orgasm. 

And oh does that make him snap - maybe his sanity, maybe you by the end of this, because before you know it, Toji’s spreading your legs with his knee. Biting his bottom lip as your slick trails down your pretty cunt and onto your legs. 

“What m’girl wants.” he grits out, dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head. “My girl- gets.”

You keen as Toji bullies his massive cock into your cunt on the last word. “Ngh- T-Toji.” you whine, vision flashing at the stretch. No matter how many times Toji stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.” Trying to steady your breathing as he fucks into you in quick, mindless little jabs to fit himself inside your snug pussy. “I’ll make sure of it, doll. How else m’gonna breed your pretty lil’ cunt?”

Your dripping cunt rubs so deliciously against his abs, slick mixing with his precum and smearing across both your bodies. Filthy, and exactly what you wanted right now. 

“Shit, love when your pussy’s so messy. Now, legs.” he rasps, with a quick smack to your thighs. And that’s all that has to be said - your queue to wrap your legs around Toji’s waist, letting his strong arms lift you with ease. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper onto his cock, veins rubbing so deliciously against all the right spots. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck fuck fuck, m’so full.” you keen, heels digging into his hips. 

Sliding down his cock far enough that his heavy balls meet your ass, already so wet with precum and slick. Ah, you were so full of him you almost felt like he was pushing against your lungs.

“Oh, yes.” Toji hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” Finally he gets what he’s been aching for ever since those three gremlins stepped out the door. All the blood draining to his cock at the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he was the only one you could think of. Hey, he needed to get some attention before the baby arrives, right?

“Need this s’bad. Fuck.” he gasps. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, shallow, desperate little grinds of his hips. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you little slut. Fill you up with my seed till you can’t take it anymore.”

Neat little crescents of his fingernails on your ass as his thrusts get longer, more purposeful. Twitching balls smacking against your skin in such a lewd rhythm, matching the cute little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. So deliciously painful. 

“C’mon, ma.” Toji moans, hips out of control now. Taking in the way your head was thrown back, body bouncing each time he rammed his cock into your tight cunt. But oh how he wanted to see the fucked-out expression on your face. “Look at me.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way Toji cradles your head to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Only looking up at him with delirious heart-eyes as he milked himself on your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit feel s’perfect split-apart on my cock. Really made for me, huh?” he gasps into your mouth. “Need to cum in this pretty pussy. Need to fill you up- ah- need this need this- fuck.”

“Shit shit shit, Toji m’so close. I’m hngh-”

A hand hurriedly unwraps from your waist to draw rapid, desperate little patterns on your cunt. Not even circles anymore because shit Toji couldn’t think of anything aside from the way your pussy was milking him so good- And how he was gonna fuck a baby into you and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-you’ll bake with ‘em. And I’ll tuck ‘em to bed.” the words tumble out of his lips and into your parted mouth. Pussy drunk and babbling, “N’ we’re both taking those three to the park and try not to lose ‘em.”

Dragging himself inside you till his weeping tip kisses your sloppy hole. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by quick, harsh thrusts, “Then at night m’gonna steal you all to myself, and y’know what, ma?”

At this point you can do nothing more than just take it as Toji bounces you on his cock in midair, sobbing out a strained, “W-what, daddy?”

Toji leans impossibly closer, thumb catching on your swollen lips, breath fanning your face as he mutters, “Gonna fuck another baby into you. Fill you with my cum all over again, doll. Give it all to you.”

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere and have you seeing stars. And this was no different - yet you see the pearly gates of heaven as you cream around his cock. “Ah! Hngh m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

He lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back, hips stuttering and sloppy now. Breathing out raggedly, “Yeah fuck jus’ like that use me like’ that- hngh squeezing me s’tight gonna cum. Gonna give my pretty baby my cum, fuck a baby into ya- oh-”

Body bowing into yours, teething latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Fingers digging and bruising on your hips, holding your filthy pussy to his cock as he cums with a strangled moan. Hard. almost painfully so. 

White-hot pleasure behind his eyes, pumping thick, hot ropes to fill your snug cunt. Just animalistic movements from such a carnal part of himself as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper into you. 

Not even thinking of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy. Toji’s cum dripping down your legs and onto his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, who said we’re done, doll?” Toji tuts mockingly, snapping you out of the haze. “Don’t pass out on me just yet.”

And you don’t even realize it before he’s manhandling you onto the nearby couch. Pulling out only admire his seed gushing out of you, so white and hot and his. Cock twitching to life at the pool of cum and slick slowly forming on the cushion below. Fuck that, you’ll need a bigger couch for five people anyway.  

Ramming his throbbing cock into your poor, swollen pussy. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and bending down down down till your knees were at your tits. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till Megumi gets home. Promises he fully intended to fulfill. 

“Fuck. One more. G-gotta make sure it takes, ma.” he swears into your mouth. Voice jagged, and you almost couldn’t recognize it as your boyfriend’s. Barely even lucid, just mindless motions of his hips as he watched your slutty cunt suck him up so good. “Yeah, who’s cum is that, doll? Who’s that painting your pretty pussy white?”

Drinking in the sobbed out little, “Y-you, Toji! Ah- Hngh-” as he starts ravaging your swollen clit again. Toji’s balls squeeze so painfully as he fucked you like his personal sextoy. And your pussy was so heavenly around him that you were basically asking for him to go harder. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. 

“Ah! Fuck I’m-” throat shot, you can’t even form a proper sentence before you’re seeing stars being your eyes. Walls milking Toji’s thick cock as you cum - almost painfully. Mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! tears streaking down your face. 

Ones that Toji can’t help but lick off, salty on his tongue as he cums again. And again and again. Voice stuck in his throat, eyes widening, the veins popping out on his arms as he pulls your hips closer to his. 

Hips burning now as he breeds you like some animal. Like he was ready to fill you up until he was shooting blanks and couldn’t anymore. Cum squelching out of your sloppy pussy and seeping into where you were joined. Ah, well, the couch was ruined - time for Plan B. 

Which is why Toji found himself wrestling you onto the cool floor, cock still twitching inside you, spreading you for him on whatever flat surface he could find. Milking his cock so he can cum more than he has his whole life. 

Both of you barely lucid at this point. He wasn’t even sure if he could cum again - but by God if he wasn’t going to try. He was drunk off of the feeling inside you, so warm and wet with him. So perfect to carry his child.

“Hngh- yes yes yes wan’ carry your child, daddy.” you whine. Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck at this point. The only thing he cared about now was the feeling of your sloppy lil’ pussy wrapped around him and whether Megumi would want a brother or a sister. 

“Hm, yeah? Like the idea huh, you little slut. Fuck s’perfect f’me- ngh-”

Running on just the sting of your nails down his back and your legs pulling him impossibly closer. Barely even thrusting at this point, just frantic shallow, grinds to milk his swollen cock. Trying to fuck out something delicious. It hurt, but it hurt so good. 

So good that Toji doesn’t even realize when he’s cumming again. Just faint little tingles before his cock is shooting thin, long wisps of cum, making you squeeze around him as he fills you up again and again.Your own orgasm just a small spike of euphoria before he starts moving inside you. Again.  

Ah, he wonders, vision hazy at the edges - but still perfectly capturing the white gushing out of your ravaged cunt. Taking in the messy floor, and your even messier pussy. Where to next, huh? He hasn’t even fucked you in the kitchen yet.

“N-next?” you repeat, eyes widening as much as they possibly could through the exhaustion and the urge to pass out. And oh he said that out loud too? Whoops.

“Of course.” he pools the cum trickling out of you on two fingers, shoving them in your mouth. Making your head spine as you choke and gag around his thick fingers, pressing the back of your tongue. Only two things ringing in your mind, Toji’s unforgiving cock - raw and hot, dragging against your ravaged walls again and again - and the words that spill from his lips.

“Besides, we gotta practice for the fourth one, too, ma.”

A/N. Fully believe this man will fuck you till both of you pass out. 

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[reasonsforhope]

Kamala Harris just announced that her vice president will be Minnesota governor Tim Walz. Based on the coverage so far I'm really reassured by this decision.

The Washington Post did an obviously great job of making a prepared article for each option, considering how long an article they had up 7 minutes after the announcement.

((Okay technically it's not an official announcement yet it's "according to three people familiar with the pick, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss a decision that is not yet public." But listen. I am 99% sure this is a weather balloon. (Meaning: a deliberate leak to gauge reaction.) Because the sheer weakness or incompetence on the part of the Harris campaign that it would take for three people to all confirm that within a few hours hours of each other and the planned announcement it is massive.))

-via The Washington Post, August 6, 2024

Honestly this decision, from everything I've read and can tell, looks like it's brilliant politics.

Important Context: The vice president(ial candidates)'s job in an election is not to be similar to the president. The vice president's job on the ballot is very, very much specifically to be different from the president. Why? So they can cover each others' weaknesses. Especially regionally.

(Sidenote: I feel a bit ridiculous saying this. But genuinely if you want to get a stronger understanding of how US elections really work. Go watch seasons 6 and 7 of The West Wing. Genuinely, a lot of politicians have said - especially back in its day - that that was the most accurate depiction of an election they'd ever seen. Also specifically features an entire arc about a contested Democratic primary convention, so also very good if you're interested in understanding weird nominating convention shenanigans.)

From the article:

"Harris’s choice for a running mate was among the most closely watched decisions of her fledgling campaign, as she sought to bolster the ticket’s prospects for victory in November and rapidly find someone who could be a governing partner. In picking Walz, she has selected a seasoned politician with executive governing experience and signaled the importance of Midwestern battleground states such as Wisconsin and Michigan.

Walz’s foray into politics came later in life: He spent more than two decades as a public school teacher and football coach, and as a member of the Army National Guard, before running for Congress in his 40s. In 2006, he defeated a Republican to win Minnesota’s 1st Congressional District--a rural, conservative area--and won reelection five times before leaving Congress to run for governor.

Walz was first elected governor in 2018 and handily won reelection in 2022. Though little-known outside his state, Walz emerged publicly as one of the earliest names mentioned as a possible running mate for Harris, and in the ensuing days he made the rounds on television as an outspoken surrogate for the vice president...

“These are weird people on the other side. They want to take books away, they want to be in your exam room. … They are bad on foreign policy, they are bad on the environment, they certainly have no health care plan, and they keep talking about the middle-class,” Walz told MSNBC in July. “As I said, a robber baron real estate guy and a venture capitalist trying to tell us they understand who we are? They don’t know who we are.”

Walz also has faced criticism from Republicans that his policies as governor were too liberal, including legalizing recreational marijuana for adults, protecting abortion rights, expanding LGBTQ protections, implementing tuition-free college for low-income Minnesotans and providing free breakfast and lunch for schoolchildren in the state.

But many of those initiatives are broadly popular. Walz also signed an executive order removing the college-degree requirement for 75 percent of Minnesota’s state jobs, a move that garnered bipartisan support and that several other states have also adopted.

“What a monster. Kids are eating and having full bellies, so they can go learn, and women are making their own health-care decisions,” Walz said sarcastically in a July 28 interview with CNN when questioned whether such policies would be fodder for conservative attacks, later adding: “If that’s where they want to label me, I’m more than happy to take the [liberal] label.”

Walz also spoke at a kickoff event in St. Paul for a Democratic canvassing effort, casting Trump as a “bully.”

“Don’t lift these guys up like they’re some kind of heroes. Everybody in this room knows--I know it as a teacher--a bully has no self-confidence. A bully has no strength. They have nothing,” Walz said at the event, sporting a camouflage hunting hat and T-shirt.

Walz has explained that he felt some Democrats’ practice of calling Trump an existential threat to democracy was giving him too much credit, which prompted his decision to denounce the GOP nominee instead as being “weird.”

“I do believe all those things are a real possibility, but it gives him way too much power," Walz said on CNN’s “State of the Union” regarding the Democrats’ rhetoric. “Listen to the guy. He’s talking about Hannibal Lecter, shocking sharks, and just whatever crazy thing pops into his mind.”

If Walz is elected vice president, under state law, Minnesota Lt. Gov. Peggy Flanagan (D) would assume the governorship for the rest of his term. Minnesota Senate president Bobby Joe Champion, a Democrat, would become lieutenant governor."

-via The Washington Post, August 6, 2024

--

This guy. Sounds like. fucking Moderate swing-state/rural/Midwestern/southern/"heartland"/working class white voter catnip. He sounds like he's also a very smart politician and strong campaigner. And he's apparently genuinely a good guy with a good record, too.

He sounds like he's going to do a really good job of appealing to voters in several of the big deal swing states without being from any of them specifically. Which means it doesn't feel like pandering to one of the states involved (and thereby spurning the others), which is also great.

(Also he was the one who started "weird" @ conservatives and I think we should take that seriously as a very good political instinct/move. Judging in large part by how it has so clearly hit an actual nerve with conservatives like so little else. Also hugely relevant: that post going around about how part of why conservatives are so upset about "weird" is because in the Midwest, "weird" specifically also implies anti-social or harmful behavior.)

Officially feeling more optimistic about Trump not winning in November

[manmuncher777]

Drunkly telling BSF!Geto you need him….

Bsf!Geto Who was waiting on your call for him to pick you up, he offered to be your driver so you could have a nice night out drinking with friends and still get home nice and safe. He wanted to make sure no creepy guys were trying to get you in their car (especially when you looked that good)

Bsf!Geto who was trying to hide his erection when you showed off your outfit of the night, fuck you looked good.

Bsf!Geto Who is confused and slightly worried when he sees you calling his phone only 2 hours since you’ve been out. He picks up almost instantly

“Y/n are you okay?”

