#I got to call poison control for the first time

[arianaderalte]

A farmer (accidentally) poisoned me today.

Archaeology!

*jazz hands*

[xfgpng]

— : [nsfw] rough sex, recreational drug use, they’re both high

— : kink :: aphrodisiacs

the lady had given the pair a glass of the very red and very rare wine. it had seemed innocent at first but y/n slowly started to feel the effects as they made their way back to the inn. it was far more intense than the first time it hit her. just one small sip had this much power? it made her shudder.

jinshi was no better himself, his cheeks flushed and his eyes already starting to glaze over. she would’ve been concerned if she wasn’t more worried about getting her robes off and sitting in a cold tub filled with ice.

“that sneaky old hag” jinshi grunts, “she said it wouldn’t be this bad”

“of course she said that!” she snaps, she’s not mad, not really but she hadn’t expected it to take effect so fast. she prided herself on being an expert at dealing with different poisons and drugs.

she can’t even remember all that the older lady had said. she had brewed the tea for 10 minutes and the smell was intoxicating on its own but the effects of drinking it was almost instant.

one minute they were fine, normal even and the next they were sweating, cheeks feeling flushed as their robes clung uncomfortably to their skin.

“relax darling, we’re here to take care of each other” he chuckles, despite the flush on his cheeks getting worse. she knows he’s having a harder time than she is but she’s not in the mood to call him out on it.

stepping into the cold tub is soothing to her hot skin but it doesn’t nothing to help her burning desire. she can’t help the small pants that leave her slightly breathless.

“jinshi” she gasps and he nods in understanding, stepping into the tub behind her.

“i’ve got you my love” he gently lifts her onto his lap. he’s rock hard and it’s almost painful now but the moment she sinks down, he can’t help the loud moan. their inn is private enough but he knows their hosts had seen their state when they arrived.

he can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed about it. he focuses on how good she feels around him, fluttering and clenching uncontrollably.

“fuck” he tosses his head back, his fingers digging into the meat of her thighs.

she moans, slowing lifting her hips and down. the cold water around them does wonders for both them in terms of cooling down but very little for their lust.

she’s never experienced anything so intense in her life, she feels almost desperate for him. she can’t help moving faster and she moans louder when he thrusts up to meet each of her movements.

it’s so good, so much more hotter than it usually is but she’s not too keen on trying to drug again after this. it was almost too overwhelming.

“so good” he pants against her ear, “you make me feel so good”

he kisses her neck, his grip around her body tightening as he thrusts up faster. neither of them seem to care about the water sloshing around onto the floor. that’s the least of their worries.

“more jinshi, please” she begs and he happily obliges. he bends her over the tub, holding onto her hips as he pistons his hips in and out. it’s hard and fast and so uncoordinated but he can’t help it, can’t control how desperately he needs this.

they collapse forward, the tub creaking dangerously as he cums inside her. it’s so much hotter now and it’s a lot, messing out and dripping down her thighs.

“jinshi” she whimpers.

they had another hour of this before the side effects of the drug would subside. he could feel himself twitching inside her, still hard even after cumming so much.

“shhh i know darling” he coos, kissing her shoulder, “i’ve got you, let me make you feel better”

[oceantornadoo]

sex pollen f!reader with ex-husband john price

it was your last mission with him. the ink on the divorce papers had dried, been filed away and fully set. his things out of your shared house, shipped off to an apartment address you tried not to memorize. unfortunately, the mission required both of your unique skillsets, and although kate promised she'd try to separate the two of you, the mission came first. it always did.

"clear." you finished exploring the abandoned lab for hostiles, now focusing on finding the hard drive you'd been sent for. "should be on bottom drawer of-" "i know, john." it was completely inappropriate to address him like that, ignorant of any call sign, but he'd put on his nagging tone and really, you couldn't be bothered. that's what you told yourself later on, why you missed the blinking red sensor as you tugged the hard drive out of its hiding spot - too preoccupied with your ex-husband, the whole reason you didn't want to be on a mission with him. it was only when you heard the click, unnoticeable to the untrained ear, you realized you'd gone wrong.

"shi-" you were cut off with a blast of yellow powder to the face, the force of it knocking you to the ground. you fumbled for your comms, hands unsteady in the face of your lack of attention. "im hit, some sort of powder. bioweapon? in the control room." john was there in seconds, craddling your head like you were something precious and not a representation of his failed marriage. "'s it hurt, love? c'mere, let's get you up." he pulled you into a sitting position, wiping the powder off your eyes with gloved hands. miraculously, you felt fine, more embarrassed than anything. the powder clogged your airways but you didn't feel any damage, no signs of poison. "she's fine, bit woozy. can y' check wha' it was, watcher? sendin' a picture of the cannister over." he helped you stand, hands checking you over with too much familiarity. you almost flinched at it before remembering he was helping you. his touch was warm and unyielding, like it used to be. it sent an unusual tingle down your spine, which you smartly ignored.

"let's get ya t' the safehouse. need a shower, sweetheart." he was being overly nice as he escorted you there, nothing like the cold captain you were used to. his voice dripped like honey down your throat and an unfamiliar rush of something ran through your body. his presence was all-consuming and you needed to get away. you entered the nearby house - a one bedroom modern cabin, surprisingly nice - and immediately headed towards the bathroom, locking yourself inside. you quickly stripped down out of your gear, washing the powder off your face and clearing your vision. you took a look at yourself in the mirror: face flushed, pupils wide, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. unbelievably, the sight sent a spark to your core. you looked downwards, noting the wet spot on your underwear. it happened sometime in between john's hands checking you over and his gruff voice in your ear. two fingers dipped down between your folds, and you withdrew them to see gleaming wetness, the type you only got when you were ovulating.

shaking it off, you decided to take a shower. the water was thankfully warm as you stepped into it, letting the remaining powder and grime of the mission wash off you. you turned to face the water stream and sighed as it hit your tits almost perfectly. despite the heat, your nipples were hard and achy, the water stimulating them more and more. you weren't usually this sensitive, most times needing a while to get this horny. as if guided by a mysterious force, you detached the showerhead and ran it along your body. it was warm and comforting and hot, temporarily relieving you of your bodily ache. you brought it down towards your aching cunt, other hand grabbing your breast harshly. your core tightened quickly, your brain sending an image of john's concerned hands on your waist, the gentleness of his touch. it was the quickest orgasm of your life - two minutes and you were whining into your fist. of course, the ears of john price missed nothing.

john swore he didn't mean to. he'd been trying to obey these walls you put up, this divorce you made him agree to, your coldness on missions. anything to keep you in his life somehow, to show that he could be good. but really, moaning in the bathroom attached to the bedroom he was currently pacing in? remembering the way your pupils blow wide when you come, the frazzled expression you give on the come down. it was starting to fuck with his head, especially as he heard the shower turn off. suddenly, john remembered all you had were your pollen-dusted clothes and there wasn't anything in the safehouse, all moth-bitten and dusty fabric. without thinking, john took off his tac vest and the shirt underneath it. he approached the door with caution, knocking hesitantly. "love? got you a shirt if y' need it?"

the bathroom door opened with a blast of hot air, the steam beading on your forehead and dripping down your extremely naked body. one he hadn't seen in months since you started keeping yourself from him. "sweetheart." you shook your head wordlessly. "it hurts, john." it came out in a whine as you walked closer to him, eyes scanning his naked torso. "what hurts, baby?" you almost whimpered at his tone, the yearning behind him. in a move that was uncharacteristic of your usual dynamic, you backed him into the bed, letting his knees hit the mattress until he was sitting, a wide-open lap for you. "everything. 'm so sensitive." you practically moaned the last part as you stepped up to straddle him, naked cunt settling directly on the rough fabric of his cargos. you were seeping wetness, could feel it staining his pants as you held john's confused gaze.

"'s the drug, sweetheart. y' don't really want this." you shook your head again. he wasn't getting it, this deep-rooted need for him in your bones. john's hands, shaking by the looks of it, came to rest on your waist, which simply wouldn't do. quickly, you snatched a calloused paw and dragged it down to your slick, moving his fingers through your folds for him. he let out a content growl, pressing his palm against your clit harshly. your body was on fire, flames licking everywhere. just so sensitive, every touch amplified tenfold. he was all you could think, smell, see: strong, capable, wanting. your hips bucked against his palm, moving with ease through your wetness. "been wanting you for ages, john. 's not the drug."

sometimes, john wished he was a better man. this was not one of those times. a better man would take you off his lap and lock himself in another room. instead, john followed the rhythm of your hips, letting you grind your puffy clit against his weathered palm. your pants were loud, unbidden, and he could feel your orgasm approaching, the fastest it had ever come. "gonna come so fast, wife?" you nodded, closing your hands as you rode him faster, sounds of your slick growing louder. "not your wife, john." suddenly, just as you felt the start of your orgasm, he took his palm away, fiery eyes lit with contention. "only my wife gets to come." you frowned at that. "you won't help me?" he didn't answer, instead tugging down his stained cargos and pulling out his cock. you bit your lip at the sight - it had been so long since you'd seen it. girthy and veined, perfect to fill the aching inside of you. john gave it a few pumps with the hand that had been getting you off, your residue wetness the perfect lube for him. "say it and i'll let you sit on my lap."

that's when you noticed, conveniently, that he still had his wedding ring on. it had been gliding through your folds but you'd been too fucked out to notice. your orgasm was still fluttering in your stomach, sustained by the sight of him fucking his fist. "c'mere, wife. say it." john's brows were furrowed, eyes a dark blue you'd only seen in the times after kitchen arguments and messy fights. something about the rawness of his expression hit your heart where it ached. a lonely gap only he could fill. "fine." you stalked over from where you'd been standing. he moved further back on the bed, shucking off his pants so he could move his hips better. "fuck me, husband." straddling him again, this time with your hands on his shoulder, you sheathed yourself on his cock in one swift movement, sliding down easily. your clit was so sensitive, inner walls begging for friction, that the moment you gave him an experimental grind, you came, harder than you ever had in your life.

"cunny so needy, huh baby?" john took to your hips, fucking you on his lap as rode out your orgasm. you nodded, pushing closer until your hardened nipples scrapped his chest hair, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. "john, they hurt." one hand left you to cup your breast, his fingers squeezing and pulling. any other time and the movement would have left you pushing him off, but you could only moan loudly, pleading for him to continue. he knew the perfect angle, knew to move somewhere between a grind back and forth while fucking you up and down, perfectly hitting your clit every time. a coil grew in your stomach, emboldened by the manly scent of his musk, the grunts pouring out of his mouth. "john, john. need to come." he tweaked your nipple harder, like he was experimenting with how far he could go, how much pain the drug would cover. "beg me, wife."

the world spun as he flipped you on your back, gathering your wrists in a strong grip as his other hand made his way to your neck, squeezing softly. his thrusts were more controlled now, his weight pushing you into the mattress, like you couldn't ever leave. "go'on. you know what to say." his possessiveness bled through his words, his grip bruising and definitely marking you. you couldn't seem to care, too wrapped up in the way he immediately took charge of your needs. "please, husband. john. need to come." his grin was disarming, charming beard counteracting his feral smirk. the hand left your jaw to squeeze your nipples, then moved to your clit, puffy and needy. he rubbed it once, twice, three times, whispering "then come, sweetheart," as the coil in your belly finally snapped. he came undone at the feeling, your walls clenching to hold his cock in as he pumped more cum into you.

you'd missed exfil, actually. two days, forty-eight hours, of nonstop fucking the drug out of you. bent over the arm of the singular couch in the living room. bruises on your ass when you got bratty about his recovery time. hickies on your neck, tits, thighs. pretty sure you'd left the cabin devoid of water when john used the detachable shower head for an hour until your poor cunny was raw and overstimulated. then he put you on your knees and well, that was the only break you needed.

in between mandatory naps, you felt the drug wear off. that confidence draining slightly, your slick dying down. you turned to john, naked and knocked out next to you, and ran your hands through his beard until he woke. blue eyes fluttering, trying to figure out if you wanted another round. "let's go home, john." the sultry tone was gone from your voice but somehow, you looked at him with just the same amount of affection. "alrigh' sweetheart, let's go home."

--

MORE JOHN PRICE

sex pollen solves all marital problems! sorry this took so long, i was too sad to write smut.

[allyeilishh]

ᥫ᭡ DRUNKEN KISSES ── .✦ B.E.

Pairing: Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: You got pushed to drink by your friends, even when you didn’t want to. And when you called Billie to come get you, she didn’t hesitate for a moment.

W/c: 2.2k

a/n: I got a little lazy towards the end so I’m sorry for that… but I hope you enjoy it took me like three hours to write this

The loud music thumped in your chest, vibrating through your entire body. You could hear voices laughing and talking around you, but you couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. The lights flashed all around you, a colorful burst of light going around the entire room.

The scent of the room was a mix of alcohol, sweat and strong perfumes, a scent that was awful and rather strong, but you got over it eventually. People were filled in the house, the expensive paintings and luxury all over the room. Even the sink looked like it cost a million bucks.

You didn’t exactly wanted to go to this party—you knew it was just going to be filled with people in their twenties that had nothing better to do with lives. Your friends had forced you to come. They had been pushing you to come to one of the parties they had been hosting for a while, and you always turned them down.

Because frankly, nothing was better than spending your weekend with your girlfriend, Billie. You liked the peace and quiet, the laziness of the weekends, spent in bed or the couch. All with Billie, cuddled under a blanket. But you haven’t been spending a lot of your time with your friends lately, barely texting them, so you felt like you owed them a bit. So you agreed to come.

But now, you were regretting that decision. You were sitting on the couch, your friends surrounding you. Riley, a friend from high school, was sitting on your left, and Bailey was sitting on your right. Your two other friends, Amelia and Charlotte were standing in front of you, arms crossed.

A red solo cup was resting in your hands, and you were acting as if it were a cup of poison. You had never drank before, and you didn’t really plan on ever doing it. You didn’t like the feeling of being out of control of your own body, especially if something else had that control. So you never tried it, not even a drop.

The smell was strong, but a mix of something fruity. Sense it was your first ever drink, your friends did decide to water it down a bit with some juice. The strong, alcoholic scent filled your nostrils, and it felt like your nose hairs would burn off just from smelling it. You made a face of disgust, pulling the cup away from your nose.

"Come on, it’s not that bad! Just some vodka and rum. I mixed it with some Hawaiian Punch. It shouldn’t be too bad. Just a little sip.“ Riley encouraged, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently shaking you.

"It’s so good, you’ll love it! We all had some before.“ Amelia spoke, a smile forming on her face. She looked between you and the cup, as if she was magically going to move the rim of the cup to your mouth.

You swallowed, the nervousness filling your chest. You wanted to turn them down, to say no and just hand the cup off. But you felt like you owed them. You had to at least try. You took a deep breath, bringing the rim of the cup closer to your mouth, taking in the scent of the fruity alcohol once more.

You tilted your head back, your friends all watching in anticipation. And once the liquid hit your tastebuds and went down your throat, the burning sensation immediately started, and you pulled the cup away. The taste was bitter, a little mix of the juice was there, but the alcohols overrided it. The burn reached your throat, and you felt like the muscles in your throat were melting from the burn.

You let out a series of coughs, almost choking on the drink. You heard your friends chuckling around you, and Bailey gently patted your back, trying to help with the digestion.

It took a few moments, but the coughing eventually subsided, and you were left with the bitter taste of alcohol on your tongue, making your face curl in disgust. Your tsked, trying to get the taste off your tongue.

"Take another sip!“ Charlotte encouraged, a wide smile plastering her face. Like she liked to see you suffer.

You shook your head, but before you could verbally respond, Amelia perked up. "Just one more, okay? It’ll get better over time.“

You wanted to say no, to get up and go home, but you felt tempted. Maybe they were right, maybe it would get better. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes before you took another swing.

Then they encouraged you again. And you drank again. Then again. And again, and again, and again until the cup was empty, and they were already fetching you another cup. But without the juice. And you drank it.

As time passed and your friends chatted around you, you felt your vision started to become blurry and bouncy. Everything you were looking at suddenly had a shade of blur, and it looked like waves were going through your vision. You tried to blink multiple times to fix it, but it didn’t.

Your head was starting to feel heavy, and you felt like you were out of your own body. Like you were a piece of jello on the couch, melting into the cushions and becoming one. You didn’t like that feeling. You didn’t like it at all. It felt like you were out of your own body, and you were in third person. It felt so weird and unnatural. You hated it.

You slowly stood up from the couch, and your legs almost buckled under you. Your friends curiously looked at you, asking where you were going. You apologies for the early dismissal, and gave them all weak, half-assed smiles. You tried to walk, but you were stumbling over your own feet. But eventually, you got to the front door, and you stumbled out onto the porch, sitting down on the concrete.

You rubbed your temples, as if you were turning the gears in your brain to start working correctly again. You took a deep breath of the fresh air, letting it fill your lungs. It was the one natural thing you had in your grasp right now.

You didn’t want to stay here any longer. The smell of the alcohol you drank reeked off of your clothes, and your hair was a little messed up. You knew you couldn’t drive in your condition. Your vision was impaired and you could barely walk without tripping over your own feet. It was too late to be walking alone, even in this nice neighborhood.

So, you called Billie. You had to squint to look at your phone, making sure it was really her before clicking the 'call' button. You pressed speaker, feeling too weak to hold your phone to your ear. You put your phone on your legs, hanging your head as you heard the phone ringing.

Billie was quick to pick up, answering the phone on the second ring. She spoke with a sweet, loving voice, the adorable little tone she always had when she spoke rang through the air, practically healing your ears. "Hii, baby. How’s the party? You havin‘ fun?“

You let out a small groan, which somehow mixed with a giggle. You moved some hair out of your face as you spoke, your words completely slurred, and barely understood through the phone. "Heyyy, bils… it’s goin‘… amazing, here. Buttt I don’t feel too good. Everything’s all spinny an‘ blurry an‘ I feel like jelly… can you come f‘me?“

With your slurred words and how you described your symptoms, a worry built up in her chest. Were you safe? How much had you drank? She pushed her worries away, knowing she needed to be strong for you. She spoke again, her voice softer, sweeter, just to not worry you. "Of course, my love. I’m on my way right now. I’ll be there soon. I love you.“

"Love you too!“ you said with a small giggle. Apparently, your drunken self got really flustered when Billie showed affection. The blush on your face that Billie couldn’t yet see had spread all over your face, even to your ears. You hung up the phone giggling, almost kicking your feet. Almost.