“Suguruuuuu.” Your excited voice rings out, he can tell your already drunk by how much your slurring. He can hear you holding in giggle

“what’s wrong sweets, do I need to come and get you?” He’s speaking slow and clear so you can understand him in your state, his chest feels a bit lighter by the fact you don’t sound in imminent danger, just drunk

“…” a beat passes, he can hear your light breathing over the phone, it sounded like you were stood outside of whatever bar you were at

“I need you” Three words you finally spoke, suddenly sounding more sober than a few seconds ago.

“Need me to what? are you safe.” Suguru’s gripping his phone a lot tighter now, his heart skipping a beat when he heard those words. No, you couldn’t have meant it like that… could you? that little whine that left you after you spoke…

“Suguru I fucking need you.” Oh. You meant it like that.

Suguru was sure now. Like you were begging for him over the phone, he has to take a deep breath to centre himself. You were drunk- you couldnt mean it. But god you sounded so sweet and desperate over the phone. Suguru’s heart was pounding in his chest

“sweets I…”

“I need you so fucking bad, I feel like I cant even function, I feel insane.” You didn’t feel as drunk anymore, suddenly admitting your feelings brought you back. You didn’t even know what you meant tot say when suguru answered the phone, you just needed to hear his voice.

“…” He’s speechless, this sudden confession. He was excited and nervous and confused and and- god he didnt even know what he was feeling right now. All he knew was that breathy voice over the speaker was sending him insane

“all I can think about is you, I thought drinking would help, but its worse… Sugu I need you to fuck me so bad.” Fucking hell

“Darling..” He almost choked now. Squeezing his eyes shut, trying desperately to get a grip.

“please- I need to feel you, I need to kiss you. I need you to ruin me.” You didnt care how you sounded at all, you were desperate, you were willing to beg

“I’m on my way.”

Bsf!Geto Who is speeding over to the location you sent him, jaw clenched, heavy breathing. Raging boner that was making it hard for him to concentrate.

Bsf!Geto who hops out of his car, opening the door for you as you step in, you look so shy now that hes actually there. Then he’s speeding you both back to his place. He’s not talking much, but his eyes keep flickering over your exposed figure. God you looked good, it was making it so much harder for him to try and be a gentleman

Bsf!Geto who didnt know whether to politely turn you down, you were best friends and you were drunk, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. But the other part of him wanted to give you exactly what you wanted, to throw you around, fucking you to tears. God he wanted to fuck you so bad, and if you were begging him, wasn’t it mean of him to turn you down?

Bsf!Geto who went with the second option as soon as he got you into his house. He couldn’t hold back as you stood there awkwardly, blushing and apologising if you made him uncomfortable.

Bsf!Geto who had you forgetting about that, throwing you down on his bed and going to town

Bsf!Geto who was eating you out like a man starved, so fucking filthy and feral. Slurping and sucking at your slit so eagerly. The sound of your desperate cry’s were music to his ears.

Bsf!Geto Who was groaning into your pussy each time you tugged on his hair. You tasted better than he ever could’ve imagined. He couldn’t believe how wet you already were for him, you were soaked, and Suguru didn’t want to waste a drop

Bsf!Geto who was flipping you over after you came on his face, he couldn’t hold back after hearing you moan for him so sweetly

“Sugu- oh my god”

“shit baby, love the sound of my name when you moan it like that.”

Bsf!Geto who was hitting it from the back, going fucking crazy watching your ass ripple with each thrust. Your face pushed into the mattress with your back arched so pretty for him. You were screaming into the mattress with how good it felt, unable to stop the tears of pleasure falling. His pace was anything but slow, sure he had imagined what fucking you would be like, but he never expected you to feel this good. So tight around him, so fucking wet.

His cock felt fucking heavenly inside you, you had never felt so full before. Hitting that spot every fucking thrust, he was brutal with it, exactly what you were craving.

Bsf!Geto who needs to hear you, gripping your hair and pulling your face up from the mattress. Relishing in the screams of his name. Your noises were better than anything he ever could’ve imagined.

Bsf!Geto Who had you cumming on his cock multiple times that night

“Yeah good fucking girl- you jus’ needed some dick huh?” “This what you needed baby?” “That’s it sweetheart, let it all out for me.” “Feels good yeah? go on cry baby, I got you.” “Looked way too fucking beautiful tonight” “shit this pussy so good, I should’ve done this months ago.”

Bsf!Geto who was the first ever man to make you squirt. You coating his torso in you juices, fuck it was the best thing he’d ever seen. The noises of your broken moans sending him over the edge. He came so deep in you that night, watching in awe when it leaked out of you

[sleepyjuice]

toxic!rafe will blow your phone up the second you post something on instagram that he’s ‘iffy’ about.

you posted a photo dump which consisted of some random photos of the beach, some of your friends, one of you and rafe of course, but the one that had rafe seeing red was the last slide, which was you in a bikini. he texted you several times at first, and while you were literally typing your response, he called you. your fingers were typing so fast to respond to him that you accidentally declined the call, and he did not like that. you immediately went to call him back, but another text from rafe rolled in, saying ‘fuck you don’t talk to me we’re done’ you sighed loudly, knowing damn well he was talking out of his ass right now, so you sat back and waited for the inevitable next string of texts to roll in. which they did, only seconds later.

rafe <3: do you get off on making me mad or something

rafe <3: like i’m racking my brain trying to understand why you do the things you do and that’s all i can come up with

rafe <3: and i see at least 4 guys have already liked your post like that’s crazy to me?? thought i told you to block all the guys that followed you?? of course you didn’t

rafe <3: also who even took that pic of you??? bc i know damn well it wasn’t me so who the fuck you posing for with your fucking ass and tits out? WHAT THE FUCK

rafe <3: DO NOT PUT YOUR SHIT ON DO NOT DISTURB answer me rn.

rafe <3: nah it’s cool actually i’m gonna go hit up my other gfs so you have a good night.

you rolled your eyes at that last text, deciding to fully turn your phone off. you knew he would likely try to text or call you again very soon but you didn’t want to deal with it right now. this wasn’t your first rodeo, you knew nothing you could say to him right now would calm him down, so letting him freak out on his own was the best method to his madness.

three hours had passed since you turned your phone off. you had caught up on some reading and turned on your current favorite show, but found yourself interrupted by a knock at your front door. you expected it to be rafe, but instead it was a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift bag. you glanced around to see if rafe was lurking around, but saw nothing. when he freaked out over text and was able to reread his actions, he usually waited a bit longer to show his face as opposed to a verbal argument.

you brought the flowers inside and set them on the counter before grabbing the card attached to the side of the bouquet.

sorry we argued. you are so beautiful and i love you so much. got you a little gift and sent you some money for food and i set your appointment with your nail girl for tomorrow at 10. love you forever baby -rafe

you couldn’t help but smile just a little. the flowers were beautiful and the note was pretty sweet, so you chose to ignore the part where he said ‘we argued.’ you didn’t get a word in, but you let it slide. especially after you opened the gift bag to see the new dior bag you had been wanting.

you hurried to turn on your phone, immediately seeing a $500 apple payment from rafe as well as a new text from a few minutes ago.

rafe <3: hope you like the flowers and bag baby. love you! :)

you: i love them. thanks rafe, love you too

rafe <3: good to hear. lmk what you end up getting for dinner and i’ll pick you up tomorrow to take you to your nail apt. can’t wait to see you baby

you would order yourself dinner that was obviously way less than $500, but you would send rafe a picture and thank him again. you’d facetime him before bed and conversation flowed like nothing had even happened just hours before. he’d ask you what color nails you were getting, tell you funny stories about the old men at the country club and excitedly plan what you two were going to do the next day. the cycle seemed like it would never end, but you often forgot about the bad when he was talking so sweetly to you and all you could think about was how excited you were to see him tomorrow.

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[luveline]

hellooo I have a request for Spencer x bombshell! reader (I'm not sure if you've done this before and if you have I apologise!!) but like they're on a case and one of them gets pretty badly hurt somehow & then the other is really worried about them & stuff and then I'm not sure (I think this could be good but not the way that I have spoken about it and so I'm very very sorry!!)

u r so awesome don’t worry!!

cw canon typical violence and injury

Everything is crisp and quiet at the precipice of the stakeout. You adjust your gun where it’s poised over the roof of an SUV away from a moving officer’s body. The negotiator adjusts the megaphone at their thigh nervously, waiting for Hotch’s go ahead. You’re all waiting for it. A hand raised, sending you in, hostage recovered, a long case coming to a short close. 

“Don’t forget your leg,” Spencer says to you under his breath. 

“Trust me, babe, I can’t forget it,” you say back, glancing quickly at him to your left. He’s facing forward, trained on the window where you’d last seen the unsub. The distance between you both and the danger is small, less than three feet of space. You and Spencer don’t have a clear shot, the agent’s behind you better equipped and better trained, but you can make do in a pinch. 

“Hurting?” he whispers. 

“Half as bad as it was yesterday.” 

“I have a bad feeling.” 

“Yeah?” You follow Hotch’s hand. The negotiation begins. You and Spencer don’t talk again. 

The unsub is sour, the victim terrified. When the screaming inside begins in earnest, the FBI rolls inside, confident in taking down the unsub, if a little worried about the victims wellbeing. You and Spencer sweep in less than ten inches away from each other, unafraid, and you don’t see the sledgehammer until it’s hitting you in the jaw, spraying blood like dark ink over Spencer’s pale cheek. 

—

“I don’t care if that’s what you recommend.” A drag of a soft touch somewhere on your skin. “Sincerely. I want a second opinion.” 

“It’s a mandibular fracture, we have a suitable follow up procedure.” 

“I understand, but I’m doing what she’d want me to do. When she wakes up, she’ll say the same thing, and so there’s no point in starting the paperwork for a procedure she won’t agree to.” 

“I doubt her cosmetic preferences will outweigh functionality.” 

It’s Spencer’s voice, Spencer’s hand on your leg. He’s reaching back to hold you as he defends you. “Respectfully, you don’t know her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She needs peace and quiet.” 

The doctor harrumphs but leaves. Quiet is restored, and for a while you doze, the only thing at your attention Spencer’s hand where it climbs. He takes your hand. You know his fingers well where they twine between yours. 

A few hours pass by in sluggish slee, the bed elevated to an uncomfortable sitting position. 

“Hey?” he asks, fingertips to the hill of your shoulder. “Are you waking up?” 

You can’t make your mouth form words. Your eyes flash open in shock.

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m sorry, I’m going to explain, but please don’t panic.” 

You wait. 

Spencer stands in a rumpled shirt, hair in his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Your jaw is broken, fractured, actually, pretty badly. You’ve had so much pain relief over the last few hours I’m surprised you can even open your eyes, and it’s good you’re struggling to move your mouth because it would only hurt anyways.” He claps your arm gently. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere though, okay? I’m right here.” 

That’s not what scares you; you know Spencer’s gonna stay. It’s not a question. 

Your hand strays up to your face. 

“It’s not bad,” he swears, and perhaps lies. 

“Spence,” you manage, a croak that aches and lisps at once. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning down. “Please don’t get upset.” 

You blink tearfully. You don’t remember what happened, just the flash of pain and now Spencer looking down at you like you’re wounded. He sits carefully on the side of your bed and grabs you by the waist, two hands on your sides and arms resting on your stomach, like a hug that hasn’t crept forward. 

“You won’t like the bruise,” he says apologetically. 

“Bad?” you whisper. 

“It’s all the way up to your eye. He also chipped two of your teeth… I’m so sorry, angel. It was my fault.” He thumbs your ribs. “I’ll fix everything. I already talked to your dentist, and tonight they’re coming back to talk about your plastics because the blow split your skin, okay? But you're mostly fixed already.” 

“‘M I… still pretty?” you ask. 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, not half as shyly as he’d usually would. 

You cry panicked, dribbly tears. He rubs shapes into your sides and swears again that it’ll all be okay, and it’s not that you don’t believe him, it’s just that it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Had a bad feeling,” he says, wiping your tears as gently as he can before they can wet the bandaging on your jaw.

“Did you get him for me?” you ask. 

Morgan clears his throat from the doorway to announce his arrival, a coffee cup in hand, pastry bag hanging between his pinky and marriage finger. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, “Did you, lover boy?” He beams at you. “I’ve never seen him pistol whip someone before. You would’ve loved it.”

You groan in agony. Missing out on seeing that is almost as bad as breaking your jaw. 

“I’ll recreate it for you,” Spencer promises. 

“And now it’s time for him to eat,” Morgan says, putting the pastry bag on the bed, “and get some sleep. He hasn’t slept in the two days you’ve been in here.”

“I had important stuff to take care of,” he says, rubbing your side. “While you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Sleep,” you insist through your achy mouth.

Spencer’s eyes go soft and sad. “I will.”

[deadsetobsessions]

“I can’t believe you’re squatting in an occupied house, Danny. That’s… actually isn’t that also breaking and entering? That’s a crime, isn’t it?”

“One, at least I don’t have to pay rent and/or utilities. Two, Tim let me stay. And three, I’m a vigilante. Breaking and entering is like the basics of being one. Also, they’re paying me now. This is a legit job now!”

Jazz sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Whatever, dumbass. Where is Tim, anyways?”

“He’s in bed.”

“Really?” Jazz raised an eyebrow and rested a hand on her hip. “Then what’s that?”

Danny whirled around, making eye contact with a frozen Tim.

“Ahah-”

Danny groaned, cutting Tim’s awkward laughter and no-doubt bullshit excuse.

“Kid, Tim, we talked about this.”

“It’s for the aesthetics!” Tim protested, the argument well worn, but obligingly stepping away from the window sill.

Danny shot Jazz a disgruntled look when she muttered, “Well, doesn’t that sound familiar.”

“It’s a school night, Tim.” Danny crossed the room, ushering Tim away from the door. The halfa could probably put down professional babysitter on his resume. If he could handle Tim “climb out of windows” Drake and Tim “sleeps in hard to reach places” Drake in the same day, he could handle anything.

Tim puffed up, like a disgruntled kitten. “Robin gets to go out on a school night! And he’s my age! Kinda! And at least I’m not fighting criminals!”

Again, this is an argument they’ve had multiple times.

“Not for a lack of trying,” Danny muttered, rolling his eyes when Jazz snickered. He made the mistake of looking down at Tim’s convincing little sad kitten act and sighed. “Alright, alright. We get two hours of batwatching, then you go to sleep.”

“Deal!” Tim cheered. Jazz grinned, mouthing ‘weak’ at Danny, who promptly made like his high school self and ignored her.

“Go get your jacket. And some thicker socks, you’re gonna freezing out there.”

“Okay!!”

When Tim was out of earshot, excitedly thundering down the lavish hallway, Jazz tilted her head back and laughed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“How the tables have tabled, huh, Danny?” Jazz snickered.

“You think you got jokes,” Danny pointed at her with a new mug of coffee. “Laugh it up, but don’t forget that you’re his older sister now too.”

Jazz paled. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now you gotta deal with two of us!”

“Two of who?” Tim returned, bundled up in a fancy puffy jacket. Jazz cooed at him, kneeling down to zip his jacket up. Danny, echoing her, magically grabbed a scarf and wrapped around Tim.

“Us, her little brothers. Unfortunately, you’re now our little brother and that means Jazz is gonna mother you like you’re a baby duck.”

Danny ducked the half hearted smack Jazz sent his way, grinning at Tim. The kid had a self conscious smile on his face, bashful at the unprecedented (for him) attention and affection. Danny’s smile tightened when Tim looked at Jazz for confirmation (which she gave). If it weren’t for the fact that Tim loved his parents, Danny would have spirited (hah!) the kid away. He’s like a textbook case of neglect. It’s why he keeps trying to sneak out in ways that’ll easily get him caught. He’s trying to test if Danny would get mad and leave-

“Oh my god. I’m turning into you, Jazz.” Danny said, horrified.

“What?” Jazz narrowed her eyes once the statement sunk in. “What’s wrong with being more like me? I can actually process my emotions in a timely manner, thanks.”

Danny, stuck in the horror of understanding someone’s motivations and processing some of his own trauma, shuddered.

Danny picked up Tim and swung him onto his shoulders. “C’mon, Timmy. Let’s get out of here before Jazz gives us germs.”

“Oh, that’s real rich coming from the greasiest vigilante this side of the river.”

“Not true! Green Arrow’s greasier!”

“Eh, he doesn’t count. He’s in Oregon or something, right?”

“Who cares? I wanna see Robin!” Tim wriggled, placing his heavy ass camera on Danny’s head. “He’s a new Robin! The first one moved to Blüdhaven!”

“To be a cop, right?” Danny asked.

“Yeah. It’s… not great. And kinda ironic.”

“ACAB.”

——

Batman snuck closer to the glowing green figure that was glancing around the rooftops. He’s glad he sent Robin home hours ago, because variables in Gotham tended to be dangerous.

He dropped to a crouch behind the figure, who turned around as soon as he did, looking unsurprised. The being had enhanced hearing then, if not enhanced everything else.

“There you are!” The being scowled at him, but Bruce couldn’t detect any actual hostility. Only weariness. “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Nevertheless, he hadn’t survived this long by being careless.

“What is your business in Gotham?” He deepened his voice, adding enough gravel to sound mildly threatening.

The being shook their head, white hair unnaturally waving in the air. Like it was under water.

“I live here. I have a bone to pick with you.” Batman loosened his stance, readying to move.

“Can you keep Robin in on school nights?! If you can’t, can’t you make him go home sooner? My kid brother keeps trying to sneak out of the house to imitate Robin and it’s killing me! Do you know how many times I’ve had to stop him from climbing out of the window? We live on the third floor, man!”

A frazzled older brother. Batman-Bruce grimaced. He couldn’t stop Jason anymore than this being could. Also, “You live here?”

The being scowled, looking defensive. “Why, I can’t? Are you being discriminatory? Because I refuse to take shit from a grown man in a bat-sona.”

“…A bat-what?”

The being sighed. “Nevermind. Yes. I live here. My name is Phantom.”

“Don’t cause any trouble.” Batman warned before hesitating. The being was young, that was clear. He kind of reminded Bruce of Dick, and it made Batman’s tone soften. “And I will try. Robin is resolute.”

Phantom dropped his glowing face into his hands, a move Bruce often wanted to mirror.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

——

Sorry guys I really like tired babysitter brother Danny and unnecessarily jumping out of windows Tim. This is before Tim decided to be a vigilante. This is after Dick moves out.

[oreo-creampie]

𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! fluff, suggestiveness - talking about/hinting towards satoru fingering/eating you out but nothing happens, kissing, satoru fondly makes fun of you a lil, he also carries you around, collage au, collage student!reader, collage student!gojo

fey: I’m still gonna be on hiatus for a little longer but in the mean time have this fluff nugget inspired by my hubby

Satoru huffs and pokes your cheek till you swat his hand away. He flops on the bed next to you, the soft breeze and movement disturbing your carefully placed papers.

You whine “Satoru!”

“Sweet pie! You’ve been studying and working in that essay all day for the past three days please!” He throws his hand across his forehead, clutching his chest. “I beg of you feed me attention before I starve. I’m wilting away before you! How cold hearted can you be.” His eyes are with tears.

Tossing your throw blanket over him, “This should keep you warm.” You take you eyes off the screen to read the open text book next to you. Before referring to your notes then glancing back up at your computer screen.

He pops his head out from underneath the blanket with gasp. “No I’m not cold! You’re cold hearted!” He sits up and wraps his arms around you. “Please just an hour, we can order some food, take a shower get you out of your funky funk.” Pinching his nose and waving his hand in front of his face.

“You’re foul.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Like your armpits! Study starting break now! I your wonderful boyfriend refuse to let you be stinky.” He slowly closes the lid on the rough draft of your paper.“I’ll help you write some more after, if you don’t give your mind a break you’ll fry it and make it useless.” He kisses the top of your head.

“Let’s go lil’ stink!” He drags you off the bed, your feet dangle in the air as he holds you to his chest.

Squeezing you whilst you protest, “Hey you can’t steal that! I don’t wanna hear it from the one with the stanky attitude making me take a break for my health how dare you.” He carefully sets you down in the bathroom.

He waves a hand in your direction, “Yes yes, how dare I care for my beautiful girlfriend and rub her naked body down with my large soapy hands in a warm shower, that I as her perfect boyfriend know the temperature of.”

He lights some of the candles arranged around the bathroom. And starts the heater that he insists your bathroom needs. After not stepping into another cold bathroom after a hot shower you can understand why.

You rid yourself of your clothes, throwing them into the hamper. “Do you need to toot you own horn?” Relieving yourself then washing your hands.

Turning around and watching him strip. His arms flex as he pulls his black shirt off. His v line peeks out of his sweatpants, which he pushes down. Your gaze lingers on his soft cock and large balls before you glance up into his sparkling blue eyes.

He corners you against the counter, booping the tip of your nose with his long finger. “You’ve been neglecting me for days I might need to remind you what a awesome boyfriend I am! What if you’ve forgotten!” He pouts.

You slide your fingers through his soft silver white hair. Pulling him in, your lips close to his, “I could never forget, you won’t let me, but I suppose it’s part of your charm. I guess it’s kind of cute when you’re cocky.”

Satoru smirks into the slow passionate kiss he gives you. Lifting you up, reflexively you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s easy to forget everything when you’re kissing him. There is the safety of his arms, the sweet passion of his soft lips on yours.

When he breaks away Satoru suggests, “After our shower would it be too cruel of me to give my girl a happy ending? As some stress relief and reward for all her studying of course.” He massages your cheek. His large warm hand feels wonderful targeting your sore spots.

You softly groan, “Please! I don't know if I wanna ride your face, fingers or cock.”

“Why not all three one after another? I can suck on your pretty clit and let you cum on my fingers then I can fill you up.” He carries you into the warm shower, supporting you with one hand. Closing the curtain behind himself.

He stands underneath the warm water, steam billowing off it. “‘M sorry for not texting for three days, you know I’ve missed my amazing boyfriend, you’re just so talented at so many things like distracting me when I need to study.” He helps you onto your feet, placing your backside facing towards the rushing water.

He protests, “I can behave and help you study.” Pouring some of his favorite strawberry and sugar scented body wash onto his hand.

You close your eyes tilting your head back. Soaking your curls and letting the water wash over your face. The water melts away some of the tension building in your neck and shoulders.

You rub your right shoulder and winch whilst insisting, “You tell me that every time.” Turning around and stepping out of the water, closing your eyes. It’s relaxing knowing he’ll take care of you, from washing your body, to treating your curls to applying your face care.

Rubbing soap over your back and ass, leaving soapy white bubbles. He massages your shoulders whilst pleading his case, “Please lemme help you study! We have the same essay due and test to take. Our study sessions is how we got together I miss them.”

You softly sigh and cave in, “I miss them too, ok you win can stay, you’re too charming.”

He playful croons “I always win.” Kissing the top of your wet head. “You won't regret it I'll be the best study buddy!” You widely smile, the delight in Satoru’s voice is heartwarming.

[lacydollette]

Lol, this is from my own current personal angst in my life but I was thinking it can be used for an angsty Rafe x Reader. I have very low self esteem, I don't think I look pretty so I have a hard time accepting that a guy could be interest in me or find me appealing, especially cuz guys have called ''mid''. Right now I'm talking to THE sweetest guy. THE most greenest flag of all. Super respectful, mature and kind. I had a freakout and pushed him away, wanted to stop talking. He got super upset, send me a drunk text basically being like ''I'm so attracted to u and your everything I've ever dreamt of. I just wanna make you happy and make you smile. Your so special to me. I keep saying that your beautiful, amazing and gorgeous but you won't hear it. Please don't let your insecurites get in the way of us. I fkn miss you'' I mean...hey feel free to take whatever inspiration you want from that, change it, build on it, whatever you want! We just want a sappy head over heels Rafe who is heartbroken being pushed away (but with a happy ending)

a/n tysm for sharing this with me! and please don’t let your doubts get in the way of your happiness. you are BEAUTIFUL and you MATTER ❤️‍🩹 i hope u like this little piece.

warnings rafe cameron x fem!reader, reader with low self esteem, situationship, angst, fluff, rafe being a sweetheart

Rafe couldn’t really tell when it started, but he could feel it in your forced smiles and short responses. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the ache in his chest told him otherwise. Every attempt to figure out what he had done wrong was met with your dismissive shrug and a short, “I’m fine.”

But what Rafe didn’t know about was the chaos in your mind. You liked him—really liked him—but your insecurities were keeping you from letting yourself fall completely. You couldn’t ignore the way girls seemed to flirt with Rafe at parties, the way people whispered that you weren’t pretty or cool enough, to be with someone like him. It didn’t matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful—the doubt in your mind drowned out his words. So, you began to pull away, convinced it was only a matter of time before he realized you weren’t what he wanted.

And that’s why Rafe ended up going to this party alone, although it should have been a night that you two spend together. You had promised to go, only to back out at the last minute with a stupid excuse about not feeling well. Rafe knew you were lying. Obviously he didn’t want to go without you, but after Topper wouldn’t stop begging him, he gave in.

He spent the first hour trying to lose himself in the crowd, nursing a beer and pretending to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but it was useless. Every girl who tried to flirt with him only reminded him of you, and every drink made the knot in his chest tighten. Eventually, he escaped out into the yard, needing space to think—or maybe just to breathe.

The cool night air sobered him slightly, but not enough to stop him from pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered over your contact before he finally hit call. It rang three times before you picked up.

“Rafe?” You said softly, voice trembling slightly. You winced at how vulnerable you sounded.

“hi, baby.” he said, his voice breaking slightly before going right in. “What’s going on with you? Please, just tell me. Did I do something? Did I hurt you somehow? Because if I did, fuck I swear to God, I didn’t mean to.”

Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your stomach. He sounded so desperate, so unlike the confident, self-assured Rafe you knew. You didn't know what to say, how to explain something you couldn't even fully understand yourself.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing what’s wrong. I care about you too much to lose you like this.” His voice cracked, and he raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “I’m completely crazy about you. I don’t care about anyone else. You’re it for me. You’re the only one I want.”

Your heart shattered at his words. He cared about you, really cared about you. But how could he? How could someone like Rafe Cameron, with his perfect smile and effortless charm, care about someone like you?

"Rafe..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. “No,” he interrupted. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I think about you all the time—when I wake up, when I go to sleep. You’re all I want, y/n. And if there’s even a part of you that feels the same way—then please, stop pushing me away.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Rafe leaned against a tree, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. Then he heard you breathe out, followed by muffled sobs, which you tried so hard to suppress by pressing your palm over your mouth. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words sink in and erase all your doubts. But the fear was still there.

“I didn’t think I was enough for you,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “You could have anyone, Rafe. And people keep saying I don’t deserve you, and maybe they’re right.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice rising as he couldn’t believe that you’d actually think that. “Baby, you’re more than enough. You’re everything. Don’t let what other people say get in your head. They don’t know you. They don’t know us.”