When Billie arrived, she didn’t even bother to turn off the car. The bright headlights of the dodge challenger were pointed right your way, making your eyes squint and blink a few times.

Billie instantly hopped out of the car, and quickly jogged towards you. There was a hint of worry on her expression, but she hid it rather well. She kneeled down in front of you, gently taking your face into her hands. She scanned over your face and your body, checking for any injuries. She let out a sigh of relief as she found none, her shoulders slumping.

"Hey, love. How you feeling? Still all dizzy and blurry?“ she said softly, gently rubbing her thumbs over the soft skin of your cheeks. Her eyes held a delicateness to them, looking at you as if you would break under the slightest pressure.

You nodded, a giddy smile forming in your face as her hands touched your cheeks. Her palms were warm, a stark contrast to your cold cheeks. You didn’t wear a jacket, not thinking you would’ve been waiting outside, at night for 10 minutes. But you didn’t care now. You were with Billie, and that’s all your mind could focus on now.

Billie smiled softly, before gently helping you onto your feet. You wabbled a bit, but she helped you find your balance as she led you to the car. She gently placed you in the passenger seat, closing the door once you were buckled in and comfortable. She quickly rounded the car, getting into the drivers seat and backing out of the driveway.

The carride was mostly silent, except for your little babbles that you would spurt out, shifting every other minute. Billie’s hand stayed on your thigh, gently rubbing and squeezing the milky skin beneath her palm.

Billie could tell you were more of the sleepy drunk, seeing you barely awake in the passenger seat. But there was something keeping you awake. You didn’t know what, big it was something.

The car came to a stop as Billie pulled into the driveway of your shared house, and she killed the engine before rushing back over to your side. She opened the door for you, unbuckling you and letting you lean on her as you began to walk inside. You let out a small giggle, feeling Billie’s warmth against yours. She was always so warm. You never could understand how.

Billie helped you up the stairs and into the bedroom, gently sitting you down on the bed. "Stay here for a second, okay? I’ll be right back.“

Billie quickly jogged out the room and back down the stairs, entering the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water. She then went back upstairs and into the bedroom, opening the bottle of water as she approached you yet again.

"Drink it, love. It will help with the hangover tomorrow.“ Billid said softly, letting you take the water and drink it. It helped clear your mind a bit, and it was a soothing balm to the bitter taste that lingered in your throat.

You placed the waterbottle down on the bedside table, rubbing your eye. Billie quickly took notice, and gently began to take off all your jewelry, putting it in its designated spot in your jewelry box. She then began to change your clothes for you, placing you out of your shiny dress and into a pair of comfy shorts and one of Billie’s hoodies. It was always more comfortable to sleep in Billie’s hoodies.

You melted into the comfortable clothes, quickly warming up. You layed down on the bed, curling under the duvet. Billie quickly followed, gently pulling you into her chest, letting you listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. You felt your cheeks heating up again, a giddy giggle leaving your lips again.

Billie couldn’t help but laugh at your giddiness, seeing how flustered you could get just by simple acts and touches. She gently stroked your hair with her fingers, weaving through the soft locks. She gently leaned down and placed a soft, gentle kiss on your lips, whispering quietly to you. "My little angel.“

Your cheeks heated up even more at the petname and the kiss, which you leaned into. But when she pulled away, you instantly puckered up your lips, as if asking for another one.

Billie chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes. She never minded when you asked for kisses. It was her favorite thing anyways. She gently placed another kiss to your lips again, and you leaned into it, feeling at ease.

Once she pulled away again, you felt your eyes drooping, the tiredness taking over your body. Billie continued to gently comb through your hair, trying to help you fall asleep. She smiled at your sleepy face, just on the verge of passing out.

But then, you lips puckered up again weakly, asking for yet another kiss. Billie rolled her eyes with a sigh, speaking with faux annoyance. "You can’t get enough of my kisses while your drunk, can you?“ But it wasn’t a complaint. She leaned into a kiss once more, capturing your lips into the third kiss. Her soft lips brought your into your slumber, your lips falling limp as Billie gently pulled away.

She pulled your sleeping form into her chest, rubbing your back with her hand. She rested her chin on the top of your head, speaking quietly and softly to your sleeping, drunk form.

"Goodnight, my angel.“ ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

a/n: guys I just realized I accidentally forgot three ENTIREE paragraphs so if you re-read this and it looks different that’s why 😓 I’m sorry

[yuna542]

~Yours~

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: 18+, bullying, manipulative behaviour, Smut, under 18 DNI!, pet names, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, Overstimulation, explicit smut, confessions, fluff, bdsm, mentions of alcohol, Minsung happening!, Han and Minho in a secret relationship

Word Count: 13K

Note: I really loved writing this. Let me know what you think

"What's wrong?" came Chan's soft voice, catching you off guard.

You blinked, still staring at your phone. You'd been glued to the screen longer than you'd realized.

"Nothing," you answered quickly. Too quickly. You forced a smile and grabbed your makeup kit, pretending to tidy up the mess of palettes and brushes on the vanity table.

Chan raised a brow, slipping his phone into his pocket. He leaned forward in his chair, never a good sign. That meant he didn't believe you. That meant you now had his full attention.

As the stylist and makeup artist for Stray Kids, you'd been spending nearly every day with them for the past few years. The team felt more like family lately, mostly thanks to Chan's warm and grounded energy that pulled everyone together even though it was the most stressful season.

"She's lying," Minho muttered as he walked past, already in his hoodie, bag over his shoulder. The concert had ended an hour ago, but you were still here, frozen in thought, barely making progress packing up. The messages on your phone had taken you somewhere else, somewhere you didn't want to return to.

Minho knew you better than anyone. You owed this job to him. You'd met backstage years ago, when he was still dancing for BTS and you were working as their part-time makeup artist. You always believed in him, and when Stray Kids became his reality, he returned the favor by getting you on the team.

You'd known the boys for a long time. Minho had kept you distant at first, worried one of them would flirt with his best friend. But on tour, things changed. You grew close. Bonds were built. Trust, laughter, late-night chats. And Chan... Chan had a way of making you forget how careful you were supposed to be.

"You're restless... something's bothering you," Chan said, eyes following the frantic way your fingers rearranged brushes that didn't need rearranging.

"In two hours we're flying back to Korea," you said flatly, dodging.

"Y/N," he said gently, but you cut him off with a dismissive wave. "It's nothing. Really."

But your phone lit up again and this time, you weren't fast enough. Chan caught the name.

"Who's Madison?" he asked, voice casual—but not really.

Hyunjin came closer, overhearing as he set down his controller, apparently done playing with Felix for the night.

"She's... no one. Just a college friend."

The college you'd dropped out of to chase this dream.

Minho, now lounging across the sofa, immediately sat up, and his expression darkened.

"Madison? What does she want from you?"

You closed your eyes briefly and exhaled. You should've said nothing.

"She just wants to meet up. When we get back."

Chan tilted his head, studying you.

Minho stood now. "You're not actually going, right? After everything?"

The others looked between you, confused.

"Who is this Madison?" Seungmin asked.

Before you could reply, Minho cut in, his voice sharp and unfiltered.

"She's a manipulative bitch who used to tear Y/N apart every chance she got. Her and her group of plastic princesses treated her like she was dirt."

You sighed, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. "It was years ago, and you only met her once."

"Once was enough," he growled. "The way she looked at you—like she was doing you a favor by breathing the same air."

And you knew he wasn't wrong.

Madison had been cruel. High-maintenance, charming to the outside world, and poison behind closed doors. She'd called you a friend while whispering about your insecurities, making you feel like you'd never be enough.

"I just want to see if maybe she's changed," you said quietly.

Minho shook his head, already defeated. He knew he couldn't stop you.

⸻

"You work for that band now, right? Stray Kids?" Madison asked. For the fourth time already.

You forced a laugh and nodded, sipping your drink. "Yeah. I'm their stylist and makeup artist."

The table of women, each more dressed-up and decked-out than the last, oohed in excitement. They were the same group from back in uni. Expensive shoes, heavy perfumes, and surgically precise smiles.

The night had started surprisingly fine. You'd hugged, exchanged the usual "You look amazing" lies, and made small talk. Madison had even said your outfit was "so effortlessly cool." But as soon as you mentioned the band's name, her mask began to slip.

"Wait, how did you get into a company like that?" Madison asked, tilting her head like a confused kitten. "That's a huge label. Don't they look for people with real credentials?"

There it was.

You took a long sip of your gin tonic. "One of the members. We've known each other for years. He recommended me."

"Ooooh, insider connections," one of the girls purred, nudging another. "So who is he? Hyunjin? Felix? I heard Felix is close with all the girls."

"No. Minho. Lee Know. We worked together before Stray Kids."

"Ahh. Makes sense. I mean, with a dropped-out degree and... let's say modest experience, it would've been super hard to make it otherwise." Madison smiled sweetly and placed her hand over yours, pretending concern.

"But that's okay! You've always been resourceful."

Your jaw clenched. You wanted to scream. Instead, you nodded. "We've always supported each other. That's how we made it."

Finally, she withdrew her hand, but the smug gleam in her eyes didn't fade.

"I think Changbin's the hottest," one girl blurted, breaking the tension with giggles. "He has that rough vibe."

"I'd go for Han," another chimed in. "Cute, funny, probably a freak."

"God," Madison laughed, sipping her drink. "What about you, Y/N? Eight hot men, and not one tried something? I would've had a boyfriend by week two."

You smiled tightly. "We're all friends."

"Really?" Madison asked, tilting her head. "All that time together, and not one kiss behind the scenes? Not even a late-night affair?"

You shook your head, heart sinking.

"I mean, come on," she laughed.

"If Bang Chan would just smile at me, I'd let him ruin my whole life. You don't think about that? Or do you already have a thing with him?"

The blood drained from your face.

"We're close," you said quietly. "That's it."

"Mhmm," Madison hummed, exchanging a look with her blonde friend. "Well, if you ever get tired of being his comfort person, just give me his number, yeah?"

You blinked at her.

"I mean, idols need someone exciting, right? Someone with class. And let's be honest, you're sweet, but..." She gave you a smile that made your stomach turn. "Sweet isn't always sexy."

You stared down at the table, vision blurring slightly.

"But hey, professional boundaries, right?" she added with a laugh. "That's why you work there and not someone like me."

The table shimmered under the soft lighting of the lounge, half-empty cocktails scattered like fading illusions of a good night. Madison's laugh, high and polished, cut through the murmur of the music like a blade wrapped in silk.

Madison smiled sweetly.

"So be for real. You're really with them now. Like, full-on part of their team?"

You nodded, careful. "Yeah. Styling, makeup, performance looks... I work with their creative director too."

"Wow." She sipped her drink. "I mean, I guess someone has to do that stuff. But I didn't know they'd go for someone so... low-profile. You always were kind of the quiet one, weren't you?"

You tried to laughs softly, brushing it off, but by now everything that was coming out of you, where silent huffs.

„I guess. I just like to stay behind the scenes."

"Oh, totally. It's your thing, right? Being invisible but helpful. Like in Highschool! You always carried my bag and didn't complain once!"

Everyone laughed at this little anecdote about you, which was obviously just to make you even more insignificant.

Another sip. Another smile. The others glance at each other and giggle, unsure if it was a compliment or a slap.

Your heart stings even more, but you hid it with a practiced smile.

Madison leaned in again with that annoying smile.

"And what's it like? Traveling with them? Living in that world, glitz, lights, screaming fans. Do they even see you? Or are you like... furniture?"

The table snickers. One girl fake-gasps, "Madison!" But it's playful. No one's really calling her out.

You're tone is cold by now.

"They treat me well. We're a team."

"Hmm." She stirred her drink with her straw. "That's cute. You're kind of like their emotional support stylist. A little older-sister energy. Or like a pet? No, wait... like a really loyal assistant. You're just always there, right?"

Your throat tightens. You sipped your drink just to have something to do.

Madison changed her tone, syrupy-sweet again

"Back to Chan! Tell us everything."

„Maddy you're obsessed!", one girl laughed.

You stiffened slightly.

"He's so dreamy on camera. Is he like that in person? Or is it all PR and lighting? I just can't believe he's not that hot in real life too.

You hesitated but couldn't resist to smile when you thought about him. His smell, the messy hair and his hugs, which were the best thing after a stressful week when he just wants to see your smile again.

"He's real. Grounded. Kind."

Suddenly she's mock-gasping:

"Awww. You're really blushing. That's adorable."

She leaned over to the others.

"She's totally in love with him. Like she used to be in college. Remember? Her little Badboy-phase? I guess some things never change."

The table bursts into laughter. Your chest burns.

„We're friends... He never... We're just good friends."

Madison tilted her head, pouting.

"I mean, you have to know he's out of your league, right? Like, if he never tried to hook up with you even though you're spending so much time, I mean, men are easy, I think you're just not his type" she waved a hand dismissively.

„He would be head over heels for you though, Mads", some other girl said, all of them giggled in unison.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You wanted to leave so bad.

She smirked.

"Maybe he keeps you around because it's comfortable. Like an old hoodie. Not sexy, but familiar."

Some of the girls held their hand before their mouths, there she added quickly, "Oh my God, that was rude—sorry!" with a laugh, clearly not sorry.

Another girl joined in:

"But for real, if he's single, you should just shoot your shot, Mads. You're totally his type."

Madison grinned.

"Right? I mean, I wouldn't say no to a little K-pop prince. Maybe I'll drop him a DM. Unless Y/N's marked her territory?"

She raised an eyebrow across the table at you like it's all fun, like this isn't a series of sharp little knives landing over and over.

You were barely holding it together by now. It was so much worse than you could imagine.

"He's not a prize to win."

"Aww. Spoken like someone who already lost."

That's it. It was enough.

Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you stood up, the noise drowned in the thrum of the music.

"I'll be right back.", was everything you could get out without exploding.

No one stopped you.

Not even Madison, who just said over the music:

"Don't cry in there, babe. You'll ruin your eyeliner. And that wing is the best thing you've got going tonight."

You didn't cry in the bathroom.

Not at first.

You stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, cold marble against trembling fingers. You stared at your reflection, at the winged liner Madison had just mocked. At the eyes that looked dull and distant now. Your dress clung to you, your skin too warm, too exposed. You didn't recognize yourself.

You weren't sure if it was the drinks, the music, or the words still echoing in your mind like poison.

"Sweet isn't sexy."

"She's not his type."

"You're like furniture."

You tried to shake them off. You tried to laugh them away like you used to in college. But they hit differently now. Now that you'd spent all this time working your ass off. Now that you'd finally built something real. Now that you—

Now that you were starting to fall in love with someone who probably never even looked at you that way.

Chan.

His name was a weight in your chest.

The warmth of his hoodie when he'd draped it over your shoulders during late-night rehearsals. The way he always remembered your coffee order. The softness in his eyes when he asked if you'd eaten. The jokes. The quiet comfort. His scent on your pillow when you accidentally fell asleep backstage and he'd stayed to keep you company.

And then... Madison's voice again:

"If he's never tried anything, you're just not his type."

Something cracked. Quietly. But completely.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid, pressing a hand over your mouth. Not to muffle sobs—yet. Just to stop breathing so loud. Like the room might hear you fall apart.

You weren't enough.

Not stylish enough. Not hot enough. Not exciting enough. You were just... there. Like an old hoodie.

Tears blurred your vision now, spilled before you could stop them. Your eyeliner was ruined. You let out a shaky breath—then another. And then—

⸻

Your makeup was holding on—barely. Your composure, not so much.

Your fingers hovered over your phone again.

It was the second time Chans name was on your screen. He called you right after he saw that you were online. Almost as he waited for exact that moment.

Maybe it would help.

Just... hear his voice. Talk to him and forget this stupid evening for a second. And if you wouldn't answer the phone he would just be worried.

"Y/N?" came Chan's voice, soft and warm like a lighthouse in a storm. "Hey. Just checking in. Is everything alright?"

You opened your mouth to say yes, but it caught in your throat.

"Y/N?"

"...Hi," you finally breathed. "Yeah. I'm... it's fine. Just loud in here."

"You okay?" He paused. "You don't sound fine."

You tried to clear your throat quietly, wiping under your eye with the back of your hand. "I just needed a breather."

There was a beat of silence.

"You're crying," he said, quiet but certain. "What happened?"

You shook your head, even though he couldn't see. "It's nothing. I'm just being stupid. I shouldn't have come here."

"Is it Madison?" His voice darkened immediately. "What did she say?"

You let out a broken laugh, trying to hold yourself together. "God, where do I start?"

"Start anywhere," he said, softer now. "I'm here."

You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, leaning back against the cold tile wall.

You stayed silent for a while. Trying to hold yourself back, make him believe everything was perfectly fine.

But the moment he said your name with so much concern, everything broke out of you.

"She said I'm invisible. That I'm just... there. Background noise. Not hot, not exciting. Not the kind of girl anyone would choose. All the things she told me back in Highschool all the time."

You swallowed hard. "She talked about you a lot She's really into you, Chan. Maybe you should make a move", your voice sounded mocking, strong, but Chan just huffed.

„I told her we're just friends but she just wouldn't stop..."

Silence.

You kept going, the dam breaking wide open.

"She made it sound like I'm pathetic. Like I'm your pet or something. Said you probably keep me around because I'm familiar. Comfortable. But not sexy. That I'm like some old hoodie—soft and safe but not wanted."

Chan still didn't speak. You could feel how tense the silence was, like the air had thickened.