Your sniffle came through the line, and he could picture you wiping your tears, head bowed like it always was when you were upset. “I just… I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back,” he replied softly. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.” He paused. “Please, just let me in. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and you believed him. Believed that he was serious about you two. “Okay.” You said. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled shakily. “Okay,” he repeated, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m coming to you right now.”

Your eyes widened, “No, Rafe, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said firmly. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you. We’ll figure this out together.” And with that, he ended the call, his heart pounding with determination. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. You were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

[jeonstudios]

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

<previous | next>

© between takes is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights. 

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being. 

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option. 

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime. 

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal. 

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.” 

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place. 

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes. 

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest. 

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context. 

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third. 

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that. 

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold. 

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?” 

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there. 

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside. 

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course. 

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over. 

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all. 

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out. 

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always. 

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after. 

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so. 

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty. 

“I scare you?” 

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed. 

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it. 

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy. 

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill. 

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

��I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems. 

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one. 

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob. 

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why. 

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator. 

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then. 

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms. 

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes. 

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans. 

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something. 

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you. 

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

[wxwrites]

Tension

(NSFW! Caitvi x reader, f!reader, AFAB!reader)

(praise, oral sex, strap-on sex, all!receiving, bottom!reader, bottom!vi)

wc: ~4.7k

Caught in a little lie between Vi and Caitlyn, they use your own inability to conceal your feelings against you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚Because you and Vi were practically inseparable up until she was kidnapped, it was only natural that when the two of you reconciled in Zaun, she brought you back to Piltover with her and Caitlyn.

This led to a lot of you and Caitlyn butting heads. She was still becoming accustomed to Vi’s rash behavior, so when you add your own attitude to the mix; she’s less inclined to receive it positively. Don’t mistake her difficulty for lack of effort, because she does try. She meets your sarcasm, snide remarks, and crude words with as much patience as she can muster. 

While you are utterly infuriating and manage to push every single button she has, she is still infatuated with you. She sees the way your eyes soften when you talk to Vi, especially if it’s about your memories growing up, or any of her other adoptive siblings. Seeing Vi vulnerable and unguarded is new, refreshing, and probably her favorite thing to witness now.

There’s equal attraction on any and all ends between the three of you, a general consensus that all of you are just so breathtaking it’s actually ridiculous. While Caitlyn had initially been hesitant to welcome you into her life, she quickly finds herself overly enthusiastic every time she spots you asleep on the velvet couch in her room. 

She’s currently watching you and Vi chat about something, unable to determine what it is in full. She cocks her head to the side as you lean forward and show Vi one of the newest scars your body adorns. It’s deep, jagged, and runs across your left forearm, it’s a truly nasty thing. Vi raises her hand to your arm and gently soothes a calloused thumb over the skin, a silent, sympathetic apology.

Caitlyn stands up from the desk in her room, abandoning the caseload that’s occupying the surface. She makes her way over to the bed, long legs striding quickly, eager to get close to both of you. She crawls onto the bed behind you and settles herself on your left side, bracing herself with her right arm on the opposite side of your back. 

She pretends not to notice the way your breath hitches slightly as she crowds your space, feigning innocence as she looks down at your arm as well. She moves her hand down to your forearm and runs her fingers over the scarred skin, her own fingers dancing with Vi’s as they map out the old wound. 

“It used to really bother me, like… the sight of it,” you explain quietly, earning a few slow nods of understanding from the other two women. “What changed?” Caitlyn inquires gently, pushing your arm up slightly– an attempt to get a better look at it. You shrug, “I guess I… got used to it, I think,” you attempt to explain, but you really don’t have a solid answer. “Scars just kind of become a part of you, right? No reason to dwell on them forever, shit like that’ll make you miserable,” you conclude, giving both of them a faint smile. 

The two women let out a collective hum at your words, continuing to move their fingers over your arm. Vi adjusts herself and moves forward, brushing your knees together. 

The tension between all three of you truthfully could be sliced in half with the dullest knife a kitchen has to offer. Vi’s voice cuts through the air, “Why’re you so tense?” she asks quietly, noticing the way your shoulders had stiffened. The question becomes seemingly difficult to answer as you feel Caitlyn’s breath sweep over the back of your neck, her arm brushing against your back. 

“I– uh, I’m still just kinda sore from training yesterday,” you stammer in a half-truth. It is true that you were all dragged to hours worth of intense conditioning yesterday– still leaving you quite sore. But the reason that your body had tensed wasn’t due to your still aching muscles. It has everything to do with the fact that you can feel Vi’s calloused hands running over your skin and her pretty eyes trying to peer into your soul. Followed by Cait’s arm pressing into your back and her breath running down your neck. 

You feel Vi’s grip on your arm tighten ever so slightly, “You’re a really bad liar, y’know that?” She teases, voice dropping ever so slightly. You hear Caitlyn let out a quiet chuckle, followed by her slender fingers snaking their way up your right arm. “I–” you begin, but the words quickly fall short, almost as if you didn’t even know what you wanted to say to begin with. 

“What was that?” Vi coos quietly, a playful tone to her voice as she leans forward slightly, causing you to lean back reflexively. However, it only gets you so far as you further press yourself into Caitlyn’s awaiting, eager presence. Caitlyn lowers her head, placing her chin on your shoulder. 

The action causes your breath to hitch, causing  her to let out another quiet, amused chuckle. “Seems like we’ve made someone a little nervous,” she mumbles, her thick accent feeding through the air and rolling over your ears. You turn your head briefly as you feel her shift around, now sitting directly behind you. Her hands come up to your waist as she presses her chest to your back. 

You hear Vi’s soothing voice call back to you, “Is this okay, are you alright?” she asks, pulling your face back towards her gently with the side of her index finger. You nod quietly, still slightly awestruck of the situation. Vi shakes her head and says, “We need words from you, can’t just nod right now,” she says firmly, tilting her head curiously. 

“Yes, yeah, I’m good, this is okay,” you reply, giving her a reassuring smile. Both women let out a content hum at your consent, sharing a look that you can’t quite decipher. Well, you can’t decipher it until you feel Caitlyn’s hands untuck your button-up from your dress pants. You feel her long fingers rake over your skin gently, pushing her hands further up beneath your shirt. 

Vi cups your jaw with a calloused hand gently and leans forward, stalling briefly to look at your flushed face. She continues forward until your lips finally meet, causing you to short-circuit briefly. She lets out a quiet moan as you reciprocate her movements, your own hands reaching forward to brace themselves on her broad shoulders. 

You whine as you feel Caitlyn’s hands leave your skin, she shushes you gently as she moves them upwards and begins to undo the buttons of your shirt. She sits up on her knees further and presses her lips onto the side of your neck as her hands tediously work over the garment. You moan softly into Vi’s mouth, fingers tightening around her taut muscles. She reaches one of her hands up and cups the back of your head, pulling you forward, sliding her tongue in between your lips. 

Once Caitlyn has the buttons undone, she quickly shoves the shirt down your arms and moves her lips to your shoulder. She wraps her hands around your bra-covered breasts and squeezes eagerly, nipping down on the sensitive skin of your shoulder. You can feel her inhale sharply as you press your ass back against her front, languidly rolling your hips against her. “Ah– Cait,” you gasp, rewarding a soft moan from her.

You slide your hands from Vi’s shoulders down to the belt around her waist and unbuckle it, dropping it to the floor next to you. Your hands swiftly work along the enforcer jacket, popping the buttons as your hands work their way down. She pulls away from your lips and rests your foreheads together, panting as you push the jacket from her shoulders. “You’re so pretty, Vi,” you mumble, pressing a quick kiss to her jaw. 

Caitlyn pulls away from your shoulder before surging forward, capturing Vi’s lips with hers. You’re entirely sandwiched between the two women, reaching one arm behind you to hold the back of Caitlyn’s head. Your chest presses into Vi’s as you loll your head back onto Caitlyn’s shoulder, giving you the perfect angle to watch their lips dance together.

You place your hand up on Vi’s collarbones before slowly trailing it down her body, grinning eagerly as you hear her moan into Caitlyn’s mouth. You feel one of Caitlyn’s hands leave your breast and trail up to your jaw, holding it firmly. She pulls away from Vi, ignoring the way that she whines at the disconnection. She moves her other hand to the back of Vi’s neck, tangling her fingers into her hair. She tugs on it gently, relishing in the way Vi whimpers at the feeling. 

She keeps a tight hold on your jaw as she leans down and presses her lips to yours. The angle is awkward and sloppy, but she really can’t bring herself to care as she listens to you moan against her mouth. With both of you in her grasp she feels overwhelmingly powerful, elated by the way she makes both of you squirm. She pulls away, much to your disdain and pushes you forward by your upper-back gently.

You turn your head towards her and watch as she slowly begins to shed her own uniform. She grins as she watches both of your eyes widen at the sight of her now exposed skin. She pushes herself onto her hands and knees before crawling forward, settling back on her knees next to both of you.

You immediately tilt forward and attach your lips to her neck, palming at one of her breasts. She cards her fingers through your hair at the feeling and lets out a low moan, tilting her head back. You feel Vi place a hand on the band of your bra, quickly undoing it as she attaches her lips to Caitlyn’s collarbones. You slide your bra off of your shoulders before tossing it to the ground, immediately connecting your hand with Vi’s back– reaching for the end of the bandage wraps.

As you work to undo them, you fumble slightly, which elicits collective giggles from all three of you. Once you finally pull them away and drop them, you attach your lips to one of her breasts, sucking at the skin. “Oh, fuck,’ she whimpers, tightening her fingers in your hair. You feel Caitlyn come up behind your back again, reaching over you to grab at Vi’s other breast, and attach her lips to the stop of your spine. 

You pull away from Vi, looking up to meet her hungry, nearly feral gaze. She reaches up to grab your jaw firmly, giving you a sly smirk. “I know that you’re plotting something,” you tease, not missing the way that her eyes flick from yours, to Caitlyn. “Maybe I am,” she retorts, leaning forward to nip at your jaw, licking over it. 

Caitlyn continues to work her way down your spine, letting go of Vi so she can reach for the front of your dress pants, undoing them. Once they’re open, she slides her hand underneath the fabric of the pants and your underwear, rubbing gentle circles over your clit. 

She grins as you let out a guttural whine, pressing her fingers onto the sensitive bud harsher. Vi reaches for the waistband of your garments and tugs them down your legs, assisted by you. Caitlyn slides her fingers further down, teasing them over your lips. She readjusts, bracketing her long legs next to yours and wrapping an arm around your chest, holding your back to her chest.  

“Isn’t she so pretty, Violet?” she asks, eyes moving from her hand attached to you, to Vi’s. She notices the desperate look, the need that Vi has to touch you. “Yeah, she is,” she answers, sliding one of her own, large hands up your left leg. You shift and flush beneath the praise, whimpering as you feel one of Caitlyn’s fingers slide inside of you. 

You arch and squirm beneath their hands– resulting in Vi pinning your legs down as she lowers herself onto her stomach. She attaches her lips to the side of your thigh as Caitlyn continuously moves her finger inside of you, gently working in a second one. “Do you feel good?” she asks, obviously knowing the answer to her own question.

When you nod eagerly, rolling your head back onto her shoulder, she smirks down at Vim watching as the other woman kisses her way up your leg. “Tell me how good you feel, I wanna hear it,” she encourages, curling her fingers right against your g-spot. 

And as you attempt to stutter your words out, you feel Vi’s arms wrap underneath your legs and pull them over her shoulders. You fist her pink locks into your hands, keeping a firm, grounding hold on it.

“It– It feels really good,” you stutter, thighs tightening around her head as she continues to suck on the sensitive skin. “Tell me more,” she encourages, keeping a languid, teasing pace inside of you. “I’ve never felt this good before, like– like, it feels so much better than a-anything else,” you reply, whimpering as you feel Vi roughly bite onto your thigh. 

“I need more,” you plead, back arching violently. “We’ve got you, just relax, m’kay?” Vi mumbles, wrapping her hands around your hips. You nod and slump back into Cait’s awaiting form, letting them ravish you. Your eyes roll back as her fingers continuously curl inside of you, receiving borderline pornographic moans from you.

Caitlyn pulls her fingers out of you, chuckling as you whine loudly at the loss. Almost immediately after her fingers are pulled away, Vi attaches her mouth to your pussy, moaning lowly at the contact. “I’m gonna be right back, okay?” Caitlyn announces, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder before she peels herself away. You groan at the loss of contact, fully falling into the bed now.

Vi seizes the opportunity and moves over you with a new passion, using the position to her advantage. She sits up slightly and presses your thighs to your chest, keeping them pinned there with her rough hands. She sucks on your clit sloppily, nearly attempting to devour you. You tighten your hands in her hair and tug harshly, desperately trying to grind against her mouth, but finding your efforts useless. “Oh, fuck, Vi,” you moan. 

You hear the quiet commotion of Caitlyn shoving her pants and underwear down her legs, kicking them off to the side. She shuffles through a drawer, and you spare her a brief glance as you see the familiar sight of the pink and purple dildos, and black harnesses coming into view. You grin excitedly at the sight, earning a matching smile from Caitlyn. “Taking good care of our girl?” she asks Vi, trailing a lazy hand up her inked back as she comes up behind her. 

The woman between your thighs nods enthusiastically as she continues to work over your pussy, sighing contentedly as she laps up the salty liquid. You peer your eyes open, drinking in the sight of Caitlyn strapping one of the harnesses onto her lean hips. “She feels so good, Cait,” you whimper, clamping your thighs down around her head again. 

“Always so good at pleasing, isn’t she? Such a good girl,” Caitlyn coos, climbing back onto the bed, dropping the items onto the sheets. “C’mon, Violet, I want you undressed,” she murmurs, shoving your hands away from her head and fists her own into the tangled hair. She yanks Vi away from your core, both of you groaning at the loss. 