"She laughed about how I used to follow her around, how I carried her bag in high school. She said I don't belong in the world I'm in now. That someone like me shouldn't be working with someone like you."

You wiped at your eyes again. "And the worst part is, I believed her. I actually... started to believe her again. That I'm not enough. She's right... We're just friends and I'm happy about that, but I'm definitely not in your league."

"Y/N," Chan finally said, his voice lower than you'd ever heard it.

You waited, throat tight. And immediately you regretted everything you said.

"You listen to me right now," he said, steady and calm—but there was fury underneath. "She doesn't know who the hell she's talking about. And I swear to god, if I hear one more word like that out of her mouth—"

"Chan..."

"No," he interrupted, his voice softening but still firm. "You're not invisible. You're the only one I see. Every day, you walk into a room and suddenly the air feels different. Calmer. Better. You're the reason I sleep at night when things get bad because I know you're there the next morning. Doing my Makeup, cheering me up no matter what. Your the reason the team holds together sometimes. You are everything she isn't, and that's why she hates you."

You bit your lip, your chest tightening.

"Please just forget what I said." you whispered. "Falling apart over a stupid night out... I shouldn't have said anything. You're probably busy."

"You don't have to be strong all the time," he said gently. "Not with me."

A pause. Then, lower:

"Where are you right now?"

"Club down by the water," you said quietly. "VIP section. Madison rented a booth."

There was a beat of silence.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm coming."

"No—Chan, you don't have to—"

"I'm already in the car. We're getting back at that bitch, together. You'll see. Just play along!"

And then the phone was dead.

You stared at the screen until it faded black and suddenly you woke up, when you understood that he would really come.

As fast as you could, you touched up your makeup, got your hair done and breathed in and out several times.

The bathroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, trying to collect yourself, as you walked back to the booth.

As soon as you arrived you almost stumbled over your words:

„There she is! What were you doing so long? We thought you ran off", Madison laughed and you didn't need to guess what they talked about when you were gone.

„No, I had a call... It could be that..."

But that's when all of the pair of eyes were averted and glued to the entry of the VIP-Section.

He was actually there, walking in without having to show his ID. The security knew exactly who he was, since the boys were here often.

Bang Chan. Jeans-Jacket thrown over a black Shirt, eyes burning with quiet fury—but softening instantly when he saw you.

He must have already drove off while you were talking on the phone. How could he be here so fast?

His hair was messy, falling into his forehead, his face outrageously handsome and you could feel how the air tensed. All the girls and especially Madison made sounds that almost sounded like chickens.

„Omg that's him", they squeaked.

Immediately you stood up, ran up to him.

You placed a hand on his chest to stop him before he could reach the table and whispered, "What are you doing?"

When you looked up at him, you had to hold your breath. He smiled, wrapped his arms around your waist, and his thumbs slowly began to circle over your hip bones.

"At least pretend you're happy to see me."

"No, that's not... Channie, I don't want them to know I cried in the bathroom like a little girl because they were mean to me. Please—this is just going to get really awkward for you."

He didn't waver, just looked at you calmly, then gently placed his hand against your cheek. He had never touched you like that before.

"You look incredible. That dress is seriously hot on you," he murmured, eyes trailing down your body.

Your cheeks flushed so deeply you thought you might actually faint. What was he doing?

"Come on. Let's have a good night," he said with a smirk and tugged you toward the table.

The whispers stopped instantly the moment you two arrived. Every single girl stared at him in stunned silence.

"Hey," Chan said casually. "I was nearby, called Y/N to see what she was up to, and thought I'd drop by on my way back. Hope that's alright?"

Madison was the first to recover, her voice a squeal. "Yes! Totally! Have a seat!"

She patted the empty spot right next to her, already inching aside, but Chan didn't even glance at it. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on you—and only you.

And then you realized... he was still holding your hand.

Without letting go, he led you around the booth and sat down to your left, deliberately placing you between him and Madison.

The tightness in Madison's jaw could've cut glass.

Back at the table, it was all fake smiles and weirdly timed laughs as Chan settled in beside you like he belonged there. Like he did this every Friday night. His arm slid behind your back, casually draping along the booth's edge, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. You were hyper-aware of every inch of him, of how close he was, of the warmth radiating off his body.

And the worst—or best—part? He wasn't even pretending. This wasn't some over-the-top performance. He was relaxed, charming, soft-spoken, and all of it was for you.

"Y/N told me you guys go way back," he said, voice smooth as honey, glancing around at the girls with a perfectly polite smile. "That's cool. Always nice to meet her friends."

"Totally," Madison said, her voice tight as she took another sip of her drink, eyes flicking between you and Chan like she couldn't decide whether to smile or scream.

"God, you're even hotter in real life," one of the girls whispered, not even trying to hide it. "I didn't think that was possible."

Chan chuckled politely. "Thanks. But I think Y/N's the one turning heads tonight."

That shut everyone up for a second.

Your heart skipped several beats. Madison looked like she'd swallowed her lip gloss.

He wasn't done.

"You should've seen her earlier," Chan went on, eyes drifting to you again. "I told her she looked good enough to shut down traffic. Guess I was right."

Someone choked on their drink. You didn't dare look at Madison. He was doing that full aware and he had fun with it.

Chan leaned in slightly toward you, voice lower now—just for you. "You okay?"

You nodded, still dazed, not trusting your voice yet.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I'm not letting you disappear on me again tonight."

You blinked at him, startled, but he was already smirking at his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside with effortless grace.

He lifted his glass, still watching you. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, drawing out the word like it belonged to you alone.

You nodded stiffly, pulse hammering in your ears.

"Good," he murmured.

Madison's smile faltered. She recovered with another sip of her drink. "So, Chan," she purred, "Y/N tells us you two are just friends?"

He finally turned toward her, but the look in his eyes wasn't curious—it was cold amusement.

"Yeah," he said with a slow, lazy grin. "That's what she says."

The girls around the table giggled, but there was an edge of uncertainty now. Madison tilted her head.

"Just friends," she repeated, trying to sound playful. "But you came all the way here for her?"

Chan didn't miss a beat. "She's worth showing up for."

You stared into your drink, and he reached over, rubbing a hand between your shoulder blades, his touch intimate and familiar.

"I mean," Madison pushed, "that's sweet and all, but don't you usually go for—" She paused, her eyes flicking over you. "Someone a little more your speed?"

Chan raised a brow slowly. "Oh? And what speed do you think that is?"

"I don't know," she giggled, too high-pitched. "Someone a bit... flashier?"

He smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You know," he said, voice smooth like honey over ice, "Loud, shiny, easy to spot. That kind burns out fast."

He leaned closer to you, the side of his thigh brushing yours. "It's the steady glow that stays with you. That's the one that warms you up at night."

Madison opened her mouth to say something, but the waitress arrived before she could, holding a tray of shots.

Chan leaned back, giving you a wink. "Perfect timing."

The table whooped, tension shifting into distraction as glasses were passed around.

"Come on," Chan said, handing you one. "One night off. Let go a little."

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you, like this night was yours and his alone, made you forget everything else.

You took the shot.

Then another.

And another.

„So you're like friends with benefits? Or dating? Come on tell us!", another girl exclaimed and Madison almost killed her, by just looking at her.

Chan tilted his head. "What do you think?"

You tried not to combust on the spot.

„It's pretty much up to her now ..."

You weren't even sure how many drinks you'd had by now. The club was buzzing louder, your skin was tingling, and Chan had moved even closer, his thigh pressed firmly against yours now under the table. There were Shot after Shot, Cocktail after Cocktail. You didn't know how he was able to act that convincing. It couldn't be real, but why would he do all that? Just to get back at them? All that effort just for a small revenge he shouldn't even care about?

The conversations were flowing by now and everyone adored Chan not just for his looks in no time. But he played his part way too well.

He leaned in again, his cologne warm and clean and a little dangerous, and said quietly in your ear:

"You're either ignoring me... or trying really hard not to look like you want to kiss me."

You turned to face him, heart tripping.

"That obvious?" you murmured, lips barely an inch from his, starting to grin like an idiot. You were playing around, trying to get back at Madison, but it felt so real, that your heart was pounding like crazy. And you knew your heart would be shattered at the end of this evening.

Chan gave a slow, satisfied grin and leaned back just enough to look at you properly.

„Only to me."

Before you could reply, ask what this was about, Madison cut in again.

"So, Y/N," she chirped, swirling her drink. "Are you, like, seriously not sleeping with him?"

You blinked.

Chan tilted his head slightly, gaze sharpening like a blade, but his voice stayed calm.

"Madison," he said, smiling like a wolf. "Do you usually talk about other people's sex lives at the table?"

She flushed, laughing. "I mean, sorry, but come on. You're both just so... intense. Like, all the eye contact and brooding. It's kinda obvious something's happening."

Chan shrugged lazily. "Maybe we like keeping things to ourselves. You ever try that?"

"Ouch," someone muttered from the other side of the table. There was giggling. Madison had no chance against the sass of Chan. He was the Leader of 7 chaotic men, who where Teenagers when they started. He knew exactly how to put someone in their place.

You hid a smile in your drink.

But Madison wasn't done. She leaned toward Chan this time, lips pouting, voice syrupy sweet. "I mean, no offense, but it's just... unexpected. I thought you would go for girls who are, I don't know"

"Shallow?" Chan interrupted smoothly.

She blinked. "No. I was gonna say... bolder. More exciting."

He gave a half-smile, slow and dangerous.

"Trust me," he said without taking his eyes off you, "she's plenty bold. She just doesn't need to prove it by being loud all the time."

That shut her up. The entire table went quiet for a second.

You could feel your face heating, but Chan wasn't done. He turned toward you again, resting his arm along the back of the booth, fingers grazing your shoulder and down your arm.

"You know what I like?" he asked you, eyes still locked with yours.

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"When someone can walk into a room and own it, without even trying." He gave you that soft, lazy grin again. "That's hot."

You bit your lip, your pulse thudding in your ears.

Madison scoffed under her breath, but no one was paying attention to her anymore. Not when Chan was looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

Then the shots arrived.

"Last round before we get wild," the waitress announced, sliding a tray onto the table.

"Let's make it a toast," Chan said, smoothly grabbing two and handing you one. He raised his glass and looked around the table.

"To good company," he said. "And knowing exactly who's worth your time."

You met his eyes as you both threw back the shot.

It burned, but it wasn't the alcohol making your heart race.

The energy at the table had shifted, less laughter, more heat. You were tucked comfortably into Chan's side now, your legs brushing under the table, the slow burn of tequila pooling warm in your chest. He hadn't taken his eyes off you for more than a few seconds at a time, and every brush of his fingertips against your thigh under the table felt like a secret promise.

Madison, clearly not used to being ignored, was on her third attempt to interrupt the vibe.

She leaned in again with a sugar-sweet smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So, Chan... tell us, what's your type now?"

You didn't flinch. You didn't have to. Chan beat you to it.

"Madison," he said lazily, his voice thick with amusement, "you'd have to know my type to recognize it."

She bristled. "And I don't?"

He turned his head slightly toward her, but his hand stayed firmly on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, possessive circles, going up to the hem of your dress. They couldn't even see that, but he continued anyway. "If you did," he said, voice dipping lower, "you'd stop assuming it was you."

The table went dead silent for a beat again.

Someone choked on her drink again.

"Oof, damn," someone muttered.

Madison's eyes flicked to you, her smile now a tight line.

„But she is? She's not the usual kind of flashy girl, a idol would want to be with."

Chan just grinned, wide, cocky, like he was thriving on the tension. He leaned in close to you, but said it loud enough for the table to hear:

"That's the point."

You felt your pulse stutter as his fingers tightened slightly on your leg. His thumb now under the soft fabric of your minidress, making you almost press your thighs together.

"I don't do 'usual,'" he added, biting his lip softly while staring at yours dangerously.

"I do addictive."

His voice dropped, rough and intimate, just for you, even though the entire table was pretending not to listen. His thumb slipped a little higher under the fabric of your dress, dragging heat along your skin.

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck betraying you as he leaned in, slow, deliberate. His mouth hovered just beside your ear now, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

"And you, ..." His words came out low and sinful. "You're already ruining me since the day Minho brought you into the company."

Your breath hitched, involuntarily pressing your thighs closer together. His smirk deepened at the movement, eyes darkening like he owned the reaction. Was all this still acting? You couldn't believe this could be real. It was way too perfect to be real.

Meanwhile, Madison was sitting in stunned silence across the table, trying to pretend she wasn't watching every second. Chan didn't even spare her a glance now, his world narrowed to you.

You turned slightly to meet his eyes, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Chan..."

"Mmh," he hummed, brushing the tip of his nose along your cheek.

„Channie please... I'm... You...", but you couldn't form a whole sentence, when his hand was less than an inch from your core, still moving up, and you tried to calm yourself. The lace panties were definitely already ruined, even though he didn't do anything.

„If you say my name like that one more time I probably can't stop..."

Your cheeks flushed, but it wasn't from embarrassment. It was the way he said it, full of quiet, restrained chaos. Like he knew exactly what he could do to you, what he would do to you, and was enjoying every second of the buildup. But if this was over and he knew that you on your part weren't acting at all... You could never ever look him in the eyes again.

„You don't have to pretend anymore... I think it's enough", you whispered as soon as Madison chatted with another girl, glancing still at you two.

His eyes were immediately on yours again. You could see the effect the alcohol already had on him, but his eyes were clear, honest. But he didn't respond. There was confusion in his face.

"Fuck it," he muttered suddenly, pulling back with a smug grin as he stood up and reached for your hand. "We're getting out of here."

"Where are you going?" Madison snapped, eyes narrowing.

Chan didn't even look at her.

"Somewhere worth my time."

He pulled you with him, a protective hand low on your back, guiding you through the crowd. The alcohol was buzzing through your system, but it wasn't what made your head spin. It was him. His voice, his touch, the way he owned every room, every look, you.

"Wanna dance?" he asked softly while leading you to the dance floor.

You blinked. "Now?"

"Were at a Club right?," he said, already standing, holding his hand out to you. "Come on. Just a few songs."

You took it.

The music hit you the second you stepped onto the dance floor, warm bass, thudding beat, flickering lights. Chan didn't hesitate. He pulled you close, one hand resting low on your waist, the other brushing your hair back.

The music pulsed through your body, thick bass reverberating through the floor as the club lights painted flashes of red and blue across Chan's face. You were both tipsy, laughing harder than you should at something stupid he whispered into your ear, but the warmth of his hand on your lower back wasn't something you could blame on the drinks.

It was deliberate. Possessive. Hot.

You moved with him, teased each other until your hip rolled against his. You could hear him silently hissing, but his moves were fluent, experienced and very very distracting.

Even though no one was watching you anymore.

Chan leaned in close, his breath hot against your cheek as the beat shifted to something darker, slower. His voice rumbled against your skin, low and wrecked.

"I really couldn't believe you're that blind before tonight..."

You blinked up at him as he twirled you around, lips parted as your breath hitched, your body already melting into his. You stumbled against his chest confused.

"What?" you dared.

He didn't answer. Instead, his hand slid up your sides, until it was wrapped tight around your waist, drawing you flush against him. His hips moved with yours, slow and dirty, like the music was just for the two of you.

And then he said it.

"You think I was just acting earlier?"

His mouth brushed your ear now, every word setting fire to your skin.

"You think I flirted with you at that table just because I had to play along?" He tilted your chin up, making you look him dead in the eye. "Y/N, I've had a crush on you for months. And I thought it was obvious..."

Your breath caught.

His lips ghosted across your cheek, barely touching.

"But I just didn't dare to tell you, since you didn't do anything about it. I figured someone like you wouldn't even look at me twice."

"You're insane," you whispered. You couldn't even believe one word he was saying.

"And you're drunk," he smirked. "Which is the only reason I'm even telling you this now, because tomorrow, I'm gonna pretend I didn't after you finally rejected me."

Your hands were firmly closed around his neck, and you still waited to finally wake up from this unreal dream.

„I had no idea... I thought you're just friendly. I thought I'm not your type... You're lying right? You’re trying to tease me? That's not funny Chan!"

You could feel him chuckling deeply and for at least a few seconds, then he pulled you even closer, his hands brushing up your sides, his thumbs pressing into your skin right under your boobs. He pushed you backwards until you were a bit aside, only a few people were standing or sitting in the back area of the dance floor.

The music wasn't that loud here and Chan wanted to make sure you'd hear every word he would say. You were standing in a lightly lit corner, him still holding you tight. You felt his firm stomach pressed against your body and just looked at him stunned.

You were flushed from dancing and just the right amount of tipsy, when you turned to find Chan watching you not with his usual soft gaze, this time it was darker. Intense. Like he was done pretending.

His eyes closed for a second like he was at war with himself. Then he looked down at you, slow, dragging, and everything he'd ever hidden was suddenly there, plain as day.

"You really didn't know?" he asked, voice low, wrecked.

"That every time you hugged me, I had to fight not to touch you like I wanted to?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

"That when you wore that black dress to the company party a year ago, I had to sit with my hands in my lap the entire night?"

He let out a dry, soft laugh.

"I got hard just looking at you. Couldn't even get up without embarrassing myself."

You swallowed hard, heat coiling in your stomach.

„Chan..."

"I've wanted you for so long it's fucking embarrassing," he said, stepping in even closer, chest pressed against yours.

"I'd leave Aftershow-parties early because you were dancing with the backup dancers and I couldn't take it. I'd lie awake thinking about your body, your laugh, the way you look when you're mad at me."

Your hand pressed against his chest instinctively, either to steady yourself or make sure he wouldn't vanish.

"I used to jerk off in the shower after hugging you, every time after you did my makeup, standing so close in your small tops and shorts," he said, voice barely above a whisper now, eyes locked on your mouth.

He pushed you further back, until your back hit the wall and you were completely at his mercy.

"And then show up the next day at the concert pretending nothing happened."

You felt the breath leave your lungs in one slow exhale, your thighs clenching together as heat rushed down your spine.

"Fuck, Chan..."

"I wasn't acting tonight," he added, his fingers brushing the side of your ribs, up until his thumb brushed over your nipple.

"Not for a second. I wasn't trying to make anyone jealous. I just... finally let myself touch you the way I wanted."

Everything rushed back to you in flashes, his hands on your body while hugging you, the looks he gave you, when you talked about your dates with random guys, the low murmur in your ear, his fingers under your dress earlier at the table.

Every smirk. Every stare. Every time he'd pulled away like it was taking every ounce of willpower. His small comments you never took seriously when you wore your new outfits at work. His friendly teasing when he'd say things like "You're lucky I have self-control" when you showed up in a tight dress you wore only for him, or "You keep looking at me like that and I might forget we're just friends." You laughed it off, not realizing how close he was to meaning every word.

You thought he was just a flirt. Just smooth.

But he'd been losing his mind over you this whole time.

"You hid it so well," you whispered.

He smirked, stepping even closer.

„No, doll. You just weren't paying attention."

As his hands touched your boobs, desperately like he wanted this to happen for a long time, you leaned your head against the wall, looking up at him pleading.

„I can't believe it... It's just that I had a crush on you for years now. And you never gave me anything. It felt like you weren't even aware I'm right there!"

He sighed, looked at the ground for a moment, before his hand wandered to your cheek, caressing your jaw, until he touched your lips softly.

"All those times I pulled away? It wasn't because I didn't feel it. It was because I felt too much."

You swallowed, breath catching.

"I'd touch you, and my whole body would react. I couldn't hug you too long without having to hide how much I wanted you. When you dabbed my sweat away in the middle of shooting M/Vs or when you just sat next to me during movie nights at the dorm..."

His voice was deeper now, rough.

"You'd wear those damn skirts and look at me like I was your boss, talk to me like I was your best friend sometimes, and I'd have to act like I wasn't going crazy."

You blinked at him, overwhelmed by the honesty dripping from every word.

"I tried to be respectful. I tried to be good. But God, every time you laughed, or leaned against me, or whispered something in my ear... I wanted you, thought about bending you over the next surface and finally fucking you like you deserve it…“

He stepped so close you could feel the heat of his body. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, the other other one grabbed your hip again.

"I still want you. So much it fucking hurts."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep the walls up.

Your breath hitched.

"I know it's a lot," he added quickly. "I just couldn't watch her tear you down. Not when she doesn't even see you. Not when she has no idea what it means to be loved the way you should be."

Silence bloomed between you, loud and sacred.

„I have dreamed of this for so long... I thought it could never happen. I thought I was imagining things."

"That's my fault," he whispered, forehead resting against yours. "I thought I was protecting you. Protecting us. But I just ended up hurting both of us instead."

You closed your eyes, your heart thudding violently in your chest. Every part of you wanted to believe him. Every part of you wanted to just fall.

„If you don't believe me yet..."

His voice got clearer again, and when you opened your eyes again he shielded you completely from the world. He grabbed your hand and pushed it suddenly against the bulge in his pants. Your eyes widened as you felt how big it felt under your fingertips.

„That's what you're doing to me. This whole evening, all the time..."

He watched you closely, his breath against your lips as you felt his rock hard dick even through his pants.

"Let me make it up to you," he growled, his voice a low rasp against your lips.

„Let me show you what I've been holding back."

You breath stuttered and this time he didn't pull away. His lips crashed on yours but you were already pulling him down into you.

Your mouths crashed together like tension snapping. Desperate. Starved. His hands buried in your hair, yours gripping the collar of his shirt as your bodies pressed and ground against each other like you were trying to crawl inside his skin.

It was hot. Too hot.

You tore away first, gasping.

"I, I need air."

Chan didn't say anything, just grabbed your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and pulled you toward the exit.

You had to pass the booth where Madison sat, and of course, she clocked you immediately.

"Wait a second!" she called out, standing halfway. "Please, just sit with us for a little bit. I want to sort things out. Really."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden plea.

But before you could even think of answering, Chan stepped in front of you, solid, steady, like a wall. Protective in a way that made you want to rip his clothes off right now.

He looked at Madison the way someone looks at a child who doesn't know the damage they're doing. A little pity. A little disbelief. And zero tolerance.

"There's nothing to sort out, Madison," he said calmly, though there was a razor-sharp edge beneath his voice.

„She wasted enough time, trying to be the better person and giving you another chance..."

Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but the way Chan's arm slid around your waist and pulled you in close made her freeze. He wasn't subtle. He didn't want to be.

"I'll take her somewhere, were her talents, her hard work and her amazing personality is appreciated," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers.

Madison flushed, jaw tight.

But Chan didn't flinch. Didn't soften.

He leaned in closer to you, hand at the small of your back.

"Come on, baby. Let's go."

You let him lead you past her, heart pounding at the pet name, the heat of his body, the absolute certainty in the way he chose you without hesitation.

And as you walked away, you didn't even need to look back.

Because for the first time, you knew you were the one being fought for.

Outside, the night air hit your skin like a shock, but Chan's warmth was already wrapping around you again.

The night was sharp and cool, the wind biting at your flushed skin. You stumbled into the alleyway beside the club, laughing breathlessly. He steadied you with both hands on your hips.

"You okay?" he asked, a little too soft, a little too close again for you to keep your sanity.

You nodded.

"Tipsy. But fine."

He arched a brow. "Still think I was acting?"

He slipped out of his Jacket and put it over you shoulders, engaging you with his scent.

You shot him a half-lidded look, lips curling. "You're still flirting."

"That's not flirting." He grinned like the devil and stepped into you, pushing you gently back against the brick wall. His hand slid up under the jacket, fingers dragging up your bare thigh.

"This is me losing control."

You were drunk, yes. But you felt everything.

His mouth brushed your jaw, kissing down to your neck with infuriating slowness. You tilted your head back, sighing as his teeth grazed your skin.

"You're dangerous," you breathed.

"Yeah," he whispered. "But only for you."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. "What are we doing, Chan?"

He looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

"Getting a cab. And then..." His smirk returned, but it was darker this time, tinged with heat. "Taking you home."

You felt beautiful.

You felt wanted.

And you kissed him.

Right there, under the streetlights in a dark alley, in the middle of the night, while every inch of you screamed that this moment was real. You kissed him because you'd wanted to for so long. Because no one had ever looked at you the way he was now. Because you needed him to know that even if you didn't feel like enough tonight, you still wanted to be his.

And when you pulled back, he smiled like he already knew.

"Come on," he said. "My place. Now."

He couldn't wait a second longer. He couldn't think of anything else than ripping that damn dress off.

You just nodded.

And when he kissed you this time, finally, fully, like he'd been starving for it, it was everything but gentle.

You tiptoed barefoot behind Chan through the dim hallway, your heels in your hands, the quiet creak of the floorboards under your weight sounding way too loud in the silence of the late hour. You already visited the dorm of the boys but you were mostly at Minhos, Felix, I.N and Seungmins dorm for movie nights.

"Shhh," Chan whispered, shooting you a wicked little grin over his shoulder as he guided you through the apartment like a thief.

„They're all asleep. Hopefully."

Hyunjin, Changbin and Han would be definitely at home since they had some days off after the last concerts. It would be way too complicated to explain what was going on with you and Chan at the moment.

You passed the living room, and there, half-sprawled on the couch under a blanket, you spotted Han, clearly tangled up with someone.

You pressed your hand against your mouth while staring at them.

His hand was buried in someone's hair, soft moans slipping past his lips while there was a fierce makeout-session going on. Netflix already asked if they're still watching but that wasn't the case obviously. There were clothes laying everywhere around, hard breathing and kissing sounds echoed in the dark room.

You blinked, stunned and suddenly Chan grabbed your hand before you could look closer.

"Don't stare. Trust me, you don't wanna know," he muttered under his breath, lips quirking.

You didn't even get the chance to wonder who the hell Han was pressed up against before Chan yanked you forward and slipped the both of you into his bedroom. He shut the door with a soft click, locking it.

Silence. A soft, red glow from the LED-lights in Chans room. It smelled like cedar and clean linen and him.

Then a breath. Then him, suddenly everywhere.

He shoved you back against the door before you could take another step, his body pinning you with an urgency that set your skin on fire.

"You almost ruined me," he growled lowly, his hand wrapping around your throat just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken. "All those nights thinking about you, all those moments I had to bite my tongue instead of dragging you into a corner and making you mine."

His lips crashed onto yours, and this kiss wasn't sweet as before, it was messy, possessive, pure need. His other hand was already hiking your dress up, fingers bruising into your thigh as he lifted your leg around his waist.

"You know how hard it was?" he rasped against your lips. "You'd touch my face, my body while working on those stage-outfits and I'd have to hold back, pretend I didn't want to fuck you against the nearest wall. Pretend I wasn't hard the entire time."

"Chan—"

"No. Tonight, you listen and won't doubt a second how much you're wanted."

His eyes burned into yours, hand slipping into your hair and tugging your head back just enough for his lips to drag down your neck.

"I'm not holding back anymore."

He dragged you to the bed, pushed you down gently, but the glint in his eyes was anything but soft. The dark edge in his gaze made your pulse spike as he crawled over you, slow and controlled like a predator savoring his prey.

Chan grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, while the other traced down the side of your face, your throat, your chest, until you were writhing beneath him.

"I'm gonna wreck you, baby," he whispered against your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. "So no one else ever gets to look at you and wonder what you taste like. What you sound like."

Your breath caught, your thighs pressed together, the heat between them unbearable now. His fingers slid between them without warning, two, confident and slow, teasing, curling just enough to make you gasp and arch.

"And you'll take it, won't you?" he growled, lips bruising against your neck as he moved faster, darker.

"You'll let me ruin you."

And god, you wanted to let him.

Your moan broke open in the dark, echoing in his room like a confession.

„You're that wet for me? And I didn't even know all evening."

He growled, pushing his fingers deep into you before he pushed them into his mouth, tasting you, looking at you from above. You couldn't move with your hands pinned against the mattress.

„You taste even better than I imagined, doll."

You looked him straight into the eyes, your breath going slowly.

„I have touched myself too, you know", you breathed, while he opened your legs with his knee. Watching how your dress slid up, exposing your ass, your soft thighs and the black lace panties which were soaked already.

„Tell me", he demanded, enjoying the desperate whimpering, as he pushed his knee right onto your core.

Then he let go of you, unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. You straightened up, eyes wandering all over his abs. Which you adored every time he changed during concerts, when you brought him his clothes.

„When you were changing at concerts or running around half naked in the backstage, pretending you didn't notice the looks you got from all the female staff-members... Or the one time I told you about the terrible date I had..."

He raised his eyebrows.

„The stupid background dancer? I was so jealous back then..."

You nodded, kneeling next to Chan, touching his shoulders, letting your fingers slide over his chest, his abs, down to the hem of his pants.

„The date went terribly wrong because I moaned your name while making out..."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your hips, lifting you up on his lap like a toy.

„That's why he couldn't look me in the eye since...", he laughed, pushing the straps of your dress of your shoulders, kissing your chest while kneading your ass in his hands.

Your little pants were like rewards for him.

„I also touched myself at night, after movie-nights at the dorm. We all we're squeezed together on that small couch, you accidentally touched my tits, my thighs, my back while watching the movie... I was so horny that night."

Softly he brushed your hair out of your forehead.

„I had no idea... I would have let you sleep at my bed and took care of you. But didn't you sleep in Minhos bed that night?"

You cheeks immediately turned red, your ears glowing, while that damn knowing smile of Chan almost made you shy.

„I touched myself when he was asleep next to me... I'm still embarrassed."

But Chan grabbed your chin and pushed his middle against your core to prove his point.

„That's so fucking hot."

He watched your body, and his eyes were shimmering with arousal.

„Strip for me, babygirl and tell me everything I missed during all this time."

He leaned back, as soon as you climbed off his lap and it was crazy to finally tell him all your dirty secrets.

Sensual you started to slip out of your dress, while he watched every move, unbuttoning his pants.

„I'd would always watch you rehearse from the back of the studio or through a cracked door, pretending to be just passing by. But the way you moved, confident and raw, sweat dripping down your neck and your shirt clung to your body... You had no idea, did you? Every time I watched you dance, I could barely breathe."

Your voice was soft and he just shook his head, his eyes wandering all over you body, as you stripped your dress off.

"After concerts you'd sit so close to me, shirt soaked, still catching your breath... and I'd just nod along, pretending I wasn't dying to touch you."

Your lace underwear was hugging your body smoothly. Making him sigh: „so fucking sexy"

Under his breath, while you were taking your bra off, throwing it at the floor.

He reached out, wanted to touch your tits, but you just smiled, fought of his hands and let him struggle for a bit more.

He imagined them in his hands for so long, squeezing and touching them until you'd beg him to fuck you.

But you weren't done.

„You remember those 2 a.m. calls right after those first big events I worked at? Your voice were enough to drive me crazy."

Where his voice was low, gravelly, intimate. You'd talk about anything and everything.

And you'd lie on your bed, completely turned on, fantasizing about him saying those same things with his hands on you.

"You'd talk to me like I was special. Whisper things. And I'd be there... hand between my legs, biting your name into my pillow", you added and he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed your waist, ripped your panties off of you, and watched your body as you were standing between his legs.

„That time at the airport, you put your arm around me to guide me through the crowd, the chaos there. You always touched me like you owned me, and I hated how much I wanted it to be real", you breathed and whimpered suddenly as he spread your legs with his.

His hands grabbed your hips until your cunt hovered in front of his face.

„I told you I'll make all that up to you. I'll make you moan my name every day", he muttered and you sinked your nails into his neck, when he suddenly sucked on your glistening pussy, holding you up straight while licking through your folds, making your legs already shake. But when his tongue entered you, you couldn't stop whimpering like a kitten.

You could feel his smile against your core, his nose bumping against your clit while he was eating you out.

„Channie please please..."

You couldn't stop bubbling when he finally looked up at you.

„Say it! Come on babygirl."

He licked your juices off of his lips, his hands wrapped around your thighs.

„Fuck me, Chan. Please fuck me."

And that was it.

He grabbed your arms, pushed them on your back and forced you onto the mattress in seconds.

A startled gasp tearing from your throat while your face was pressed into his sheets.

"Did you think I brought you here to play nice?" he snarled into your ear, voice low, rough, a sound that made your knees weaken.

His body caged you in, one hand around your throat, just enough pressure to make you moan, while the other slid up your thigh, dragging your legs apart. Your ass in the air, so he could use you like he imagined it so many times.

You could hear how he got rid of his pants and underwear and then he grabbed your face, pulled you to his chest and you could already feel the size of his dick against your ass.

You barely managed a whisper his name before his mouth was on yours, not kissing, devouring. Tongue demanding entrance, teeth nipping hard at your bottom lip until you tasted blood and moaned against him.

"Been dreaming about ruining you," he muttered, hand sliding between your legs, forcing you on all fours. "Making you cry on my cock. You have no idea the fucking self-control I've had to keep."

His fingers slipped into you, slow at first, but deep, like he wanted to make you feel the weight of every second he'd waited. He growled when he felt how wet you got already with every move he made.

"Fuck. You're dripping for me."

You tried to reach for him, desperate, but he caught your wrists and pushed them on your back, pushing your chest against the mattress, hands trapped  painfully in one of his. The other hand stretched you even more when he added another finger.

You gasped as his palm landed hard on your ass, the sound echoing in the dark room, your body jerking forward against the headboard.

"Count," he growled. "If you lose track, I start over."

"One," you gasped.

Another slap, sharper.

"Two."

"Good girl. You look so fucking good like this," he hissed, voice dark with hunger. He watched the red mark on your soft skin he left. "All mine. I want to mark you up so bad they'll see it tomorrow. The members won't even need to ask."

He was harder than you'd ever seen anyone, panting against your neck as he grinded himself into your bare ass, not even inside you yet, and already cursing under his breath like he was going to lose it.

"You feel that?" he rasped, letting you grind back against his cock. "This is what you do to me. Every time you walked in wearing those little skirts, every time you hugged me and pressed that perfect body against me, I had to go jerk off in the fucking shower just to breathe before I could go on stage."

You whimpered, needy and wrecked and still untouched.

"Please," you whispered, voice shaking. "I want you."

"Oh, baby," he said, pulling his belt free from his pants a slow, lethal hiss of leather. "You're gonna feel how much I want you."

After just a blink of an eye he tied your hands up on your back.

„I want you to cry my name. So every time you'll call my name from now on, I'll think of you, tied up, with my cock pounding into your perfect little cunt."

And with that you felt his tip at your entrance. It was too big, you already knew that. When he pushed himself into you, starting to fuck you so good, you were already seeing stars, you couldn't stop moaning his name like a mantra.

Chan groaned deep in his chest, hips slamming forward as he buried himself fully. His hands gripped your hips hard, pulling you back onto him with every thrust like he couldn't get deep enough, close enough. Like he was trying to carve himself into you.

"Fuck—" he growled, voice shaking. "You feel like heaven. You were made for me, weren't you?"

You could barely answer, your words melted into gasps and broken sounds as he set a relentless pace, every snap of his hips pushing you closer to that edge. You were completely exposed to him. Hands tied, body trembling, senses overloaded. But never once did you feel unsafe, because every brutal thrust was laced with something else. Something raw. Desperate.

Need.

"God, you have no idea what you've done to me," he rasped into your ear, body flush against your back now, chest slick with sweat. "Every time you smiled at me, every time you greeted me in the morning, I had to bite my fucking tongue just to not show you how bad I wanted you."

You whimpered, unable to form a response when he suddenly reached around, fingers finding your clit and circling it with ruthless precision.

"You think this is just about fucking?" he snarled. "No, baby. This is about all the time I waited. All the nights I hated myself for wanting you this much."

You clenched around him, and he hissed. His rhythm stuttered, just once, and then he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing, yanking your wrists free from the belt.

"Look at me."