You watch Caitlyn tugs her head back and crash their lips together, moaning at the taste of you on her lips. Vi is up on her knees, braced on her hands and back arched– truly a sight anybody sane would kill to see. Caitlyn pushes her onto her back next to you, quickly working her pants and underwear down her thick thighs.

You turn over, attaching your lips to Vi’s messily, curling a hand around the side of her neck as you hold her in place. One of her hands reaches up to hold your forearm, and the other goes down to rub over her clit. She moans into your mouth loudly, hand tightening around your arm.

Caitlyn swats her hand away with a quiet “aht,” and she gets a pathetic whine in return. She shushes her gently before attaching the purple dildo to the harness resting on her hips. Vi reaches for the other harness and stands up, sliding the harness up and securing it firmly– actions a little more ungraceful as excitement thrums through her. 

All while this is happening, Caitlyn has settled herself next to you, trailing her hand back down your body. She connects your lips as her fingers make contact with your pussy again, sliding her fingers back inside. Vi catches you as your back arches at the contact, settling herself on your other side.

“Get on top of her,” Caitlyn mumbles against your lips, giving your thigh a light pat. You nod and comply immediately watching as Vi spits into her hand and rubs the slick over the silicone. 

“Y’ready?” she mumbles, keeping a supportive hand on your hip, and the other on the dildo attached to her hips. You give her an affirmative nod before bracing your hands on her chest, slowly lowering yourself onto the fake appendage. 

You both groan at the feeling, her hands tightening around your hips as she bucks her hips up further. Once she’s slotted inside of you completely, she gives you a firm pat on the ass. “Let’s go, pretty girl, move,” she commands, moaning as your hips immediately rock down on the fake cock. 

You let out a string of moans and curses as you bounce on-top of her, watching as her face flushes a deep pink and raspy moans leave her mouth. 

You feel a warm presence move behind you, “Does she feel good?” you hear Caitlyn ask, breath ghosting over your ear. You let out a guttural whimper and nod, rolling your hips down faster. “She feels really fucking good,” you answer, palming at one of Vi’s breasts. You rub your fingers over her nipple, pinching it softly– eliciting a sweet moan from her lips. 

“Could do this all fuckin’ day,” you continue, grinning down at Vi as you watch her muscles tense beneath you. She uses her strength to help guide your hips, now making eye contact with Caitlyn over your shoulder. 

“Spread your legs, Violet,” you hear her command, and feel the immediate compliance. The movement causes her to shift inside of you slightly, pulling another soft moan from your throat. 

Caitlyn slides her hand between Vi’s legs, thoroughly coating them in the wetness that had already pooled between her thighs. “Already so needy?” she teases, rubbing her fingers over her cunt before sliding two of them inside. 

Vi moans loudly, the feeling causing her hips to stutter in their movements. “Ah– Cait,” she stammers, hips now bucking up into you inconsistently. “What is it? Does it feel good, hm?” she questions, leaning in further. The action causes you to fall onto your forearms, one on either side of her head.  

You press your lips to her lips, locking them together intensely. It’s not long before you detach your lips from hers, moving them down to her jaw and neck. Her thrusts are weaker, but you meet her halfway, bouncing back down into her awaiting lap.

Caitlyn is now three fingers deep inside of Vi, her other hand wrapped around your hip.

“That’s it, baby, you got it. Make yourself feel good,” she praises, curling her fingers further inside of Vi. 

A few minutes later and you hear Vi’s breath hitch, and then a low moan escaping her lips as Caitlyn slides the silicone inside of her. Caitlyn tangles a hand into your hair and yanks your head back firmly, causing you to let out a guttural whimper as she pulls you against her. Your back is arching almost painfully, “Move faster, c’mon,” she whispers, nipping at the cartilage of your ear. She keeps a tight grip in your hair as you pick up your speed, “Yeah, there we go, feels so good doesn’t it?” She coos, craning your head back. 

Her free hand connects with Vi’s thigh as she moves her hips slowly, rolling down into her. “So beautiful, both of you– absolutely radiant,” she mutters, pressing another kiss to your ear, and then your shoulder. 

“Touch yourself, I want you to cum for me,” she encourages, voice raspy and the sentence comes out in subtle pants. You nod at her words, snaking a hand down to your clit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck ah– ah–” you whimper, followed by a blinding orgasm surging through you. You gasp and pant heavily, body and legs tensing with vibrations. Caitlyn wraps an arm around your chest and pulls you back against her, holding you tightly. “There you go baby, there it is, ride it out,” she says, helping coax you down gently from the high. 

Once you’re settled, she helps you pull off of Vi, gently guiding you to the bed. You immediately curl up next to the muscular woman, trailing your hand down to her chest, thumbing over her nipples. You attach your lips to her throat, pulling several moans from her chest. 

She moans loudly, fisting her hands into the sheets. “C’mon baby, I wanna watch your pretty face while you cum,” you murmur, rubbing faster circles over her. “Ngh– I, I–” she stammers, causing Caitlyn to hike her legs over her shoulders and fuck into her harder. Her hands pull Vi’s hips up, angling them higher so that the tip of the silicone rubs against her g-spot. Caitlyn presses their lips together in a sloppy kiss, drinking in all of Vi's moans.

You pull the attached dildo off and push the harness out of your way as much as you can. You rub your fingers over her clit, chuckling into her skin as she lets out a loud, guttural moan. You continue to kiss and suck along the skin of her throat, feeling the vibrations of every moan and whimper ripped from it. 

You feel her hand tangle into your hair as she lets out another chorus of moans and whimpers, “Please, please, please,” she whines. “You can cum, Violet, be good for us,” Caitlyn encourages, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her knee. Vi watches as a searing white light crosses over her eyes and the orgasm wracks through her, clinging onto you tightly. 

The orgasm crashes over her violently, legs tightening around Caitlyn’s neck. Left panting and gasping on her back, Caitlyn continues her ministrations– although a little slower. She gently lowers her legs from her shoulders and back to her waist, continuing to slowly rock her hips. Vi reaches out in overstimulation and attempts to push her hips away, before Caitlyn catches her hands and holds them gently. “I’m almost there, precious, I just need a minute,” she reassures, breathing coming out in rapid gasps as she nears the edge.

You rub a soothing hand up and down Vi’s abdomen, “It’s okay, you can do it, you can do it, baby,” you whisper into her ear, pressing soft kisses to face– successfully wiping the tears from them. 

Caitlyn’s orgasm washes over her intensely, causing her to collapse forward slightly– long hair hanging down. She catches herself on the bed, taking a second to breathe, before pulling away. She sheds the harness from her hips and gently works Vi’s out of hers. 

“I’m gonna go get a washcloth, okay? Will you be okay?” She asks, sliding a hand up both of your legs, soothingly. Once you both give her an affirmative nod, she walks towards the attached bathroom on shaky legs.

As she returns, she slides the damp, soft cloth over your body, pressing soft kisses against your skin. “Did so good for me, my love,” she mumbles, wiping some of the sweat from your forehead. “So, so beautiful,” she adds on, pressing her lips to your forehead. 

Once she retreats from your body, you immediately curl up against Vi, who in turn, wraps her arm around your back. Her other hand comes up to cradle your head gently. Caitlyn repeats the same process of muttering quiet praises and compliments to Vi, you pick up on a quiet, “Such a good girl, hm?” she mumbles, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

When she’s satisfied with Vi’s treatment, you and Vi reach out for her, and Vi takes the cloth from her hand. You both sit up slightly, adjusting to make it easier as you give her the same soft, gentle treatment. You press soft kisses on her abdomen and sternum as Vi swipes the cloth over her flushed skin– successfully cooling her off. “Always make us feel so good, you’re so beautiful,” you say, gently massaging the back of one of her thighs.

As you’re successfully cleaned off and sweat free, you climb beneath the soft, silken blankets. You’re pressed in between both of them, a sandwich that has truly been pulled out of one of your dreams. One of your hands is resting over Cait’s waist, the other laced with Vi’s as her arm is slung over your own. While the positions may not be the most comfortable, they keep all of you happy and satiated. 

taglist:

@tilwehittheheavens @halle5s

[strawbeerossi]

Sweet Treat

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Penelope gives you aphrodisiac chocolates as a gag gift. Whenever you and Spencer have a movie night, you both don’t realize what sweets you are delving into.

Content/Warnings: Awkward little banter between friends, mutual pining is mentioned, food/eating, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.4K

Kinktober Day Twenty Three: Aphrodisiacs

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

“Penelope, what the hell is this?” You asked, a laugh leaving your lips as you looked over the container of what looked to be normal chocolate. “Well! I found it online and apparently it’s some of that chocolate that you eat and you just wanna go crazy on the first person you see.” She giggled.

A girls night meant all sorts of things but whenever Penelope pulled out presents, you knew exactly where this was going. You and the girls had met up at her place about an hour ago. After ordering Chinese takeout and having way too much wine, the night had taken a bit of a turn when it came to discussions. Women talk. Sex was a main topic between you and your small friend group.

“So you are giving them to me?! P, I don’t even have a boyfriend.” You laughed. “Who needs a boyfriend whenever you can have fun with anyone in the world. Just keep them.”

And so you did. It was days after the fact whenever you were inviting Spencer over for a marathon of your favorite show. It was going to be fun, you and your best friend from the office watching your favorite show together. He’d offered to pick up food on the way, which he’d stuck with a good Thai place that you both had eaten at numerous times before whenever you got back from a particularly late case.

Spencer was your best friend on the team, the both of you being closer in age compared to the rest of the crew you worked with. Plus you had similar interests when it came to books, movies, among other things. You’d greeted him with a wide smile the minute the door opened. “Hey!” You grinned while moving to hug him. Despite his disdain for hugs or being touched, he’d slowly began to let you in more. He was happy to hug you or have you hold his hand whenever you needed to pull him somewhere else in a crowded room without losing him.

He enjoyed being by your side. Honestly, he was sure he was in love with you because of how caring you were. You listened to his rambles and even asked him further questions. You even laughed at the jokes that were complicated to understand. You were truly a light shining bright on the team. “I hope you have snacks because I didn’t even stop.” Spencer groaned after returning the hug with one arm as his foot kicked the front door shut. “I do. I have a lot in the kitchen.” You assured.

You'd started the new season of your show together and gotten through dinner within a few episodes before Spencer disappeared into the kitchen as you paused the program on tv. “Don’t take too long! I gotta see how this plays out!” You called while leaning back against the couch, pulling the blanket over your body while letting out a soft hum. Spencer had ended up grabbing some chocolate. Which he didn’t read over the label as he grabbed a tab from the container and looked it over. “That’s cute. It’s got little shapes.” He chuckled to himself, breaking one in half as he was moving to take a bite from the rich milk chocolate. It was to die for, so he had to take the other half to you so you could try before you both tore into the bag together.

“Try this. It’s so rich. I actually love it.” He’d commented. You weren’t paying attention to what the chocolate looked like, bringing it up to your nose and smelling it before you were pulling the piece in your mouth. Which it was delicious, your eyebrows raising. “Wow, that really is good.” You laughed, watching as Spencer was sitting down and passing over snacks to you. “We can eat the chocolate later. You know sweet stuff can either send me flying on the walls or I end up feeling bad to do anything.” Fair enough.

It was an hour later when you were on another episode, your body was feeling hot as you shifted uncomfortably on the couch. You wouldn’t like to think that you were attracted to the program, it was a horror series and you were in the middle of a chase scene. So why else were you squirming?

Just as you were going to excuse yourself to take care of the heat in your belly, you noticed Spencer shifting uncomfortably, a pillow resting over his lap. Then you thought about the chocolate, your eyes widening as you were shooting up from the couch and rushing to the kitchen. Spencer watched you, turning slightly on the couch to watch you curiously through the doorway. That’s when you see the box, a soft groan leaving your lips as you lifted up the sex candy while bringing a hand up to rest against your face. ‘

Just great. You knew you should’ve just put it in your room.

“Spencer.” The sound of your voice had him nearly jumping out of his skin as he quickly faced the tv again. “Yeah?” He asked as his hand clutched the pillow harder. Maybe you’d caught him. Even someone who wasn’t a profiler could tell there was something going on, not to mention the growing tension between the both of you.

Mutual pining was normal and you both weren’t exempt from that. Spencer was an awkward rambler but you found it endearing. Just as he found you as equally as endearing even if you were quiet a good majority of the time and relished in his ramblings about whatever was brought up. You both enjoyed each other's presence, the two of you spending time together more often than not.

Those unsaid mutual feelings made this whole situation worse.

You approached the couch again as you slowly sat down beside Spencer again, body leaning back against the couch as you could feel yourself hot, face flushed as you couldn’t sit still to save your life. Spencer had now taken notice, clearing his throat. “I-I uh.. I may need to leave soon. M-mom’s facility called.” A lie but it would be a smooth getaway.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, it might be for the best! I forgot that I have to..” Your eyes glanced around the room. “Reorganize my bookshelf!” Less subtle. “R-right. Uh, This seems weird but can you close your eyes for a minute? I just..” His eyes were glued on the pillow, making you bring your eyes down as well. “O-oh.”

“It’s not because of the show!” He squeaked, face bright red as he was looking back at the screen. “I don’t- I don’t know why but I was looking at you and it just.. I don’t know!” He whined. His awkwardness made it hard for him to admit why there was a pillow on his lap outright, however you had clocked the reasons why.