Your eyes locked. His were wild, pupils blown, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

"I'm not hiding anymore," he said roughly. "You want the truth? I was jealous every damn time another guy made you laugh. I was furious when you thought I wanted Madison. And I've been dreaming of you, of this, for so long it drove me insane."

He grabbed your thighs and drove back into you, deeper now, with his forehead against yours.

"You're mine now. Say it."

"I'm yours," you whispered, breathless, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it all felt, the pleasure, the emotion, the years of silence finally breaking.

„I can’t hear you babygirl.“

„I‘m yours!“, you moaned, eyes rolling back as he grabbed your neck again, while the sound of skin slapping got even louder.

"You're goddamn right," he growled. "And I'm not letting you go. Not after this. Not ever."

He kissed you then, rough at first, then slower, softer, full of all the things he'd never said. His hand laced into your hair, the other gripping your waist as he rocked into you, lips dragging down your neck. Fucking you even deeper into the mattress.

When you came undone under him, trembling, crying out his name with tears running down your cheeks, he was right behind you, moaning against your throat like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And when it was over, and your limbs were tangled with his, your bodies a mess of sweat and bruises and silk sheets, he kissed your temple and whispered:

"You're not imagining this time. I'm here. I'm yours. And I'm not going anywhere."

The next morning, you stirred awake to the warmth of sunlight and a weight that hadn't left your side all night. With a quiet sigh, you turned your head, Chan's face was the first thing you saw. With a pleasant sigh you just noticed again how much you adored his face, puffy and bare. His curls were framing his head chaotically while his lips were plush and so kissable, slightly parted, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

He must have cleaned you up, since you fell asleep immediately after he hugged you tight and apologised for being that rough all over again.

But you never had better sex in your entire life. You watched the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, your body still wrapped tightly in his arms, like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. When the first sunbeams enlightened the room, you couldn't resist, touching his cheek, his curls and his lips. He didn't look real at all and you couldn't believe the last night happened.

Before you could react, he grabbed your hand with closed eyes and kissed your knuckles.

„You're awake?", you asked smiling and he just groaned sleepy.

„Do you keep going if I say no?"

His morning voice was raspy and let you giggle softly.

He slowly opened his eyes, looked at you with a soft smile and pulled you into his tight embrace.

„How are you feeling?"

You cuddled against him under the sheets, pressing your cheek against his chest.

„Good."

„Just good? I feel like flying."

„Ask me again after I showered", you teased him, and he pinched you softly in the side, what made you squeak.

„But hurry okay? Ich won't let you get far away from me today."

As you stood up and searched for something to wear, he smiled so broadly that the sun didn't even had a chance to compete.

„Sure... Just close your eyes and I'll be back in a second", you answered and slipped into a Shirt from him.

„I hope so... I think I'll need another round to start the day. Your pussy is addicting.“

„You horny menace," you snorted with a teasing grin, throwing a pillow at his head.

Chan caught it effortlessly, eyes trailing down your legs as you made your way toward the door in nothing but the oversized shirt. His shirt. His gaze was dark again, hungry, but playful. "You walking around like that and calling me horny? That's not fair."

You smirked, hand already on the doorknob. "Then close your eyes, Mr. Bang. Or deal with the consequences."

"I will. Later," he murmured under his breath, voice low and thick. "And trust me, there will be consequences."

With heat blooming in your cheeks, and between your thighs, you slipped out of his room, the air in the hallway cooler against your skin.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light left on overnight. Your skin still tingled from the feel of Chan's mouth, his hands, the way he'd claimed you like he'd been waiting for years

The apartment was quiet, only the faint sound of the city outside humming through the windows. You tiptoed down the hallway toward the bathroom when a door creaked open and,

"Shit," you gasped, nearly running into Minhos big and very naked chest.

He was shirtless, his hair a mess, lips slightly swollen, and his eyes wide when he saw you. For a second, neither of you spoke. Your gaze instinctively dropped to the deep scratch marks down his torso, leading all over his back and a very familiar Hoodie in his hands.

Han's hoodie.

Your mouth opened a little.

Minho froze like a deer in headlights, then raised a single brow.

He froze when he saw you. You froze when you saw him. The smell of sex was sticking to you both.

The puzzle pieces clicked, violently.

Minho gave you a long look, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. "You're not really the sneaky type, you know."

Your cheeks flushed, but you lifted your chin. "You either, apparently."

His brows raised, caught. "Touché."

"Han?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

He shrugged a shoulder, smirk still lingering.

"Oh my God!" you blinked, mouth now fully parted. "You were the one on the couch with Han tonight..."

Minho tilted his head, a sly smirk forming on his lips. "I wasn't exactly hiding it, was I?"

Your cheeks flushed as you remembered what you'd seen the night before, Han tangled up in someone's arms. You hadn't realized it was Minho.

"I thought... I didn't know, you are..." you started, but he just waved a hand.

"Don't overthink it." he added with a smirk.

„Most people don't know... Just Changbin at the moment since he can’t knock on doors like a normal person being... I wanted to tell you, but seems like you had secrets yourself..."

Before you could respond, Han's voice came from inside the room. "Minhooo, honey, come back to bed, your abs look too good to be wasted standing out there."

You raised your brows. "Wow."

Minho shrugged and stared at the shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah."

There was a pause. He slipped Hans Hoodie over his head. For Jisung it was oversized but it fit Minho perfectly.

"I mean, you and Jisung? I knew you two were close, but..."

"Not really public knowledge," he said, now fully dressed but barefoot, raking a hand through his hair.

„But I guess you and Chan aren't exactly trying to stay hidden either."

You blinked. "You... know?"

Minho chuckled under his breath. "Sweetheart, you're wearing his shirt. Just his shirt in fact... Those marks on your wrists are very obvious as well. And I just walked out of Han's room when you sneaked out of his. We're kind of in the same boat."

Just now you realised the red marks on your wrists, which were probably caused by the belt, Chan used.

You crossed your arms.

"You're not worried? About... you know, Chan being your leader? I'm just your stylist."

Minho leaned against the doorframe, eyes glinting. "Should I be? You're not just our stylist. You're my best friend and Chan is family. It could be worse, right?"

You shrugged, uncertain.

He took a step closer.

"Look, whatever's going on with Chan... you're not just some random girl. Trust me, I've seen the way he looks at you."

Your heart fluttered.

"He's all bark usually. But you? You make him lose control. That says something."

You bit your lip, glancing away. "It's just... weird. All of it. I've had feelings for him for so long."

"And now he's the one tangled in you," Minho said softly, with a knowing glance. "About time he made a move. His lovesick blabbering wasn't bearable anymore."

Then, his smirk widened again. "Just... try not to be that noisy next time. We do share walls, you know. Or at least let us join…“

You gasped and slapped his arm, scandalized.

He only laughed and went back to Jisungs room without any further comment.

You slipped quietly back into Chan's room after your shower, the soft creak of the door alerting him. He was sitting up now, shirtless, hair messier than before, his bare chest catching a sliver of morning light.

He looked up instantly, eyes narrowing with gentle concern.

"You okay?"

You nodded, closing the door behind you. "Yeah... just ran into Minho in the hallway."

Chan's brow lifted. "Minho?"

You walked over, crawling back into the sheets, the warmth of his body pulling you back in. His hand instinctively settled on your waist like a magnet, grounding you.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Apparently, he spent the night with Han."

There was a pause. Then—

"...What?"

You looked up at him, lips curving. "I know. I thought I was being scandalous sneaking out of your room. Turns out there was a secret relationship in front of us all this time."

Chan blinked, then burst out laughing, chest shaking beneath your cheek. "Han and Minho? Seriously? They spent the night? Like fucking and stuff?"

"I literally walked in on Minho sneaking out with Han's hoodie. There were scratches all over his body..."

"Oh my god," he groaned, dragging a hand through his curls. "That little punk didn't tell me anything. Both of them... I thought Han was seeing a girl secretly."

Chan exhaled deeply, then gave a dry laugh. "That little shit. No wonder they've been acting weird the last few weeks."

You tilted your head. "You really didn't notice?"

"I thought they were just being... clingy. Han's always affectionate towards Minho, and Minho's Minho, he acts like he's annoyed but leans into it anyway."

You looked up at him, mischief playing at the edge of your mouth. "What if he says the same about us?"

Chan tilted his head, eyes darkening. "There's a difference. I want everyone to know."

Your heart stuttered.

He said it so casually, but the possessiveness in his tone sent heat through you.

"I told Minho," you said softly, watching his expression carefully, "That this wasn't just random. That it's... serious to me."

His gaze locked with yours, something deeper flickering behind the dark brown. "Did you?"

You nodded. "I said you weren't just some fling. Because you're not. And I've had feelings for you for way too long to pretend this is casual."

Chan reached for you then, dragging you fully into his lap, hands gripping your thighs. "Say that again."

"What part?"

"The part where I'm not just some fling."

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his jaw. "You're not. You've never been."

His grip tightened. "I swear, I've been going insane wanting you. Knowing you were right there all this time, acting like you didn't see what you were doing to me."

You smiled against his skin. "You didn't make it easy either."

He pulled back, brushing his lips against yours without kissing you. "I didn't want you to feel like that... But now? Now I'll make damn sure no one else gets the chance."

His words were low, heated, edged with that same fire that had pulled you under last night.

You pressed your forehead to his. "You jealous of Minho and Han stealing the scandal spotlight?"

He growled softly. "Jealous that they got to touch each other last night... while you were in my bed screaming for me? Never.“

You shivered.

Chan's lips curled. "Now be a good girl and remind me what you were wearing when you ran into Minho..."

You laughed. "Your shirt."

"Damn right."

⸻

[gay-dorito-dust]

‘I always make everything worse. I always do.’

You were quick to look at Bob the moment those words left his mouth, seeing his downtrodden expression and the smile that barely reached his eyes, or the way his eyes seemed to convey the flurry of emotions and memories he was bringing up when essentially calling himself useless. You hated how a man as sweet, kindhearted, intelligent, caring, loyal and amazing as Bob was treated throughout his entire life; so much pain and struggling to the point he thought that Project Sentry would somehow change all that.

‘No you don’t.’ You replied immediately. ‘You don’t make everything worse, you’ve never have and I don’t like how you’re treating yourself with words others have used against you as if they hold some truth. They don’t.’ You held his hands tightly in yours as you looked him dead in the eye, letting him know that your words were true and spoken from the heart, as you continued. ‘Just because something doesn’t go right doesn’t mean you should blame yourself for it going tits up, we accept the failure and move on without having to put ourselves down for not knowing any better or just failing in general. We’re human, we’re not meant to be perfect.’ You punctuated the last part by kissing the furrow in Bob’s brow, pulling away to watch his facial features relax.

‘But-‘ you were swift with the second kiss that you planted on his nose.

‘No bugs.’ You reprimanded Bob softly. ‘I know that me saying all theses things won’t help get ride of those thoughts and feelings that have been festering for a long, long time for true change begins when you stop withholding notions of yourself made by other people as truth about you, when the only notion you should withhold is your own. Nobody else’s should matter, nor should you live by them either.’ You added as you watched Bob’s expressions carefully, taking in the way his eyes would never leave you, how his jaw unclenched and how his entire posture told you he was listening and listening intently to every word. He wanted to ingrain every last word word you said within his mind for future reference, for when he needed grounding and you weren’t nearby to do so, a memory for him to reply upon to soothe the darkest corners of his mind to cease their poisonous words.

‘What if I end up letting you down? End up hurting you becuase I couldn’t control it?’ Bob let loose the questions he had harboured within his own head now that he had been allowed to join you and the rest of the team on missions after having got a decent grasp upon his powers, having developed a more easier grasp on keeping the Void at bay so that the incident from months prior doesn’t repeat itself. Bob didn’t exactly trust himself to have full control of his powers, especially not if you were to be hurt on a mission together, thus giving Void the golden opportunity to take over and wreak havoc. He didn’t trust himself to not loose the only bit of control he had, not without causing a much bigger problem to unfold in the process of doing so, and so in his mind the second he lets up his grip; everyone was at risk of being grievously hurt.

You smiled softly as you continued to hold his hands as though it was the most important thing for you to do right now, give him something to hold on to, something to squeeze and bring himself out of his own head as you caress his knuckles with your thumbs. ‘I’m not going to hold it against you for not being in complete control of your powers Bob. I’m not going to hold you to any expectation at all because it’s unfair and I don’t want you to think that one little slip up will ever have me doubting you, questioning you if you should have joined us on missions in the first place.’ You kissed his brow again when you saw it begin to furrow once more out of worry. ‘I could never hate you, not even a single bit because all of you is good, too good to be real as if your a dream come true because I get to be able to see you shine that golden glow of yours, my golden guardian. I couldn’t hate you or resent you even if i was forced to.’ You added in barely above a whisper as you rest your head against his, hearing his breath hitch in his throat before relaxing.

Bob had his eyes closed as he allowed your presence to wash over him, to comfort him and bring himself to memories where neither of you could sleep in the Watchtower, and how you developed the tradition of creating random things from the starry skies above and remembering your smile when he told you that the brightest shining star reminded him of you. You had called him sappy but made his heart work that little faster, skip a couple of beats when you told him that he was your entire galaxy in response, rendering him speechless as he looked down to his hands to where he found the little crochet kitten with the wonky tail that he had made for you staring back up at him.

During this time where he was relegated to the Watchtower while you and the rest of the new Avengers went on missions, Bob had picked up a multitude of hobbies and crocheting was one of them. He was good at his as it gave his hands something to do other then fidget and pick at his nail beds as you had shown concern over it, despite knowing his power set first hand; And so he remembered vividly why he had crochet you a kitten with a crocked tail as it was based on the softy of how a kitten had followed you home once, a kitten with a crooked tail. Bob remembered you telling him how much you loved that kitten before it ran away, presumably to pass on without worrying you as you had read about later on, and having made peace but still mourned for the kitten with the crooked tail regardless as an selfless act of love even if it was a brief stint.

‘For no matter how long you’ve known someone or something, even if it’s for a day or a week or even a month, they’re worth mourning when they’re gone no matter what capacity that might be.’ You had told him and it was in that moment that Bob knew he would be inconsolable should anything happen to you, leaving him to mourn for the rest of his life with the loss of his guiding light, his northern star that always pointed the way ahead for him when he was lost and in need of a reminder that within the dark there will always be a light to guide those seeking redemption or a better life. Even now you were still guiding him gently but not in a cautious way but in one where you wanted to treat him as gently as you possibly could, sorting out his hair or even making sure there was no invisible dust on him, you touched him with a gentleness that he could only hope was the same whenever he touched you.

‘Then I hope to make you proud of me instead.’ He said softly.

‘Honey, you already do that by simply breathing, by showing me just how strong you are to still keep being kind despite it all. Bob I’ve never been more proud of anyone than I have of you.’ Was your response and Bob couldn’t help but shed a few tears as a wave of emotions washed over him, though not to crush or drown him, but instead to carry his body and soul to your open arms where he could feel like this forever; all the while as the crocheted kitten with the crooked tail watched over you both from your shelf.

[dior-luxury]

HI

💐 here to confess my love because your twst ficlets are SO FREAKIN GOOD I AM LITERALLY FCKING DYING RN (out of love!)

My humble self has come to beg for yandere lilia bc i am a hopeless lilia simp 🙂‍↕️

If the inspo hits and you are so inclined, please feed the poor starving peon crouched outside your doorstep. They are probably not feral, but they havent eaten in days, and may faint for several hours after consuming a single morsel of food.

But also no pressure! I honestly just also want to pick your brain for this cuz you’re SO GOOD at writing him in character

Lilia Vanrouge As A Yandere

( ✧ ) ────── yandere stories . yandere/angst - f!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] lilia vanrouge

- [𝐩:𝐬] Yandere Behavior . Gaslighting and Isolation . Mind Control/Memory Alteration . Romanticized Toxic Behavior . Power Imbalance . Implied Imprisonment . Dark Fantasy Themes . Ambiguous Consent . Potential Identity Loss

Note: Tried to keep it creepy but still true to Lilia’s charm- y’know, “haha I might’ve kidnapped you but I’m still adorable” energy. Hope it gives you chills and also maybe a little “wait why is this kinda hot tho” moment LMAO 💕 Let me know if you want versions with other characters!! ♡(｡•́‿•̀｡)

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge is ancient, powerful, and deceptively playful — a fae who has watched centuries pass like falling cherry blossoms. But even immortals are not immune to obsession, especially when their hearts — long dormant — are unexpectedly stirred. And when an immortal falls in love, they fall forever.

You were just a human — mortal, fleeting, fragile. But Lilia found you fascinating.

At first, it was innocent. You made him laugh. You were kind in a way that reminded him of simpler, long-forgotten eras. He would appear unexpectedly around you, draped in upside-down smiles and playful banter, his glowing eyes always glinting with something unreadable. You thought it was harmless attention.

You were wrong.

He was watching.

Lilia didn’t need to sleep like you did. So during the deep, quiet hours of the night, he’d wander — to your dorm, your classroom, even your dreams, using faint, ancient magic to peek into the worlds behind your eyes. Every expression you made, every person you smiled at, every fleeting interaction — he catalogued it.

You never noticed the bats near your window at night. You should have.

Things escalated slowly.

Lilia began appearing wherever you were — always just in time to “protect” you. A spilled potion in alchemy? Lilia was there. An overzealous duel from an NRC student? Lilia stepped between, laughing while he disarmed them. He said he was just helping, but there was something sharp in his gaze when others got too close to you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. Then your phone began behaving oddly. Messages unsent. Calls dropped. Friends pulling away after odd, brief conversations.

“Are you lonely, little bat?” he’d ask with mock pity, holding a tray of snacks or a handmade charm. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be here.”

He didn’t look like he was joking anymore.

Lilia’s obsession is sweet — like a poisoned wine.

He still jokes, flutters around, and teases. But now there’s an edge to it. He refers to you as his. He leaves you gifts that seem impossible to procure: relics from the Briar Valley, enchanted music boxes that sing only your name, or petals from flowers that bloom once every thousand years.

When you try to talk to someone about it, strange things happen. People don’t remember your conversations. Even Crowley avoids eye contact when you mention Lilia’s name in a fearful tone.

You begin to suspect he’s altering memories. His magic is old — deep-rooted, almost forgotten by modern mages. You're not sure how much of your life is still your own.

And then you wake up one morning to find an old lullaby playing softly in your room — one you never learned, but find yourself humming anyway.

He’s been whispering it into your mind at night.

Eventually, he tells you.

Not in a romantic flourish, but in the still quiet after a storm, when he’s rescued you (again) from a danger you suspect he may have orchestrated.

“I’ve lived long enough to see empires fall and rise. But nothing has captivated me as much as you,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers cold and gentle. “You don’t understand what that means to someone like me. I’ve chosen you. That doesn’t happen more than once in a few millennia.”

You try to pull away. He only smiles.

“You’ll understand. In time. Humans always break so easily… but love can make you last.”

He kisses your forehead. And you swear you feel a mark burn there, invisible, but real — an ancient fae seal claiming you.

Lilia wouldn’t keep you in chains — not literal ones.

No, he’s too refined for that. Instead, he builds you a world where you don’t want to leave.

A hidden part of NRC’s grounds, warped by old fae magic. Days feel like dreams. You stop remembering time — memories blend, feelings shift. Lilia is always there: doting, smiling, grooming you into someone perfect for eternity.

Your dreams start to end in his voice. Your fears vanish — because you can no longer recall what they were.

Even if you tried to escape, you’re not sure where to go.

Because by now, you aren’t even certain who you were before he loved you.

You age. He does not.

But when your body grows frail, Lilia offers you a choice — sealed with a kiss, bound in blood and starlight.

“Become mine. Truly. Let me preserve you… as I have always longed to.”

You hesitate. Just for a moment.

He smiles.

You no longer dream of the outside world.

You no longer remember why you ever wanted to.

[luvfae]

LOST IN TRANSLATION, PT 2

summary: you were meant to see palaces and eat street food in korea, but instead you got addicted to a local man who fucks you like a sin and holds you like a secret.

parings: thanos x foreigner reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol, weed, smut, choking, creampie, fingering, slight language barrier, romanised korean

< part one | part three >

You're on a tour bus.

A fucking tour bus.

It's hot, crowded, and the guide is cheerfully pointing at some historical palace while your friend is elbow-deep in a convenience store snack haul next to you. You should be into it. This is why you came to Korea, right? Culture. Memories. Adventure.

Instead, all you can think about is his mouth on your throat.

Your thighs are pressed together. Not because you're cold — it's 25 degrees and humid — but because the seat vibrates just enough to remind you what you're missing.

And you are missing it. God, you're missing it.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

One night. A hot, reckless mistake.

You weren't supposed to think about him every time you close your eyes.

But you do.

You think about how he tasted. How his voice dipped when he called you yeppo.

How he fucked you like he was mad at time itself.

How you came so hard your knees gave out after.

Your phone's in your hand before you even realize it.

You open Instagram. Find his DM.

He hasn't messaged you. You haven't messaged him. Not once.

Because you both assumed it was a one-time thing.

You both acted cool the next morning.

But now?

Now you feel like you're going to lose your mind if you don't get your hands on him again.

So you type:

you home? bc i'm not doing this tourist shit anymore, i'm thinking about your hands and it's annoying. fix it

You hit send before you can regret it.

You stare at the screen.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

And then the little typing... bubble pops up.

where are you

You bite your lip.

somewhere in insadong. kill me.

Another pause.

Then:

come here door's open. if you're fast, i'll fuck the attitude out of you.

You're already standing up.

Your friend blinks up at you mid-crunch, a shrimp chip half-hanging from her mouth. "Where are you going?"

You don't even try to play it cool. Your phone's still in your hand, your pulse already spiking. You say it like a confession. Like a sin.

"To get fucked."

She chokes on her chip. "Excuse me?"

You glance out the window, squinting like you might spot a cab just by willpower alone. "I'm serious. I can't do this right now. I don't care about some 14th-century scroll or—whatever. I need him."

Her jaw drops. "Oh my God. You mean the club guy?"

You nod once.

She breaks into a grin so smug you almost turn around and throw her snack bag out the window.

"You little slut," she says, delighted. "This is your first holiday romance."

You whip your head around. "It's not a romance."

She fake gasps. "Right. Sorry. My mistake. Just casual, totally impersonal, post-tourism cultural exchange dick."

You shoot her a glare. "There's nothing romantic about the way he fucked me last time."

She wiggles her eyebrows. "Exactly. That's what makes it romantic."

You groan, dragging a hand through your hair. "I hate you."

"You love me," she sing-songs. "And I love this for you. You really are experiencing all of Korea, huh? Palaces, hanbok selfies, spicy noodles, and now a hot local rearranging your guts."

You flip her off with both hands.

She cackles. "Go get wrecked, bitch. I'll tell the tour guide you got food poisoning."

You're already on your phone again, pulling up the taxi app.

Your legs bounce as you wait for a driver. It can't come fast enough. Every minute feels like a test of your self-control, and right now? You have none.

The second that cab pulls up, you're gone.

You don't even look back.

You've got one destination.

One objective.

And if Su-bong still has his door open?

You're not leaving until your legs stop working.

You're breathless by the time you reach his door.

Not from the stairs. Not really.

From anticipation. From heat crawling up your neck. From the buzz of your phone screen still echoing in your mind.

door's open. if you're fast, i'll fuck the attitude out of you.

You knock anyway.

Three short raps. Not shy, but not cocky either. Like you're daring him to make this real again.

The door swings open almost immediately.

And there he is.

Su-bong.

Leaning one shoulder against the frame, shirtless, wearing a pair of black sweats that hang just low enough to wreck your concentration. Hair messy. A faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone, like he was already pacing before you got here.

His eyes drag over you slowly — from your flushed face to your bare legs — then back up.

And that smirk appears. Lazy. Confident. Fucking lethal.

"You ran here?" he says, voice low and teasing. "So... desperate."

You roll your eyes, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. "I was already nearby. Don't flatter yourself."

He lets you pass — but not without his fingers brushing the small of your back as you do.

"Ahh," he murmurs behind you, shutting the door. "Yes. Okay. No flattering."

A pause.

Then — quieter, smug —

"But you came for me."

You spin on your heel, raising a brow. "Don't act like you didn't like that."

His grin widens. "I like everything. You. The way you look at me. The little skirt. The..." — he gestures vaguely, searching — "face you make when I touch you."

You snort. "You're terrible at compliments."

"I'm amazing at compliments." He corrects, pointing at himself. "My English—ehh..." — he wobbles his hand — "so-so. But my eyes?" He taps his temple, then lowers his voice, "my eyes say... fuck yes."

You laugh despite yourself. "Jesus Christ."

He shrugs. Steps closer. "Not Jesus. Just Su-bong."

You shake your head, biting back a grin. "You're ridiculous."

"Mm. What is... ridiculous?" he repeats slowly, the word heavy in his mouth.

You wave your hand. "You. Your ego. The fact that you think I came here just for your dick."

He raises a brow. "No?"

You hesitate. Then shrug. "...Okay. Yeah. I did."

"Ah-ha." His smile turns devilish. "So honest today. Honesty is sexy."

He's standing right in front of you now. Close, but not touching. His eyes flick to your mouth, then your collarbone, then back up.

"Three days," he murmurs. "No message. I thought you disappear."

You arch a brow. "You didn't message me either."

He nods once. "Because if you want it, you come back." His gaze sharpens. "You are the kind of girl who decides."

You blink. Caught off guard. "That a compliment or a read?"

He shrugs again. "Yes."

That makes you laugh.

He watches you — pleased — then speaks in Korean, smooth and fast, something that sounds like a string of soft consonants and rolled vowels.

You stare at him. "What?"

He chuckles. Repeats it — slower this time.

Still nothing.

You throw your hands up. "I have no idea what you just said."

He leans closer. "Then just say 'ne.'"

"Ne?"

He grins. "Good. Now you agree to everything."

You narrow your eyes. "You're dangerous."

He nods solemnly. "Ne."

The silence stretches for a beat — thick with everything unspoken. Everything you came back for.

You break it first. Quiet, honest. "You thought I wasn't coming back?"

He lifts one shoulder. "Not many people come back. Not for me."

You tilt your head. "Why not?"

He considers. "Maybe I fuck too good."

You snort. "Oh my god."

He laughs, then gestures to the couch. "Sit. Talk. Or do you want me to take your clothes off now?"

You smirk. "That eager?"

He taps his temple again. "Not just a fuck. I like... your voice. Even when I don't know your words."

You sit slowly, eyes still on his, heart racing with something that's not just lust.

And for now?

You let the tension sit between you.

Coiled.

Breathing.

Hungry.

You lean back on the couch, eyes dragging over his bare chest — the way his muscles shift when he moves, the tattoos that disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats, the lazy, dangerous way he watches you like he already knows you're about to break.

You don't try to hide your stare. You let your gaze trail down his torso, slow and obvious, then back up to his face.

He smirks, pleased.

Then — without warning — he leans forward and hooks a finger in the neckline of your crop top, tugging it down in one smooth motion.

Your breath catches.

Your chest bounces free. No bra. No warning. You gasp, eyes wide, heart hammering.

He grins like a wolf.

"No bra?" he laughs. "Crazy girl."

His eyes linger for a moment, greedy but amused, then flick back to your face.

"What?" he shrugs. "You can see me shirtless but I can't see you shirtless?"

You arch a brow, sliding closer — slowly, intentionally — your thighs brushing his.

"Mmm," you hum, tilting your head. "It's not the same."

He narrows his eyes, playing along. "How?"

You lean in, voice dropping just enough to make him tense. "You shirtless is a threat." You drag your nails lightly down his chest. "Me shirtless?" Your fingers dip lower, teasing the waistband of his sweats. "That's a promise."

His lips part — like he wants to say something cocky, something smug — but nothing comes out.

Instead, he just watches as you reach back and tug your shirt off fully, letting it drop behind the couch. The air hits your skin, your nipples already stiff from anticipation, and his eyes go dark.

You straddle one of his thighs now, close enough to feel the heat of him, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

"You know what I was thinking about," you murmur, voice thick, "on that boring-ass tour today?"

He swallows, eyes locked on your mouth. "Tell me."

You graze your nails down his stomach, slow and teasing.

"You. Your hands. Your mouth." Your fingers curl into his waistband. "The way you didn't even let me finish catching my breath last time before you had me coming again."

He exhales hard through his nose.

You press your body closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "I want you to fuck me on this couch. I want your dick inside me so deep I forget my own name. I want you to make me beg in English, in Korean — I don't care. Just... make me say something."

He growls — low, rough — and grips your hips. "Jesus."

"Still not Jesus," you tease against his jaw. "Still just Su-bong."

That makes him laugh — hoarse and wrecked — and before you can say another word, his hand is on the back of your neck, pulling you in.

He kisses you.

Hard.

No warm-up. No hesitation.

His mouth crashes into yours like it's necessary — like he's been starving for the taste of you. Your hands tangle in his hair immediately, your body pressing against his bare chest, and he groans into your mouth, deep and low.

Your thighs tighten around his leg as he shifts, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down your back to your ass, gripping like he can't decide whether to lift you or pin you down.

You bite his bottom lip — just enough to make him gasp — and he retaliates by sucking on your tongue like he owns it. The kiss turns filthy fast, spit-slick and breathless, your hips rolling without even realizing it.

His hands are everywhere. Palming your tits. Thumbs brushing your nipples until they ache. One hand dipping between your thighs to press against your panties, groaning when he feels how soaked you already are.

"Fuck," he mutters, his accent thicker now, voice rough. "Already so wet?"

You moan into his mouth. "Told you I've been thinking about you."

He pulls back just enough to look at you — lips swollen, eyes dark.

Then switches to Korean, something low and sinful that you can't understand.

You blink. "What?"

He smirks. "I said..." He leans in, lips brushing your neck. "You drive me fucking crazy."

You grind against his hand, head falling back. "Good."

And then he's kissing you again — deeper this time, slower. His fingers push aside your panties and slide between your folds, slick and hot, and he groans at the feel of you. One finger, then two — curling just right, just enough to make you gasp and clutch his shoulders.

You rock against him, messy and desperate, moaning into his mouth as his fingers work you open, his thumb circling your clit with maddening control.

"You feel this?" he whispers. "My fingers..." He pumps them deeper. "Soon, my cock. Right here. On this couch."

You're panting now, lips swollen from his, hips rolling shamelessly into his hand. "Su-bong—"

"Say it again." He kisses your throat. "Say my name like that again."

You do.

Between gasps, between kisses, between the moans he pulls out of you with every filthy touch.

His couch creaks beneath you, the air thick with sweat and breath and everything you swore this wasn't supposed to be.

And neither of you gives a damn.

You've soaked through your panties, your chest bare, his fingers inside you and his mouth wrecking your throat in slow, filthy kisses. You can't stop moaning, can't stop moving — your hips rocking against his hand like you're trying to climb out of your own skin.

And then it's too much.

You want more.

Not fingers. Not teasing.

Him.

Your hand slips between you — grabbing the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down hard enough that he grunts.

He lifts his hips, helps you, lets you strip them down just enough to free his cock — thick, flushed, heavy against his stomach.

Your breath stutters.

"Fuck, look at that," you whisper, wrapping your hand around him, giving him a single stroke just to feel the weight of it. "So hard. Did I do that?"

He groans, head tipping back.

"Yes, you," he mutters, accent deepening with every breath. "You're—shibal—you're evil."

You press your forehead to his, grinning, wild. "No, baby. I'm starving."

And then you're lining him up — no hesitation — sinking down onto him in one slow, devastating motion.

"Shit—" you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, I missed this. Missed how full you made me."

He hisses through his teeth, hands gripping your hips like a vice.

"You're insane," he growls. "Three days and you come back like this?"

You roll your hips, slow and filthy. "You think I could do that tour shit knowing this cock exists? You think I gave a fuck about palaces?"

He groans, watching your tits bounce as you start to ride him — hard, fast, no patience. Every sound you make is high and desperate and ruined.

"Crazy girl," he mutters. "So needy. So fucking wet. You want me to break you?"

"Do it," you pant, nails dragging down his chest. "Choke me. Fuck me. Spit in my mouth. I want everything. I want to feel it tomorrow."

His hand flies to your throat in one swift movement — not tight yet, just enough to make you still.

"You're sick," he whispers.

You lick your lips. "So make me worse."

His grip tightens. Your breath stutters.

You fucking love it.

He pulls you in for a kiss — tongue deep, filthy, biting your bottom lip until you whimper — then pulls back just enough to stare at you.

"Say you're mine," he growls.

"I'm yours," you gasp, hips still working.

"Say you're my good girl."

"I'm your good girl—fuck—Su-bong, please—"

"Say it again."

"I'm your good girl. I'm your good little slut, please—"

His eyes darken.

Then he's grabbing your ass, guiding your thrusts, his hips bucking up into you now — fucking up into you so hard you bounce. His hand finds your throat again, tighter now.

"You're perfect," he growls. "So dirty. You were made for this."

"Tell me you'll come inside me," you whine. "Please. Please, Su-bong— I need it, I want to feel it leaking out of me—mark me—please—"

He groans, visibly hesitating. "I shouldn't—"

"Do it. Ruin me. I'll come so fucking hard if you do—please, fill me up like you own me—"

He snaps.

His thrusts go brutal — deep, fast, punishing. He's growling in Korean now, things you can't understand but feel, one hand choking you, the other gripping your thigh so hard it might bruise.

And then he lets go of your throat just long enough to pull you down and kiss you — messy, gasping, all teeth — as he spills inside you.

You moan loud into his mouth, your whole body locking up as you come with him, your pussy milking him so tight he groans again, head falling to your shoulder.

You both go still.

Shaking.

Breathing hard.

Bodies glued together with sweat and cum.

You think it's over.

He definitely does.

He leans back, brushing his thumb over your cheek, his breath finally slowing.

"You're..." he starts. "Fucking dangerous."

You kiss him again — soft this time. Sweet.

And then?

You start moving.

Rocking your hips again, slow and tight, still full of him.

He blinks. "Wait—what are you—?"

You whimper. "Again."

He groans. "Jagiya, I don't—fuck—I don't know if I can—"

You roll your hips harder, clenching around him, kissing his jaw. "You can. You will. I need you again. I want to feel you break me this time. Please, Su-bong—don't stop—"

He exhales like he's in pain.

Then grips your waist again.

"Fuck it," he mutters. "One more."

And he gives you everything.

Again.

—

You didn't leave.

Not right after.

You ended up tangled in Su-bong's sheets, bruised and boneless, your thighs aching, your lips swollen, your body still clenching around the ghost of him. You fell asleep with his hand on your hip and woke up that same afternoon to the lazy weight of his arm still draped over you like he hadn't meant to fall asleep there either — but didn't regret it.

Now?

You're walking next to him in a back alley that smells like meat and oil, the sun too bright, your body still buzzing. You're wearing one of his shirts — oversized, sleeves rolled — and he's in a black tee, slouched into it like he owns the whole city and you're just tagging along.

Which, to be fair, you are.

He's leading you somewhere.

You don't ask where.

It's not a date — no one said the word — but you're both acting like it is.

Eventually he stops at a street cart wedged between two storefronts, the kind with plastic stools and an auntie already stirring sauce in a bubbling pot. He talks to her in quick Korean, hands moving with it, and you catch none of it.

She hands him two steaming paper bowls of tteokbokki. He passes you one. "Eat. Don't cry."

You eye it. "You think I can't handle spice?"

He smirks. "Most tourists die."

You take a bite. Immediately regret everything.

"Jesus—" you wheeze, coughing as your eyes water.

He laughs. Hard. "Ya! I told you! Ganjang yes, gochu-noona no!"

You glare. "What does that even mean?"

He grins. "Don't worry. Language lesson starts now."

You fan your mouth, tears threatening to spill. "What, so you can mock my pronunciation like a dickhead?"