“You know the chocolate..? Uh, Penelope gave me them the other day as a joke and they are.. They are essentially just sex chocolate.” Your face was hot, chest rising and falling as you were feeling the gush of slick in your panties from the heightened arousal. “Wait. Aphrodisiacs?!” Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes, mouth agape in shock. Well, at least he didn’t feel as bad from getting hard after giving you a few glances. There was a reason behind it.

The both of you stared at one another, faces hot and eyes blown out with lust. “So uh.. How long does this last?” Spencer finally asked, his brain being too clouded over with lust as he stared in your direction. “I-I wouldn’t know.. I never used them.” Your nose crinkled as the both of you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from one another. “I, uh, I lied about my reason to leave.” He stated the obvious while you couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape your lips. “I know..” You admitted, slowly pushing yourself to stand. “I um.. I don’t actually have to reorganize my bookshelf either..” You laughed awkwardly while heading over to stand in front of your best friend, hand moving to gently rest over the pillow. “I don’t want you to go.. Not yet. Can you, um, help me out a little bit? I trust you and you are here.” You rambled on as you put your hands together slowly. Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes as he nodded slowly.

“I’ll help.” You were both a bit awkward at first, the male letting you move the pillow before you were straddling his waist, the show in the background continuing to run as your best friend was blushing nervously. “I gotta admit that I’ve only done this one time before..” He spoke while you offered a smile. “It’s alright.” You whispered as you let your head dip down to connect your lips with his. Your bodies were buzzing with electricity as you were deepening the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair while his hands were gripping your hips.

You never thought you’d be in this position, tongue in your closest friend’s mouth while your hips were grinding down against his. You felt a fire inside of you, your body desperate to be bare and touched. As you pulled out of the kiss much to Spencer’s dismay, you were tugging your shirt over your head before tossing it somewhere else in the room. The sight of your breasts in a white bra had Spencer’s Adams apple bobbing as his eyes were trained on the lace that accentuated your skin. “It’s pretty right? One of my favorites.” You comment while watching his eyes stare at your tits with a new sense of hunger in his eyes.

You took it as a great sign as your hand was reaching behind you, unclasping the top before letting it fall somewhere with your shirt. His hands were quickly coming up to cup your breasts before he was just diving right in, wet kisses being pressed against your skin before his lips were wrapping around your nipple, tongue flicking over the nub as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck.” You cursed while his attention was focused on your chest.

Your body was perfect.

As he had gotten enough though, he was pulling back to examine your chest that was covered in a few hickies and your hardened nipples. “You look so pretty.” It wasn’t akin to being called a whore or a slut but you honestly liked it. The way he complimented your body had your cheeks heating up as you were lifting your hips when he had gained enough confidence to work on your pants. He’d tugged down your pants and panties before working on his own pants.

“Eager?” You commented, a little giggle leaving your lips as Spencer looked at you as if you’d grown another head. “Have you seen yourself?! Of course I’m eager!” He defended himself, causing the both of you to share a laugh. “I hate to rush this but-” He was cut off by a groan as your hand reached between you both to give his leaking cock a few tugs. “I know, me too. You can make up for the lack of foreplay later.” You wiggled your eyebrows as you pressed your lips against his once more, your leaking hole sinking down onto his cock.

The both of you had let out moans muffled in one another’s mouths as your hips rocked slowly, getting adjusted to the man’s thick cock. It was always the awkward nerds who had the best surprises.

Your head was falling on his shoulder as he held your hips with a bruising grip. He wasn’t one to have sex often, not being lucky like Derek in the department of women effortlessly throwing themselves at him. He knew that this scenario was one he never imagined happening, your velvety walls clenching tightly around this bare cock while you essentially used him as a human dildo to get yourself off.

He wasn’t complaining in the slightest, watching your face contort in ecstasy as his hips were thrusting upwards to slam into your leaking cunt, a groan falling from his lips as his head tilted back against the sofa. You were whining and moaning with each thrust that he matched with your movements, eventually pushing the one place you needed most. The impact had your hands clutching tightly to his shoulders as you let your mouth fall open with a soft cry.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Your words were slurred, the effects of the aphrodisiacs heightening all of your arousal so you felt like you were going to burst at the seams. Your body was hot, hips surely bruised by Spencer’s rough grip as he slammed into you as well as your legs shaking from their position.

When you did hit your peak, you were tightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulders as your hips slammed down into his lap, ass hitting his thighs at an unsteady rhythm. Spencer however, was quickly flipping you both over, your body sprawled out against your living room couch as he was rolling on top of you.

Taking the opportunity, he wasn’t skipping a beat as his hips slammed into yours, your sensitive cunt contracting around his cock as he was bringing himself to climax. As your moans and whines from overstimulation echoed in the apartment, his own whines of desperation were falling from his lips.

His cock twitched inside of your used pussy, quickly making the effort to pull out of you as he jerked at his leaking cock, a low huff leaving his lips as ropes of cum were now pooling in your stomach, glazing your bare skin as he let out a weak whine. As you lay there covered in his spent, your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as you made the effort to catch your breath.

“I think that chocolate needs to be thrown away to avoid incidents like this again,” his voice pulled you out of your post sex haze as you laughed a little. “Are you kidding? I think we need to do this every time we watch our show together.” You teased, making Spencer shake his head with a smile.

“At least hide it for when you have anyone else over. I don’t think I’ll survive if this mix up happens with someone else.”

[moonlinos]

I can hear the siren (Siren part I)

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Camboy!Hyunjin, neighbors AU, strangers to “lovers”

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), sex work, voyeurism if you squint, hate sex kind of?, masturbation, thigh riding, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, Hyunjin’s a bit of an asshole but I love him

♡ Word count: 7.9k

♡ Synopsis: To say your new next-door neighbor is loud would be an understatement. Three times a week, at the same time every night, he will laugh and talk loudly for an hour. After that, like clockwork, a cacophony of his groans and moans will fill your room through your shared wall. He’s most certainly entertaining some hookup, or maybe a girlfriend. You frankly don’t care — all you know is you want your peace and quiet back. But you never would’ve guessed what you would find out upon confronting him.

♡ A/N: Once again, I cannot shut up and this ended up being much longer than I had originally wanted. One day, I will write a one-shot that’s less than 5k words, but today is not that day. I listened to Taeyeon’s Siren while writing this, hence the title. Also think the song’s a little fitting to the story.

part II →

Yet another night, yet another two hours of hearing your next-door neighbor moaning like a porn star for anyone to hear. The thin walls of your apartment, coupled with the fact that your room shared a wall with his own bedroom, make it impossible for you not to hear everything that happens inside his bedroom. Earphones have proven futile in muffling his voice, and you can only distract yourself with mindless YouTube videos for so long before you give up and simply wait for him to finish. Quite literally.

You noticed it was his routine: Fridays and weekends — the nights when he would graciously give the entire building a free show.

But that wasn’t all he did. And that’s what stirs up curiosity inside of you.

An hour before the unholy sounds begin, he spends a significant amount of time simply speaking, laughing loudly, and throwing the occasional suggestive comment here and there. But only his voice can be heard, and considering how damn thin the walls are, you can’t help but wonder why that is. Maybe his hookups aren’t into his long, drawn-out conversations, only there to get fucked and dip as fast as possible. Or perhaps it’s a girlfriend, and he enjoys gagging her. Your mind has had plenty of time to run wild with theories, seeing as he moved about a month ago, starting your own personal version of hell on his very first day.

You complained to your landlord three times now. On the first time, you were dismissed as being too sensitive to noise. Maybe invest in some earplugs, she suggested. The second time, after explaining through gritted teeth that perhaps the entire building could also hear him and it would be wise to give him a warning, she assured you that only your apartment had such complaints — after all, it was only the two of you on that floor. And, on your last attempt before you ultimately gave up, your landlord all but berated you for meddling in your neighbor’s business. She argued he was inside his apartment and could do whatever he desired.

And so, you accepted your fate.

As you walk out of the shower, your bliss at the realization that tonight is a Friday dissipates as soon as it dawns on you that you are in for three days in a row of your neighbor and his antics. You groan, reluctantly making your way toward your bedroom, your body aching after sitting at your desk at work all day. So sleeping on the couch was not an option; your limbs only ached even more the day after you did that to try and escape the raucous noise.

Like clockwork, at exactly ten p.m., his loud voice fills the small space of your bedroom.

“I’m actually going out tonight again, so we have to be quick,” he explains. “But you like it when I’m quick, don’t you? Like when I make you cum so fast you barely have time to understand what’s happening.”

You grimace at his words, burying yourself under your blankets. God.

“I’m going clubbing with a couple of friends,” He continues. “Hopefully, I’ll find a nice girl to take home, hm?”

Crossing out the word Girlfriend on your mental notes, you scoff. What a gentleman he is, letting his hook-up know he’ll have to fuck her fast so he can leave to meet another woman to take home.

“Maybe I’ll record a video for you if she lets me. Would you like that, seeing me fuck another woman? I bet you would.”

What the fuck. The word Girlfriend is added back to your list. Maybe the girl is into that shit, and you’re not one to kink shame so long as everything’s consensual. But you surely didn’t consent to knowing that information. 

Soon enough, his voice drops to a sultry tone, and incessant hums spill from his lips. And the worst part of your night begins.

You hate to admit it — seeing as the guy makes you lose sleep and disturbs your peace since he’s graced the building with his presence — but his dirty talk, when coupled with his groans, becomes far less unpleasant and much more enticing. Every night, you struggle for an hour with the uncomfortable feeling of arousal between your legs, the way he alternates between praises and vulgar words causing a twinge inside of you. But you never dare to masturbate to the sound of his voice — that would be going too far. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you follow your rule of waiting for him to finish whatever it is that he’s doing to then finally touch yourself. As you tightly shut your eyes, you focus on your upcoming work assignments, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Maybe boring yourself to sleep is your only escape.

“Oh, I know how wet you are just watching me — fuck,” he groans, a breathy scoff leaving his lips. “Don’t even gotta tell me. Just touch yourself, it’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot open as it feels as if he’s fucking talking to you. You shake your head, the awful feeling of embarrassment engulfing you in the privacy of your own bedroom.

“I know you want to,” His voice is unrelenting, reverberating through your dark room, punctuated by heavy sighs. “Do it for me, will you? Touch your pretty cunt for me.”

You feel your clit begin to pulse, and a loud groan escapes from your lips. So loud, in fact, you wonder if he heard you through the thin walls as well.

Fuck it, you tell yourself inwardly, it’s not like the guy will ever know what you’re doing.

The sound of his voice was as silky and dark as velvet, covering you wholly and clouding your judgment with each word. You allow your hand to slip underneath your sleep shorts, gasping as you find the fabric of your panties already soaking simply from hearing his words — almost begging, guiding you to let go of your reservations and touch yourself.

“Just like that. D’you like the sound of my voice?” He asked, voice breathless, a deep groan echoing through the walls. “Like hearing me moan for you? Bet you’d like it even more if I was fucking you.”

Your fingers delicately flick back and forth, teasing your clit, your mind now shamelessly imagining his fingertips, his tongue, his cock, anything he was willing to give you. You’re quick to lose yourself in this imagination, despite not knowing what the man looked like — you soon realize that wasn’t at all important, a dark shadowy figure hovering over you proving to be more than enough for you as you felt a rush of wetness pooling between your thighs when your neighbor let out a louder, guttural noise.

“Fuck, I’d love to be stretching that pussy out,” He chokes out, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any noise. You’re now hyper-aware that if you can hear him this loudly, he’d be able to hear you with the same amount of clarity.

Your embarrassment only goes so far, though, as you slip a finger into your cunt, your breath hitching and your eyes fluttering closed to better conjure up the fantasy your mind had been creating. You imagine his long fingers inside you in place of your own, the words he spilled almost nonchalantly being whispered directly into your ears. One finger soon turned into two, then three, the heel of your palm rubbing against your clit as you tilt your hips up. You throw away your last drop of inhibition as you indulge in vivid thoughts, imagining the shape and size of his cock and, most importantly, how it would feel as it filled you up. Your neighbor’s words almost faded into white noise, his grunting the only coherent sound in your ears.

Would he take his time with you, like he always did whenever you heard him? Teasing you for hours as he candidly talked about nothing in particular, rendering you unable to do anything but beg for him? Or would he be hasty, like tonight, his cock abruptly stretching you to the brim, making you feel every inch of his thick length? Would he rather finish on your breasts, your stomach, or maybe your face, taking a picture to keep as a souvenir he could show off to whoever he was with during these nights?

“Come with me,” His voice suddenly became clear once more, deep and hoarse as you imagine his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Think about how good it’d feel to have me come inside you, stuffing that little cunt while you milk me dry.”

You purse your lips as you feel your release approaching, coaxed purely by his words. The mental image of this stranger painting your insides with his release, all the while his intoxicating voice told you how good you were, how warm and tight you felt enough to have waves of pleasure wash over you, body tensing up as your orgasm surges through you.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel your consciousness come back to you. Your fingers leave your core as if you were just burned by fire, which is fitting as a feeling of burning embarrassment wraps around you tightly like a vice.

But the worst part is that the shame quickly ebbs away as you hear your neighbor’s chuckle, the laugh of a stranger you had come to almost memorize.

“You know I’m always glad to make you come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, everything around you falls into a quiet stillness. You faintly hear as he shuts his front door, presumably leaving for that club he had mentioned, and you’re left to lie with your regrets.

This has just crossed a line, and although you couldn’t bring yourself to feel all that guilty, you still knew it was wrong. You had no choice but to confront the cause of your troubles yourself.

Unfortunately, that cause was a person you had just shamelessly fantasized about as you fingered yourself.