He just smirks harder. "Say thank you. For food. For me. Ready?"

You groan. "If I survive this."

He taps the table, slow and deliberate. "Gam. Sa. Ham. Ni. Da."

You blink. "Gahm... sa... ham... knee... dah?"

He winces. "Oof. That was murder."

You narrow your eyes. "Say that again."

He leans closer, smug as hell. "Gamsahamnida."

Slower now: "Gam. Sa. Ham. Ni. Da."

You try again, biting the syllables out like you're chewing them. "Gamsa... hamnida?"

He nods, pleased. "Not bad. Cute."

You tilt your head. "That a real compliment, or more of your bullshit?"

He shrugs. "Little bit of both."

Then he mutters under his breath, "Jinjja, neomu gwiyopda..."

You squint. "What does that mean?"

He smirks. "Maybe nice. Maybe dirty. Maybe insult. You'll never know."

You gasp. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know Korean," he teases. "I could say anything."

You lean in closer, voice low. "You keep teasing me like that and I'll drag you into that alley and prove I'm not too tired to ride you again."

He freezes. Blinks at you.

Then groans, dragging a hand over his face like he's praying for strength. "Shibal... don't say things like that in public."

You grin. "Why? Gonna get hard in front of the tteokbokki lady?"

He huffs a laugh and tosses a piece of rice cake at your bowl.

You catch it with your chopsticks. Smug. Victorious.

The breeze picks up, and your thigh brushes his under the tiny table. His eyes flick to the contact but he doesn't move away.

He leans back, staring at you like he's trying to figure you out — and failing.

"You're different," he mutters. "Not just sexy. Something else."

You tilt your head. "Something good?"

He pauses, then nods once. "Yeah. Gamsahamnida."

You laugh. "For what?"

He doesn't answer.

Just looks at you.

And eats like he didn't just say something kind of fucking real.

You stare at him for a second longer than you should.

Not because he looks good — though he does, with sauce on his thumb and sweat curling at his temples and that silver chain glinting at his collarbone.

But because that line — that "something else" — hit you harder than expected.

You're still chewing it over when he speaks again. Casual. Low. Like he's talking about the weather. "Stay over tonight?"

Your chopsticks pause halfway to your mouth. "My friend—"

"Gets to see you every day." He doesn't even look up as he says it. Just picks up another piece of rice cake and pops it in his mouth. "Me?" He shrugs. "Only three more days."

He says it like it's the obvious choice.

Like staying over is the only thing that makes sense.

Like it's already been decided.

You swallow. Hard. That number echoing in your chest.

Three.

And somehow, it already feels like not enough.

You don't answer Su-bong right away.

Instead, you pull out your phone and call your friend — the one who's been more than patient, the one who covered for you, teased you, practically pushed you off the tour bus.

She answers on the second ring, breathless and probably mid-shopping spree. "You're alive."

You roll your eyes, even though you're smiling. "Barely."

You glance at Su-bong, who's sipping from a water bottle now like he didn't just emotionally blackmail you into staying over. You lower your voice.

"Hey, uh. So... he asked me to stay the night."

"Obviously."

"Are you mad?" You hesitate. "You sure you're okay with that? I don't wanna ditch you—"

"Babe," she cuts in. "You're being dicked down by the hottest man in Seoul. Live your dream. Just don't forget I exist."

You exhale. Relief and something warmer curling in your stomach. "You're really not mad?"

"Mad? I'm living for this. But." Her voice sharpens — mock-serious. "One condition."

You wince. "I knew that was coming."

"He has to take us somewhere tonight. Somewhere local. No tourist traps. I want the real Korean experience. Party style."

You glance at Su-bong again.

He raises a brow.

You cover the mic. "My friend says if I stay over, you have to take us somewhere tonight. A real Korean party. Not tourist shit."

He grins immediately. "Easy." Pulls out his phone like it's already handled. "I know place."

You mouth, "Where?"

He's already scrolling through his contacts. "Nam-gyu's house. My friend." Beat. "He throws parties. Loud ones."

You raise a brow. "Like, music and drinks or...?"

"Yes. Food, games, music. Se-mi, Gyeong-su, Min-su will be there." He looks up from his phone. "You'll see. It's not club. It's... better."

You pull the phone back to your ear. "He's calling one of his friends now. House party. Locals only. You in?"

There's a beat of silence, then your friend practically shrieks, "fuck yes I'm in."

You grin.

Su-bong's already got the phone to his ear, speaking rapid Korean — casual, animated, confident. You can't understand a word, but the tone is easy. Familiar.

He glances over at you mid-call, expression warm.

And you realize...

He's not just including you.

He's folding you into his life, piece by piece.

And you don't know what that means yet.

But for tonight?

It means one thing.

You're staying.

—

The apartment is already alive when you arrive.

It's tucked on the top floor of an older building near Hapjeong, the hallway narrow, the stairwell painted in peeling beige. But the second Nam-gyu's door swings open, it's like stepping into another world.

Warm lights. Music pulsing low from someone's Bluetooth speaker. The smell of fried chicken and alcohol already thick in the air. Shoes scattered at the entrance. A couch that's clearly seen too many bodies. Someone's jacket draped over a plant. A stack of soju bottles on the table like decoration.

The second you and your friend step in behind Su-bong, heads turn.

Everyone's already buzzing — loose-limbed, flushed cheeks, laughter bleeding from every corner. The music dips just low enough for voices to cut through.

"Yaaaa, Su-bong-ah!" a voice calls from the kitchen.

A guy with a snapback and an unbuttoned shirt jogs over — tall, lean, grin already in place.

"This him?" your friend whispers.

You nod. "Nam-gyu i'm assuming."

He greets Su-bong with a one-armed hug and claps him hard on the back before turning to you and your friend.

"You must be the foreigners," Nam-gyu says with a thick accent, grinning wide. "Welcome to my house-slash-party-slash-chaos."

You laugh. "That's exactly what we were promised."

He bows slightly. "Nam-gyu. I speak English, good... well, good enough to get you drunk, bad enough to never say sorry."

"That's perfect," your friend chirps. "That's all we need."

Nam-gyu waves someone over. "Come, come — meet everyone."

From the kitchen, another guy appears with messy dark hair, dressed in a striped tee and cargo pants. He looks about five seconds out of military service and ten seconds into a buzz.

"Gyeong-su," Nam-gyu says, pointing.

"Hello," Gyeong-su says with a polite bow. "Nice... meet... you."

He looks like he used all his English in one go and immediately retreats with a red-faced smile.

Then a girl with black hair and perfect winged eyeliner steps out of the hallway, holding two soju bottles between her fingers like claws.

"Se-mi," she says before Nam-gyu can introduce her. "And yes, I speak English."

"Fluently?" your friend asks.

"Fluently enough to flirt with your friend," Se-mi smirks, eyeing you playfully before winking at Su-bong. "But I won't. Su-bong is scary."

Su-bong snorts. "You're scared of me but not Nam-gyu?"

Se-mi shrugs. "Nam-gyu buys me food."

Last to appear is a guy with a loose sweatshirt that reads "K-Drama Ruined My Life." He holds a bag of chips in one hand and a soju shot glass in the other.

"I'm Min-su," he grins.

You end up cross-legged on the floor with the others, a full circle formed around a pile of drinks. Your friend is already chatting animatedly with Se-mi and Min-su, while Su-bong sits beside you, thigh pressed to yours.

Nam-gyu claps his hands once. "Okay. First game — easy. Baskin Robbins sam-sib-il!"

You blink. "Isn't that an ice cream brand?"

"Also a game," Nam-gyu grins. "Here's how it works: You take turns counting from 1 to 31. On your turn, you can say one, two, or three numbers — but only up to 31. The person who lands on 31 has to take a shot."

"It's evil," Se-mi adds, pouring the soju. "There's strategy. Betrayal. Drama."

"And shots," Gyeong-su says solemnly.

You catch Su-bong's eye and smirk. "I'm screwed."

He shrugs. "Maybe. But cute when drunk."

The game starts.

"One," Se-mi begins, smirking.

"Two, three," your friend says confidently.

"Four," Min-su grins.

And around it goes.

The numbers fly fast. Everyone starts laughing when Nam-gyu and Su-bong try to sabotage each other by jumping numbers. Gyeong-su has no idea what's going on but yells numbers proudly anyway.

When the count hits the twenties, tension spikes. Every number feels like a death sentence.

You land on 27.

You hold up one finger. "Twenty-eight."

Su-bong next to you smirks. "Twenty-nine... thirty."

"Shibal..." Nam-gyu blinks. "Thirty-one!" Everyone bursts out laughing as Nam-gyu throws his head back with a groan and downs the shot. "You did this to me," he glares at Su-bong.

"You deserve it," Su-bong mutters back.

Nam-gyu wipes his mouth and turns to you.

Leans just a little too close.

His grin goes playful. "So. Foreigner. You got a name or should I just call you yeppeun geunyeo?"

You blink.

Su-bong doesn't.

His hand on your thigh tightens. His jaw flexes.

"Ya," he snaps. "Geumanhae."

Nam-gyu lifts his brows innocently. "Mwo? Joke-joke. She's hot."

That's when Su-bong really lets go — in Korean first, voice low and rough. "Ya, jinjja—geuman. Ije jeongmal—aniya. Nae yeoja, molla? Apeseo—geunyeo nae—"

He cuts himself off. Then glances at you.

And switches to English. "My foreigner. My girl."

The group goes quiet for a second — half amused, half unsure if a fight's about to happen.

But you?

You laugh.

Full, delighted, tipsy.

You look at him, still smiling, your hand finding his thigh now under the table.

"That's hot," you murmur, leaning into him. "You being all angry and growling in Korean. Getting possessive. It's so fucking hot."

Su-bong blinks, caught off guard.

Then his mouth curves. That slow, dangerous smirk. "You like that?"

"Uh-huh." You lean in closer. "Next time you wanna yell at someone for flirting with me, whisper it in my ear instead."

His eyes flash.

He says something under his breath in Korean again — quick and sharp — you don't ask what it means.

You don't need to.

Because the way he grabs the soju bottle and pours your glass again, hand brushing your thigh like it's second nature?

You already know.

Half an hour later, the party's deeper.

The music's louder. The soju's hitting harder. Your friend is dancing barefoot in the living room with Se-mi and Min-su, laughing so hard she almost knocks over a lamp. Gyeong-su is passed out against the wall, a peace sign still up in one limp hand. Nam-gyu is pretending he isn't watching the chaos unfold with pride.

And Su-bong?

He's been watching you for twenty straight minutes.

Not in a creepy way. Not even overtly.

Just... watching.

You've been sitting on the couch, sipping on a beer someone handed you, laughing too loud and tugging at the hem of his shirt — the one you're still wearing, oversized and falling off one shoulder.

And maybe it's the lighting. Or the weed. Or the way your lips are curved just slightly, like you're always about to say something filthy.

But whatever it is, he snaps.

"Yah," he mutters, tapping your thigh. "Come here."

You blink. "What?"

He doesn't repeat himself. Just grabs your hand, and the next second, you're straddling him on the couch, his hands firm on your waist like he was always going to put you here eventually.

Your knees sink into the cushions on either side of his thighs, your beer forgotten on the floor.

He leans back, one hand sliding around to your lower back. His other hand? Fishing something out of his pocket.

You raise a brow when you see it — a slim pre-roll and a cheap lighter. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Nam-gyu's stash. Said to share it."

You smirk. "And you're just such a generous guy."

"I am," he mutters, lighting it. "Very giving."

The smoke curls between you in the dim light.

He takes the first drag. Holds it. Exhales slow.

Then presses it to your lips, watching as you inhale, slow and cautious.

The burn slides down your throat — smooth, warm. He watches you like he wants to record the way your mouth curves around the joint, the way your eyes soften when the high settles.

"Feel it?" he asks, voice rough.

"Mmhm," you hum. "Feels nice."

He nods. Then—

"Why'd you come to Korea?"

You blink.

It's not flirtatious. Not shallow.

Just—genuine.

You lean back slightly, fingertips resting on his chest. "I don't know. Needed a break. Wanted something... not mine for a while."

He studies you. "Not yours?"

You shrug. "Home feels... small. Heavy. You ever get that?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then takes another hit, passes it to you again. "Every day."

You hold his gaze as you inhale. Exhale. Pass it back.

"You ever been in love?" he asks.

The question hits harder than the smoke.

You let out a soft laugh. "You're really asking that right now?"

He shrugs. "Just wondering."

You glance down at his chest, at the silver chain resting against his shirt.

"Once. A long time ago." You pause. "You?"

He tilts his head. Considers.

Then shakes it once, eyes still locked on yours. "Nah. Not yet."

Not yet.

You wonder what the hell that means, but you don't ask. You're too high. Too warm. Too tangled up in the way he's looking at you like he's trying to figure out your edges — like he's searching for something under the skin.

"You think about it?" he asks after a beat.

You blink. "Home?"

He nods.

You take the joint again. Inhale slow.

Then—

"Every minute." You meet his eyes. "And somehow... not at all."

He doesn't say anything right away. Just slides his hand up your back, fingers curling around the nape of your neck like he needs to anchor himself to something.

"You're not what I expected," he says finally.

You raise a brow. "What did you expect?"

"One night," he says honestly. "Tourist. Tipsy. Quick fuck. Forget your name in the morning."

You nod slowly. "That's fair."

He leans forward. Kisses you. Soft. Slow. Tongue barely brushing yours, lips warm and patient. The kind of kiss that says I want to remember this.

When he pulls back, his voice is a whisper against your mouth. "But you keep staying."

You press your forehead to his. "Maybe I'm not done yet."

The words hang between you like smoke.

Your hands resting against his chest, the smell of soju and weed in the air, the music still thumping faintly from the other room. You can hear your friend laughing with Se-mi again, someone shaking a bag of chips way too aggressively.

But here, on this couch, in his lap, everything else fades.

And then Su-bong says it.

Soft. Certain. Like it's obvious. Like it's easy.

"Extend your stay."

You pause.

Just for a second. Just long enough to feel it land somewhere deep in your chest.

You run your fingers absently along the edge of his shirt, biting the inside of your cheek before answering.

"I can't."

He doesn't speak, just watches you.

So you explain, voice low and honest.

"I've been traveling for two months. Around Asia. Korea's the last stop before I go back to real life."

A small smile, a shrug. "All my money's already gone. My job's waiting. I don't have the luxury of... disappearing here. Even if I wanted to."

He doesn't like that.

You see it on his face — in the way his brows pull together, in the way his lips twist into a pout that's more genuine than dramatic.

"Aish..." he mutters, exhaling hard. "Geureom eotteokhae..."

You blink. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"No, seriously. What'd you say?"

He just sighs, voice heavier now. "Geureom eotteokhae, jinjja..."

You smirk, fingers running along the collar of his shirt. "If you're gonna say something dramatic in Korean, at least help me understand."

He groans. You laugh. And then you shift in his lap, grinding just slightly — slow enough to make his jaw flex, his hands automatically tightening on your hips.

"Why don't we take my friend home..." You lean in, lips brushing his. "...and crash at my hotel tonight, hmm?"

Your voice drops, all heat now. "It's a two-bedroom. And she's a very heavy sleeper after alcohol."

He huffs a quiet laugh, lips curling. "You dangerous woman."

You kiss him. Just once. Firm. Confident.

"So?" You raise a brow. "Are we doing this, or what?"

He leans in, mouth grazing yours as he mutters, "try and stop me."

—

You're not even sure how you made it back.

The city is a blur — neon lights bleeding into pavement, car horns echoing like background noise to your tipsy, giddy laughter. Su-bong walks between you and your friend like some reluctant guardian angel, one arm curled securely around your waist, the other guiding your friend with the patience of a saint.

You and her are drunk, high, and useless.

She keeps singing part of a Blackpink chorus on loop, swaying into parked scooters. You keep mumbling about how good Su-bong smells and how unfair it is that his jaw looks like it could cut glass.

He doesn't say much.

Just keeps you both moving, steady and warm.

By the time you get to your hotel, your friend is half-asleep on her feet. Su-bong helps her into bed, tucks a blanket over her with surprising gentleness, and sighs as she starts snoring immediately.

You sway behind him in the doorway, eyes glazed, hair messy, shirt halfway off your shoulder.

"Well," you mumble, grinning, "she's done for."

He turns to look at you — and you swear you see the shift.

That slow melt from patient babysitter to something hotter, heavier, eyes flicking down your body like he already knows where this night ends.

You walk past him without a word, grab his hand, and pull him through the adjoining door into your room.

The second the door clicks shut, everything turns electric.

There's no finesse. No warm-up. Just hands yanking clothes, breathless kisses, mouths crashing together like you've been starving for each other all night — because you have.

You fall into the bed, Su-bong over you, both of you still laughing through the haze, drunk on everything: the party, the weed, each other.

Your shirt's gone. His pants are gone. His mouth is on yours like it belongs there.

"You smell like smoke," you whisper between kisses.

"You taste like beer," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your neck.

"You gonna fuck me or just make fun of me?"

"Both," he mutters. "Geurom... let's start now."

There's no foreplay. Just a mess of limbs and gasps and mouths.

He enters you in one slow, thick push — no teasing, no warning — and you both groan like it's a relief. Like finally, finally, you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Oh my god—" you gasp, eyes fluttering. "Su-bong, fuck—"

"Shh..." he soothes, kissing your jaw. "Shhh... neomu areumdawo... you feel so good, baby..."

He rocks into you, slow but deep, his chest pressing down against yours, one hand cradling your jaw, the other gripping your thigh. His thrusts aren't polished — they're messy, needy, soaked in sweat and urgency — but every one hits just right.

"You're so warm," he groans. "So wet already... god, I will miss this—"

You clutch at his back, legs wrapping around his hips as he drives into you again, again, again.

"Say something else," you whisper. "In Korean. I don't care what."

His breath catches.

Then he leans close, brushing his lips against your temple.

"Saranghae," he murmurs.