The next afternoon, you stand at your neighbor’s door, hesitant to knock. Since he mentioned going clubbing last night, you knew coming by in the morning would be futile, but you also know — sadly, all too well — that Saturday nights are when he’s the loudest, and he only stops well past midnight. You settled for the afternoon, preparing lunch as you rehearsed your words in your head instead of enjoying your weekend.

You knock twice, and that familiar voice soon rings through the door, asking for a moment. A minute later, your neighbor is standing in front of you, holding the door open with sleepy eyes that focus on you. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but surely not a tired-looking tall man with messy black hair wearing a pout on his lips, as if you just rudely disturbed him from his sleep (how ironic). From what you heard during the last month, you were ready to have to face a shirtless fuckboy, a permanent smirk etched onto his lips as he eyed you indifferently. Instead, you’re greeted by soft cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Yeah?” Your neighbor croaks out, face still heavy with sleep.

You clear your throat, returning to the matter at hand. “I’m your next-door neighbor, I—”

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” he says before you can even finish your rehearsed opening sentence, his lips curling into a small smile. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Somehow, him being so soft is making you hate him even more.

“I wish I could say the same,” you mutter, “Y’know, you’ve been making my life a living hell since you moved in.”

He doesn’t answer, instead running a hand through his hair, the strands falling into place and away from his face. After a small nod, he opens the door all the way.

“Come on in,” he says, promptly walking inside and leaving you standing in the hallway all alone. You have no choice but to follow after him.

He snatches his cup of coffee from the counter, letting out a tired sigh as he collapses onto the couch and takes a big sip. You sit next to him and watch as he swallows slowly, humming contently, and only then speaking again.

“Why is that?”

You hold back another eye roll. “Well, you’re quite noisy at night,” you hesitantly begin, only now grasping just how awkward explaining this situation will be. “On Fridays and on the weekends, you’re… loud.”

And in an instant, you witness a complete shift in his entire demeanor right before your eyes. Like he’s possessed by something, his once sleepy eyes now bore into you with an intense gaze, and his lips curl into the smug grin you were expecting from the start.

“So you can hear me?” He asks as if you hadn’t just told him exactly that. You feel small under the weight of his darkened eyes, but you shrug, doing your best at feigning confidence.

“It’s pretty hard not to hear you,” you answer simply. “We share a wall, in case you didn’t know. I can hear everything you do in your bedroom.”

He raises a brow at your words as if they piqued his interest. But he doesn’t verbalize it; instead, he speaks in that same nonchalant tone you’re used to hearing through your bedroom wall, “You never told me your name. A bit rude, don’t you think?” He offers you his hand. “I’m Hyunjin.”

You scoff but shake his hand regardless, telling him your name with a sigh.

“You know what I think is rude?” You offer him a forced smile. “Keeping your next-door neighbor up all night with how fucking loud you are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. His gaze traces a path from your eyes to your lips before lingering on your thighs. You instinctively cross your legs, fingers smoothing down the fabric of your shorts. Locking his gaze with yours once more after a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side.

“So I’ve been keeping you up all night?” He muses, and you feel a warmth spread across your cheeks at the rough rasp in his voice.

It’s almost as if he knows what you did last night and is teasing you.

Although you know that’s impossible, your words still get choked up. Hyunjin was undeniably attractive — whether it was looking as soft as he did while answering the door or as if he could devour you with his gaze alone as he does now. You couldn’t be blamed for feeling flustered, especially after everything you heard this man saying and doing.

“Well,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Showing your outrage at this entire situation is your best bet, so you allow for the anger you felt during all those sleepless nights to seep through your veins. “It’s kinda hard to sleep when you’re moaning like a porn star.”

But Hyunjin fully chuckles at that. “So I sound like a porn star?” He nods with an amused hum. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Never mind anything you had thought upon seeing him open that door; Hyunjin is everything you thought he would be.

“Look, I didn’t come here to stroke your ego. You’re clearly doing just fine in that regard,” you grumble, and he scoffs beside you, leaning back on the couch with a smug expression you want to slap away from his pretty face. “I came here to ask if you could move whatever it is that you do to the living room, or maybe keep it down. I’m sure that’s not too much to ask.” 

Hyunjin clicks his tongue almost mockingly. “Oh, but it is too much to ask. I can’t really do any of those things. Sorry,” he shrugs, “The building has thin walls. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

You stagger at his words, his lack of common sense seemingly higher than you initially gave him credit for. You’re unsure whether to laugh in sheer disbelief or cuss him out as anger slowly bubbles up inside your chest. How unfairly attractive he looks at the moment isn’t helping your case — he spreads his legs further as he shifts on the couch, bringing his mug up to his full lips and watching you almost uninterestedly with half-lidded eyes.

Fuck this guy.

“What is it you do that’s so important that you can’t at least keep it down? Can’t your girlfriend get off without your obnoxious dirty talk? Is that it?”

Hyunjin shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Your dates, then. I honestly don’t care.” You roll your eyes, which elicits a small laugh from him. You have never wanted to punch someone so badly, all while also wanting them to rearrange your guts. “Whoever it is, whatever it is that you do, can’t we compromise and you be quiet, at least on Fridays? I get home from work exhausted and have to put up with your shit when all I wanna do is sleep.”

“Ah, but Fridays are the most important nights for me,” Hyunjin tells you with a condescending lilt in his voice. “That’s also not possible, I’m so sorry.”

“I see.” You suck in a deep breath, your eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists on your lap. “Then would it be possible for you to move your… activities to the living room?”

Hyunjin contorts his face, shaking his head while that grin is still etched onto his lips. “Yeah, no, that’s also not possible.”

“You’re extremely inflexible, do you know that?” You blurt out, “I’m not asking that you move out, I’m simply asking that you fuck whoever it is that you fuck every weekend somewhere else.”

His piercing gaze lingers on you briefly, as if he’s carefully considering his next words. Sighing, he sets his mug on the end table and sits up straight.

“Let’s make a deal,” he proposes, carelessly ripping a piece of paper from the open sketchbook that lay on the coffee table and jotting something down. “Tonight, you wait for me to start my activities,” he says with a poorly concealed chuckle. “And then you go on this website. Maybe it’ll clear up some things inside your pretty little head. Can you do that for me?”

He hands you the note, eyes darting down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze. The tone of his voice is the same that echoes through your bedroom during those nights — exactly like the one that coaxed an orgasm out of you just last night, and you absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together.

You need to get out of here.

With a small nod, you swiftly stand back on your feet and walk toward the door of his apartment that was left wide open. You quietly mutter a goodbye as Hyunjin says something about it being a pleasure meeting you, all while amusedly staring at you.

It’s only as you close your front door behind you that you look down at the piece of paper that you subconsciously crumpled up. Scrawled in a messy handwriting is simply a website address:

fivestarcam.com

You furrow your brows, walking toward your bedroom as you rack your brain for how a website could possibly give you answers. It dawns on you, then — all the trouble you went through, and yet, no solution to your problem.

Ultimately, you decide you’ve already wasted too much of your patience on this man today, throwing the piece of paper on your bedside table and going about your day, enjoying the tranquility of your apartment while you can.

Night comes too fast, the sun setting outside unbeknownst to you as you lie on the couch for nearly three hours, your focus solely on the plot of the movie playing on your phone. Soon enough, ten p.m. rolls around, and you drag your tired body toward your bathroom. You take a shower with no rush, knowing full well that by the time you walk into your bedroom, Hyunjin’s activities will already have started.

Sure enough, you’re greeted by a drawled-out groan as soon as you enter your room. With a heavy sigh, you throw yourself onto your bed. Your bedroom had always been comforting, your bed almost like a safe haven from all the stress life threw your way. Yet now it’s simply the place where you lie awake for hours, simultaneously vexed and uncomfortably turned on.

You lie still for a while, Hyunjin’s vulgar chatter like the background music to your spacing out, until you remember the piece of paper he gave you earlier. How would a website clear up any of your confusion? And, more importantly, why should you even care enough to find out? From the little interaction you had with the man, you know for a fact Hyunjin will remain unchanging in his obnoxious ways.

However, you’ve always been too curious for your own good, and the mere prospect of understanding this annoyingly enigmatic man even a tiny bit has you hurriedly picking your laptop off the floor and typing out the website address on your browser. Curiosity killed the cat.

The first thing that greets you is a message asking that you verify being over the age of eighteen. All you have to do is click a button, which seems counterintuitive, but you have little time to worry about that when your screen is filled with preview thumbnails of several live broadcasts.

You’ve heard of camming websites before, of course, but you didn’t know they were still a thing nowadays, what with the rise of Only Fans and other more independent ways to go about making money like this.

Your eyes scan the page with agape lips. Men and women — some in their underwear and some already naked, some showing their faces and some wearing masks. And then, your eyes land on a particular thumbnail. At the Top Cammers of The Month section, on the number one spot, is a fully clothed man with familiar long black hair. Only the bottom of his face can be seen due to his camera angle, but that is more than enough as your gaze fixes on his full lips.

That’s undeniably Hyunjin. Your neighbor, Hyunjin.

Before you can make sense of your actions, your fingers are already hovering above the touchpad as you watch the thumbnail image change into a new one. Curiosity is eating away at you, and you can’t deny that your nosy mind is eager to finally see Hyunjin rather than only hear him.

Ultimately, you decide this is ridiculous.

But your twitching fingers brush against the touchpad just as you move to close your laptop, promptly clicking the live video, your screen now filled with the image of Hyunjin in his bedroom. He’s shirtless now, palming himself through his sweatpants — the same ones he wore this afternoon.

“You wanna know how clubbing went last night?” He says with a grin, and you now understand his incessant talking is merely him answering comments from his viewers. Various different names fly through the right side of your screen, some with tips attached to their comments and some simply drooling over Hyunjin as he essentially sits in front of the camera doing nothing.

A cocky smile is spread on his lips once you shift your attention back to him.

“I guess you’re good at following orders,” he chuckles. You then realize your laptop’s volume is on high, and the speaker’s noise permeates through your wall and into Hyunjin’s bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, and you scramble to find your earphones in your bed.

You’re gnawing on your bottom lip as you plug them in, suddenly too aware of the fact that he can hear you just as well as you can hear him. Hyunjin’s smile shifts into a small laugh, his hand wrapping around his length through his sweatpants, the firm outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You feel a tingling sensation spread through your body, your inner muscles clenching as you watch the way his hand squeezes along the thick outline, the muscles of his stomach contracting as he lets out a broken sigh.

This feels wrong, as if you’re nothing more than a pervert watching Hyunjin for your own pleasure. But then again, it was he who gave you the website address in the first place. Why else would he have done that if not for you to watch him?

“I have a special someone watching tonight,” he murmurs, and you can just imagine his gaze right now — his eyes hooded and piercing, locked onto the camera with the same intensity as when he looked at you earlier today.

Hyunjin’s hand reaches inside his sweatpants, withdrawing his cock from the constraints of the dark fabric before you can make sense of what’s happening. Your gaze remains fixed, unable to look away from the red, swollen head that stands out against his pale skin. With lazy movements, he begins stroking himself, the precum dripping from the tip easing the glide of his hand. You bite the inside of your cheek as more arousal leaks from you, gathering in your panties.

“Hope she likes watching just as much as she liked listening to me last night,” Hyunjin rasps out, and you immediately close your laptop, throwing it to the side before burying your face in your pillow.

He knows you got off to his voice. He has to know.

And, unfortunately, your brain is currently too clouded by lust to function properly, and the only logical solution you can come up with is to go knocking at his door tomorrow.

You stand in front of Hyunjin’s door at the same time as yesterday, a strange blend of anger and curiosity making you knock frantically until he answers with that annoyingly alluring smirk on his lips.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Hyunjin asks before you can even utter a word, his voice filled with a goading tone.

You push past him, walking into his apartment with a scowl. “Why did you send me that?”

He only shrugs, closing the door behind him before stretching his arms above his head with a sigh. “Needed you to understand why I can’t just stop doing what I do. It’s my job,” he reasons, “I figured showing you was more effective than telling you.”

A scoff involuntarily falls from your lips, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “So you just sent me to a website full of porn without even asking me if that was okay? I don’t care if that’s your fucking job, I never asked you—”

“Did you stay till the end?” He asks, a lazy grin on his lips as his gaze wanders across your face. Clearly, he’d completely ignored every word that came out of your mouth.

“Hyunjin, are you even listening to me?”

“I was thinking about you, y’know?” He continues, taking a step toward you. “Was really easy to come when I knew you were watching me.” He cages your body against the door with his, both hands resting beside your head. His dark gaze locks onto you, causing your breath to hitch. “All I could think about was how you were secretly listening to me all this time. Such a dirty girl.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. You want to tell him you weren’t secretly listening to him; you were merely thrown into this situation against your will. But his gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, lingering before roaming over the swell of your breasts, causing your thoughts to blur and your words to die in your throat.

“Kept thinking about how I never heard you,” he says, almost as if he’s wondering aloud. “When was the last time someone fucked you properly?”

His gaze finally travels back up to yours, and the fog of desire clouding his eyes is unmistakable. The moment you knocked on his door, you knew this would happen. You weren’t naïve, and Hyunjin wasn’t stupid; the moment you pushed past him and into his apartment, you both knew where this was going.

“Don’t have time to go on dates,” you murmur as Hyunjin leans down, humming low on his throat.

“Well,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath tickling your face. “You got to listen to me, got to watch me… Don’t you wanna know what it feels like?”

You can only nod, and Hyunjin immediately presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He wedges his knee firmly between your thighs, as if he’s silently demanding that you give in to him. Little does he know you’re already way past that point.

Breaking the kiss, Hyunjin studies your features for a beat, the pad of his thumb gliding across your bottom lip as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“You really want this?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel he does it simply for the pleasure of hearing you beg.

But you happily comply either way.

“Please,” you breathe out, and Hyunjin chuckles, firmly pressing his thumb into your mouth and watching as you wrap your lips around it with a contented hum. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Hyunjin pushes his thigh against your core, the seam of your shorts creating a delicious friction against your clit. You can feel the warmth of his body as he presses up against you, and a sigh falls from your lips, your hands gliding up around his shoulders. You have no reservations left in your body; the only thing replaying inside your mind at the moment is the image of Hyunjin’s cock on your laptop. He was right. You were dying to know what it would feel like.

His strong hands firmly gripped onto your hips, guiding you to move against his thigh, each back-and-forth motion increasing the pressure on your aching clit. It felt too much, yet not enough at the same time. But just as you’re about to plead for more, Hyunjin’s pressing his lips to yours again and swallowing down your voice. His tongue slides against yours, the taste of coffee and smoke lingering in your mouth as he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth, pulling gently before letting go.

You feel your mind go fully hazy as Hyunjin lifts his thigh, bringing you up to your tiptoes, his muscles flexing and prompting you to roll your hips faster, harder.

“Who would’ve thought, huh? Just minutes ago you were acting like I was the worst person alive,” He lets out a low chuckle, amused, and your grip on his neck tightens as you feel the familiar vexation he brings out of you bubble up inside your chest. “Now you’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Shut up,” you choke out, your brain too lust-hazed to conjure up a better response. You don’t particularly care what he thinks of you so long as he keeps his bruising grip on your skin, guiding you to roll your hips against him.

Hyunjin trails kisses down the skin of your neck, settling at the dip of your collarbone and sucking on the skin while you eagerly quicken your speed. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, undoubtedly marking you, while his thigh begins to bounce against your cunt, and you can feel the familiar aching warmth of your orgasm beginning to tighten in your stomach. But just as you’re about to be hit by the release you’re so desperate for, Hyunjin’s hands leave your hips and slide down to your ass, any stimulation you had before coming to a halt as he picks you up and makes his way to the living room.

“What the fuck?” You all but yell, earning you a hearty laugh from Hyunjin. “I was close, you asshole.”

He roughly throws you onto the couch, a condescending pout etched onto his lips.

“But that’s no fun for me, is it, baby?” He hovers over you, spreading your thighs apart and slotting himself between them. In stark contrast to his words, he gently lifts your shirt over your head, feather-light touch sending shivers down your spine. “Greedy girls don’t get to come.”

You feel your insides clenching at his words, and although you despise the effect he has on you, you’re already here, laid out before him, so you might as well indulge him. You gently push Hyunjin back until he sinks into the sofa, legs lazily spread apart and half-lidded eyes fixated on you. As soon as you clutch at his shirt, he promptly tugs it over his head in one fluid motion, and you attach your lips to the bare skin of his stomach, trailing kisses down the expanse of his torso.

You waste no time tugging his sweatpants down and out of your way, his cock now hanging heavily before you, just as pretty as it had seemed on that little screen. Hyunjin’s hand soon wraps around himself, stroking lazily while you watch the precum dribble from his tip. Tentatively, you grab the base of his cock, bringing your tongue to the head and tantalizingly lapping at it. Hyunjin lets out a quiet gasp, his own hand leaving his length and tangling in your hair, guiding you forward toward his cock. You part your lips and suck the head into your waiting mouth, hands now stroking his length at a slow pace while you lick up his slit, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. You hold back a chuckle when you feel him twitch under your touch, a soft whimper falling from his throat.

Hyunjin’s hips buck up into your lips, and you promptly open your jaw wider and slide his whole length down your throat slowly. You weren’t lying when you said you had no time for dates, which is why you find yourself struggling a bit. It truly had been a while since you had a proper fuck, but you would never give Hyunjin the pleasure of hearing you admit it. Breathing through your nose, you’re finally able to move up and down his cock, swallowing all of him. Your eyes well up as his fingers tug harshly at your hair, shoving your mouth back down the entirety of his thick length. A choked-out whimper falls from your throat, and you instinctively move your gaze toward his.

“God,” he rasps out, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and eyebrows knitting together. “You take me so well.”

You promptly remove your lips from him with a loud pop, precum and saliva dribbling down your chin as you struggle to suppress a laugh at the utter indignation on his face.

“I doubt you could fuck me if I let you come,” you shrug, and Hyunjin’s expression softens, a scoff falling from his lips.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already pushed you back onto the couch, easily flipping you over so your face is pressed into the cushion. He snakes a hand under your stomach and lifts your hips, quickly working to rid you of your shorts before pressing his cock against your clothed ass.

He leans down, lips pressed against your ear — much like it was in your fantasy back in your bedroom — and whispers, “You need me that badly? I can feel how soaked you are, and all you did was hump my leg.”

You grumble under your breath, but it goes ignored by Hyunjin as he grips your hips and slides his cock under the fabric of your panties, stroking himself along your soaking slit with a low groan. You can feel your underwear gradually dampen more as his precum mixes with your own arousal, the sheer cloth clinging to his cock with each thrust.

Hyunjin’s hand splayed across your lower back, causing you to arch your body and press your hips back instinctively. He chuckles, hand coming down onto the supper flesh of your ass with no warning, a sharp whimper falling from your lips.

“I told you greedy girls don’t get to come,” He reiterates, clicking his tongue and grabbing a large handful of your ass before tugging your panties down your legs. You quietly hoped the trees outside obscured enough of his window, otherwise you’d be in for some interesting elevator rides with your other neighbors. With a hiss, Hyunjin’s thumb presses against your clit before gliding along your wet folds. “Soaking wet,” he mutters, eyes glazed over while he watches your slick coat his finger.

You simply hum, not wanting to stroke his ego any more than you already had by begging him earlier. But you’re unable to contain the gasp that leaves your lips as he pushes his hips forward, the swollen tip of his cock gliding against your warm core once, twice, all while Hyunjin’s hands travel across your ass and thighs. You’re sure he’ll tease you until you give in and beg, but it seems his facade is quick to crumble. He impatiently wraps a hand around his length, finally guiding himself toward your entrance, seamlessly gliding into you with a heavy sigh.

He stills for a second, gaze transfixed by the way your cunt stretches around his thick cock. Until he suddenly pulls out of you before snapping his hips forward again, then again, until he sets a rhythm of deep, fast strokes that have you rocking back and forth on the couch. Pulling yourself up to rest on your forearms, you choke out a loud moan, Hyunjin’s cock twitching inside you at the sound. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, strong arms encircling your body once more, this time pulling you close to him until your back presses against his chest. Hyunjin’s thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of skin slapping together echoing through his small living room as he relentlessly pumped himself into you. His hand wraps in your hair, yanking your head back and humming against your ear, “Go on, you can moan for me,” he hisses, “I know how good it feels.”

Fuck. His ego is surely something you would never get used to.

But you let go, freely groaning at the feeling of his cock pistoning into you. You can feel the curve of his grin against your cheek.

“Like that, I know how much you like it,” he rasps out, “Just as much as you liked touching yourself to my voice like a little slut.”

“Fuck off, you—” you huff, your words cut off by a drawn-out mewl as Hyunjin’s fingers firmly pressed down on your clit, flattening the swollen bud. You couldn’t control yourself after that, desperate whimpers and choked-out moans falling from your lips with each harsh thrust of his hips.

Your sounds seem to stir something inside of him, and his movements grow more erratic, his fingers circling your clit hastily. A crescendo of arousal and pleasure envelops you as more curses tumble from Hyunjin’s lips against your ear, his hand gripping your cheek and pulling you into a messy kiss.

You clench around him, body shaking with the force of your climax as you seek Hyunjin’s arm wrapped around your body for purchase. He continues pounding into you, and you feel yourself squirm, your vision going blurry from the stimulation.

“Gonna come,” he hisses against your lips, “Where do you want it?”

And you’re too far gone at this point, whimpering, “Anywhere you want.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath, pulling out while his hand finds your lower back once more, pushing you onto the couch before flipping your pliant body over so you’re facing him. You watch with hazy eyes as he strokes himself feverishly over your body, his cum soon shooting onto your breasts.

His unreadable gaze lingers on you for a beat and a half before he nonchalantly tucks himself back into his sweatpants and heads toward the hallway. You sit up on the couch, limbs aching, and chuckle to yourself. This was not your proudest moment, but you surely didn’t regret it.

You don’t expect aftercare from someone like him, so you resign yourself to searching for your discarded shirt. But Hyunjin’s tall frame appears before you, towel in hand before you can even stand up. His touch is gentle as he cleans your chest, and although the gesture is somewhat sweet, it feels extremely awkward.

“Really liked fucking you,” he tells you with a grin, “But you gotta leave now. I’m going live later, and I also gotta go to the club tonight, so I have to rest. But it was fun.”

And you simply scoff at his words, rising to your feet to dress yourself as quickly as possible. It was a bit baffling how he could fuck you the way he did, then tell you he’s off to pick up more girls at a club immediately after. But what did you expect? Hyunjin’s ego and arrogance were clear to you from day one.

“Why the fuck do you go clubbing so much, anyway?” You question as you head toward the front door, and Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “Is that your hunting ground or something?”

“You could say that,” he simply says.

As you unlock his door and step out into the hallway, Hyunjin’s voice calls out to you. Turning to look at him, you’re met with that familiar smirk adorning his lips.

“We can do this again anytime you want,” he assures, and the mere thought of letting him touch you again makes you roll your eyes in disdain.

“Yeah right.”

If only you knew then just how awfully torturous it would be to listen to him, knowing what he was doing — most importantly, knowing what it felt like to have him.

Lust completely clouds your judgment when it comes to Hyunjin, and you soon find yourself coming back to his apartment until it becomes an annoyingly pleasurable habit.

Every day, when he hears you get home from work, your phone buzzes with a text asking that you come over and help him ‘warm up for his job.’ The nights of suffering in your bedroom have transformed into watching him from the corner of his room, enthralled with the way he can make himself come on camera so eagerly and later fuck you with just as much vigor.

It’s a nice arrangement, but definitely not one you see yourself in for the long run. Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but you’re not foolish enough to anchor your feelings to someone like him. It’s not his job that’s the problem, but mostly his attitude toward life. He belongs to nobody, while you yearn to belong to someone. Routine is the last thing on his mind, while you revel in its comfort. You could never be with someone like him.

But it is a nice arrangement.

So you find yourself back in his bed again today, his heavy cock in your mouth as he tugs harshly on your hair, painting the back of your throat with his cum. Except this time, he doesn’t immediately ask you to leave.

“What?” You ask, “Don’t you have to go clubbing or something?”

“It’s my day off,” he shrugs, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close and falls back into bed. You furrow your brows, detangling yourself from him.

“Day off? From what, picking up girls?”

Hyunjin chuckles, eyes sleepy. “I work at the club,” he simply says. “I’m a host, I just act like I go clubbing when I talk about it during my lives ‘cause my viewers can be a bit stalkery.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of The Siren?” He asks, and you hum, recalling a faint memory of some of your co-workers mentioning the club in passing. “That’s where I work.”

You nod slowly, still confused. “What exactly does a host do?”

“Well, basically, I get to make money just by making lonely women feel wanted.”

You can’t help but scoff at his crude description. “And do you fuck them?”

“Well, yeah,” he answers like it’s obvious. “It’s part of the job.”

“Fucking hell,” You let out a hearty laugh, to which Hyunjin shoots you a questioning look. “Your sex drive really should be studied.”

His lips upturn into a smirk, and his arms reach for you again, beckoning you back into his embrace. “No need to be jealous, baby. I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you into his chest. He threads his fingers through your hair, and you can’t help but feel… awkward.

“You’re kind of an asshole, Hyunjin.”

He hums. “Sure, but you still let me fuck you.”

You two stay that way for a while, his fingers massaging your scalp as he presses a kiss to your head now and then. It feels disorienting, like a sudden shift from everything Hyunjin had been until now. He was never caring or sweet, he never kissed you if you weren’t fucking, and he surely never cuddled you. Your face involuntarily contorts into a grimace.

You detach yourself from him, getting up from the bed and telling him you’ll see him later. But Hyunjin is grabbing at your arm with a smile.

“Come on, don’t be sad,” he giggles as you try to free yourself from his grip. “I’m really not the type of guy you should have fallen for, anyway.”

You still at his words, face contorting into pure befuddlement. “Fallen for? Who the fuck says I’ve fallen for you?”

And Hyunjin simply scoffs, letting go of your arm as his smile shifts into his characteristic grin. “Well, there’s a reason I’m number one among the hosts at The Siren.”

“Hyunjin, those girls aren’t exactly after you for your personality,” you deadpan. “You’re really nothing worth falling for.”

His grin slowly fades, and it’s his turn to have confusion take hold in his eyes. “What?”

You can tell he wasn’t expecting this. Almost as if he was expecting you to have truly fallen for him simply because he… is him. And you can’t help but chuckle at the situation.

“Hyunjin,” you call out to him sweetly, and his gaze is back on you immediately. “You’re a nice fuck, but that’s really it. Don’t worry about me falling for you.”

You can swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it’s likely only your imagination. He opens his lips to speak but promptly closes them again. He simply stares up at you from where he’s sat on the bed and almost looks sweet. If you didn’t know him, you would undoubtedly be charmed by this convincing facade. You have to give it to him; you do understand why he’s number one at his job.

“But…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But I’ll see you again tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “We can keep fucking until I find something better.”

You run your fingers through his long hair and make your way to the door, leaving him with an expression frozen in bewilderment.

Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but he’ll never be yours.

But that’s not a problem, as you surely will never be his as well.

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