You smile, drunk and unaware, letting the word wash over you like music. "What's that mean?"

He just kisses you and keeps moving inside you like he wants to imprint himself under your skin.

His hips roll into you with slow, dragging thrusts, every inch stretching you open, making you feel like you're unraveling from the inside out. There's no rhythm anymore, not really — just this desperate push and pull, his body molded to yours, skin slick and flushed, breath tangled between kisses.

You cling to him, your legs locked around his waist, arms around his shoulders like you'll fall apart if you let go. His forehead is pressed to yours, his eyes half-lidded, voice rough and low and broken in your ear.

"You're perfect," he whispers. "Fuck... you're mine, jagiya. This pussy—" he groans, dragging himself deeper, "made for me, yeah?"

You nod, whimpering, so gone you can barely breathe. "Yes—fuck—yes, don't stop, please—"

He kisses you then — deep and messy, all tongue and heat, biting your lip between gasps.

"You feel so good, baby," he pants. "So fucking tight, so warm... I don't wanna leave. I wanna stay right here—inside you—just like this—"

Your nails dig into his back, your hips rolling up to meet him, chasing that edge, your body clenched around him so tight it's a miracle he's still holding on.

"Gonna come," you gasp. "Fuck, I'm so close—Su-bong, please—"

He doesn't answer. Just drives into you harder, deeper, groaning every time your walls flutter around him.

"Come for me, jagi," he whispers. "Let me feel you. Give it to me."

And you do — everything inside you coils tight and then snaps, white-hot, blinding. You cry out, your whole body shaking as you clench around him, gripping him like you're trying to pull him even deeper.

"Oh my god— fuck—" you gasp, voice breaking, stars exploding behind your eyes.

"Geurae, geurae—" His hips stutter, and then— "Shibal—"

He buries himself to the hilt and comes, his entire body tensing as he spills inside you, hot and deep, hands gripping your waist like he's anchoring himself to this moment.

He moans into your neck, voice ragged and low, "jugeul geot gata... saranghae..."

You don't understand the words.

But you understand the way he says them.

The way he holds you after, lips brushing your cheek, hand sliding into your hair. Still buried inside you, still panting like he's never coming back down.

And neither of you says anything for a long time.

Because right now?

Words don't mean nearly as much as this.

Eventually, you both slow. Your limbs tangle. The sweat cools. Your breath returns.

He doesn't pull away.

Just lays there on top of you, face tucked into your neck, hand still cradling your jaw like he's afraid to let go.

You run your fingers through his hair, soft and slow.

"You okay?" he murmurs.

"Perfect," you say. And you mean it.

He kisses your cheek. Then your collarbone. Then your shoulder. Just little things. Little touches that say stay.

He helps clean you up gently — wipes between your legs with a warm towel he grabs from the bathroom, kisses your thighs afterward like an apology. Pulls the blanket up over both of you.

You're curled into his chest when it happens.

Suddenly. Quietly.

You start to cry.

Not a breakdown. Not dramatic.

Just silent tears leaking from your eyes as your fingers grip his shirt.

"Hey—hey," he says softly, pulling back to look at you. "Why cry?"

You sniff. Wipe your cheek.

"I don't want to go home," you whisper. "I want to stay with you... just a little longer."

His face softens. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing another tear away.

"Don't cry, jagiya," he murmurs. "We will meet again, hmm?"

You don't know if it's true.

But you let yourself believe it — just for tonight.

And fall asleep in his arms, still warm from his body, his breath steady in your hair, wrapped in a feeling you're too scared to name.

[shelbgrey]

I NEED some of those smutty/fluffy head cannons for that beautiful sexy hot cake of a man named Jackson, Plz Pookie!!!

Poison(Jackson Avery)

Paring: Jackson Avery x Sloan!Reader

Summary: ever since the hospital merge Jackson and y/n Sloan didn't get along and would often bit each heads off dispite the growing tension. Then one day they both snap in a unexpected way

Warrings: SMUT! Enemies to lovers Smut, unprotected sex, sorta hate sex.

A/n: I'll do you one better, Pookie, I'll give a whole damn story.

MasterList ML2

Jackson wasn't expecting to see her in the on-call room, but today wasn't his day. Deep down he didn't mean to scowl when he saw her, but after losing his patient, Mark and his mother being on his ass he just wasn't in the mood. He wasn't even in the mood to make a sind comment when he see saw her. He just rolled his eyes and sinp out a comment “Great, just what I needed!”

Jackson and y/n have been working together for a while now and they could never stand each other. Everyone could see that, but everyone(aside from Jackson and y/n) could see the sexual tension that grew stronger every day.

She looked up from the chart she was studying and roll her eyes and got up from the bed. Her day hadn't been the greatest either and she had a long day. She wasn't on the mood to deal with him. “don't worry I was just leaving” she frowned and grab her lab coat that was crumbled up on a chair.

He looked almost amused as he watches the fire grown in the eyes he secretly loved. “Seriously, why do you always have to be so difficult?” He walks towards her, his body language aggressive, but still controlled by his emotions.

She took a deep breath and walked around him. “Seriously, Avery I'm not in the mood”

“I can see that. What's got you all riled up?” His voice drips with sarcasm as he steps infront of her, blocking the exit of the on-call room.

“Don't patronize me, we all know you hate me... Just as much as I hate you” that wasn't true, she didn't hate him. But she wasn't about to get used or her heart broke by him.

He stops, looking down at her, anger and jealousy clear in his eyes. “Fine, let's play it your way. If you hate me so much, maybe we should just get it over with” He steps closer.

She immediately back up until my back hits the wall of the on-call room, her heart is pounding. “g-get what o-over with?” I stuttered.

He smirks, taking another step closer. “I think you know...” his beautiful eyes stared into her soul as stepped closer, leaving nothing more than an inch between them. “You always know how to push my buttons.” He leans both palms against the wall, trapping her between him and the hard surface.

Her breath hitches as she stared at him with doe eyes. “the feeling is mutual Avery” she said, trying to stand my ground. Jackson smirked, capturing her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “which part?”

Jackson chuckles the dryly and grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head. “oh, I do know... since we're both feeling it, we might as well do something about it.”

She suprised herself when she did't fight him, she stood still and watch him as her heart pounded against her chest “Avery...what are you doing?”

“His face is inches from hers as he leans in, his breath hot on herskin. “I'm taking what's mine.” he said roughly then he crashes his lips against hers in a possessive, demanding kiss.

Her breath hitched and her eyes widened at the unexpected contact. She pull away, staring into his beautiful eyes with determination. “you don't own me, I'm not yours to take”

He grabs her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. “Oh, but you are, and I plan to prove it.” He kisses her again, harder this time, his anger and jealousy fueling the intensity. Her lips smashed against his, it was fueled with all her frustration. The first moan of this whole situation fell passed her lips as she felt his tounge brush against her lips demanding entrance. Feeling brave she doesn't, closing her lips denying it entrance.

He groans against her lips, his hands traveled down her waist to her ass, gripping it hard. She gasped at his roughness, giving him the opportunity to slip his tounge passed her lips. Their tounges fought for dominance, but she let Jackson win. As he deepens the kiss. His anger and jealousy start to mix with desire.

Y/n gripped his scrub top in her fist and and pushed him towrds the bed in the on-call room with force. Jackson stumbles back slightly, hitting the bed. His heart is racing as he looks at her. “You really want this?” He asks, his voice rough from the kissing.

“Shut up” she said roughly and stratled his lap, slamming her lips to his for a rough kiss.

Taken completely by surprise, Jackson groans into the kiss. His hands roam down her sides to her ass, pulling her body flush against his. “You're going to regret this when we're done” Jackson murmurs against her lips.

“Probably” she whispered then nipped as his jaw as she pushed him flat on his back on the bed.

“Fuck” He groans, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands slided his large hands under your lab coat, gripping her hips. Y/n quickly tugged her lab coat off and drop on the floor, his breath hitched as he watched her grind her hips against his.

“Fuck, Jackson” she moaned his first name for the first as she grind her hips a little hared. She let a moan slip past her lips when his growing erection pressed against her core.

Jackson groans, arching into her. His hands roam down your his, cupping her ass through her scrubs. “Fuck, I want you” he growls, biting his lip.

Jackson sat up, keeping her trapped in his lap as his lips trail kisses down her jaw and neck. His hands move to the hem of her scrub top, tugging it over her head. “I've dreamed about this for so long.” He whispers, grabbing her hips to control her movements against him.

“M-me too” she accidentally admitted.

His fingers brush against her bra, tracing circles against her clothed nipple with his thumb. “Then stop fighting me” He growls, capturing her lips once more in a hungry kiss.

“What's the fun in that?” she asked breathlessly as her fingers play with his short hair.

He chuckles against her skin, the sound vibrating deliciously. His hands slide underneath her scrub bottoms, caressing her ass. “You're going to be the death of me, you know that?” He teases, his lips trailing down her callorbone to the top of her breasts.

She bit her bottom lips so didn't give him the satisfaction off hearing her moan. She huffed, tugging at his scrub top, wanting it off. Feeling the tug on his scrub top, Jackson smirks against the skin of her breasts before pulling back slightly. “Impatient, aren't we?” He teases, helping to remove his scrub top, revealing his toned torso.

She gulped when she saw his chest, her eyes traveled down his toned torso and bit her lip again, stopping a moan as her hands instinctively traveled down his chest.

“slower,” he sighs, loving her delicate touch. His lips trail kisses up your neck, stopping at your ear. “Take your time.” He whispers, his hips pressing against her's again.

Her finger traveled down his chest slowly till she found the drawl strings of his scrub pants. He groans, arching into her touch. He moans as he watches her hands undo the strings and slide the pants down, freeing his cock. “You're so fucking sexy,” he whispers.

“you're driving me crazy,” he growls, his hands trailing down her sides, pushing her pants along with her underwear off. He discarded them then slides off the bed, pulling his boxers off. He climbs back on top of her, his erection pressing against her slick core. “Tell me to stop”

She shook my head no as pulled him down for a kiss. “Good girl” He whisperes, kissing her deeply. His hips start to rock against her, making he moan. He slowly pushing into her tight heat. He kisses down her jaw and a crossed her collarbone, sucking lightly as he continues to thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, his eyes locked on hers. His thrusts become faster, harder, as he loses control. “You're mine,” he growls, biting her bottom lip.

She wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him closer against her. “s-so good” she moaned an incomplete sentence, too distracted by the way he feels against her.

“I'm going to make you scream my name” he warns, his eyes burning with lust. He picks up the pace, driving deeper into her wet heat. His body shudders with the effort to hold back as he feels her clenching around him.

“Harder, Jackson... Please” she moaned desperately.

“Fuck” he hisses, slamming into her over and over again. His mouth finds her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as he loses control. He groans her name as he feels his impending release, his hips bucking wildly.

“jackson!” she screamed against his shoulder as she bucked he hips up, trying to meet his thrusts. He cries out as well, his entire body tenses, shooting his seed deep inside. He holds himself over her, panting. “Holy shit.” He groans out, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

A loud moan leaves her lips as his climax ignited hers. She held onto his shoulders, cumming all over his cock “J-Jackson” she panted as held on to him.

Jackson kisses her softly, his heart still racing. Slowly, he pulls out of her, leaving a trail of their mixed fluids on his member. “God damn it,” he mutters, clearly frustrated with himself.

She look at him with a confused when she saw his expression. He runs a hand over his short hair, trying to calm himself down. He climed off the bed and slipped his boxers on. “I'm sorry. That was... I shouldn't have-” He trails off, not really sure how to finish that sentence.

Her heart crumbled. “I knew it” she mumbled, shaking her head. She had let her guard down and it was like he's already trying to hurt her. Did he hate her that much? This this all just a joke to him?

He saw the pain in her eyes. “No, baby,” he says, pulling her into a tight hug. His heart aches at the thought of hurting her. He knows he's messed up before, but he never meant to make her feel this way. He holds her close, breathing in her sweet scent.

She pushed him away gently. “don't call me that” she mumbled and quickly put her scrubs back on.

His heart sinks when he felt her push him away. He wasn't handling this well. He watches her put her scrubs back on silently, trying to maintain some semblance of distance between the two of them. “Look,” he starts, taking a deep breath.

“No! you got what you wanted” she started as tears pricked her eyes. “you can go back to hating me... I'm glad you got your frustration out” she gritted her teeth as the sarcastic comment fell out.

Jackson's eyes widen at her response, shocked by the harshness in her tone. He didn't expect her to react this way. “I... I didn't mean it like that,” he says, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. “I'm just...”

She shook her head as a single tear fell down her cheek. “J-just stop... Please” she whispered, shaking her head. She refused to look at him.

The sight of her tears only serves to further torment Jackson. He hates knowing he's the cause of her pain. But he also can't seem to control his jealousy. “Fine,” he snapped, having too much pride to tell he how he truly felt.

“I'm gonna go” she croaked out and grabed her lab coat, leaving.

As she walk away broken hearted, Jackson watches her, feeling a mixture of anger, frustration, and guilt. He knows he needs to deal with his jealousy before it destroys everything, but right now, it's consuming him. “God dammit,”

She quickly wipe away her tears and walk down the hospital hallway, trying to keep it together. Jackson remains where y/n left him, his fists clenched at his sides. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. This isn't like him – he's usually the one offering support, not causing pain.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Mark continued to talk, but Jackson wasn't processing any of it. He felt too terrible about how things ended with y/n, even worse he didn't know how to tell his best friend who just happened to be y/n big brother. Mark stopped and looked at him. “Avery, are you even listening?”

Jackson quickly looked up. “hm? Oh yeah... Burn unit right?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, he couldn't help but chuckled. “your way off... What's eatin' you?”

Jackson knew he'd be dead where he stands if he told mark the truth. “nothing”

Mark put his hand on Jackson's chest, stopping him in the middle hallway. “your distracted... What's going on with you?”

Jackson pushed his hand away and looked way, shaking his head. Mark caught sight of a red mark on his neck. Mark chuckled, grabbing Jackson's chin and turned his head to the side to see the hickey on his neck. “so you got laid and it ended badly, so what”

Jackson gulped and moved away from Mark. He felt terrible about y/n and what made things worse Mark ment alot to him. He pushed Mark away, but Mark wasn't done teasing. Mark grabed the collar of Jackson's Lab coat and pulled him back, his smile dropped when he saw the name on Jackson's lab coat wasn't his, but his little sister's. Jackson and y/n must have gotten their lab coats mixed up.

The color in Jackson's face drain as Mark let go of him. “you slept with y/n?” Mark said, his voice dropping. “my little sister”

“Mark I'm so-” Jackson was cut off by mark grabbing him by the collar of his scrubs and slamming him against the wall. Jackson was shaking and his heart pounded with regret. Mark raised his fist and Jackson flinched, but nothing happened.

“Mark, what the hell?” Derek asked, separating Mark from Jackson before he could get punched.

Mark ripped himself out of Derek's grasp. “the basterd screwed y/n”

Jackson was once again shoved against wall. This time he had Derek's arm against his throat. Y/n was just as much as Derek's sister as she was Mark's. “you what” Derek said through his teeth.

Jackson's regret tunred into rage, he shoved Derek off of him. “you don't think I regret hurting her?! She won't even talk to me now!”

“well fix it Avery! Before I knock your teeth out” Mark growled.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Jackson finally got away from both Mark and Derek, he wanted to find y/n and explain everything and mend what he broke. He couldn't find her anywhere and knew knew she wouldn't awnser his pages. He was about to lose hope, but as he tunred the corner he ran right into her.

He stares at her for a moment before his expression softens. He sees the tears that she's trying so hard to hold back, and his heart aches for her but he can understand she was so angry. He slowly moves in front of her, putting his hand on her arm. “Please... can I talk to you for a minute?” He whispers, not wanting anyone to hear what he's going to say.

I have nothing to say... “she said softly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“y/n, please.” He gently brings her into one of the supply closets, locking the door behind him. He gently pushes her backwards, pauhing her back against the wall. Jackson leans his forehead against her's, holding her face in his hands. “y/n, I know I've hurt you, more than once. I know you probably don't want to hear what I have to say... but I need to say this.”

Tears ran down her cheeks as he pressed his forehead against her's “jackson...”

“I regret everything I've ever done to hurt you, the way I've treated you... I-I'm just...” he takes a deep breath. “I love you, I really, really do. I don't know how many times I've tried to tell myself that I'm not the man for you, I always believed you'd be better off without me, but god damn it” He leans down to gently holds her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, lifting her face up so their eyes met. “when I see your beautiful face I get so... lost.”

The tears wouldn't stop, her heart pounded against her chest from his confession. Y/n looked into his eyes and saw nothing but the truth. She couldn't hold it back any longer, no matter how badly he hurt her “I... I love you too” she said softly.

“You do?” He asked, his eyes searching her's for any sign of sarcasm. After a beat of silence he leans back down and presses his lips against her's, kissing her softly. Y/n kissed him back, holding his face in her hands. This kiss was a lot more gentler and more loving than the first. It was a sign that the odds were in their favor.

“Yes... I forgive you” she said softly, giving him and loving smile.

[acosmicbee]

School Troubles

(This takes place in the same world as Rehabiliation and gives a deeper look into the world building. It is edited and reposted from my Wattpad because I got into a car accident yesterday and didn't have time to write anything new. Me, my family and the other person involved are all okay but my family's car is totaled and undriveable)

You were supposed to be a hero. At least, that supposed to be the end goal of your schooling at this academy. The problem being, while you had powers, you weren't interested in the slightest.

Your parents ran a small flower shop, doing a few catering things here and there. They were completely normal and powerless, your typical civilians. Then, one day, you'd barely touched a few seeds and suddenly had full-grown plants.

It didn't take long for the government to find out. They'd gotten very dedicated to snatching up any kid with powers and then sorting them into either a government sponsored hero school or 'alternate' school. From what you've heard, these alternate schools were government sponsored villain factories so they could make sure their hero schools were always needed. However, you'd ended up in one of these hero schools.

During your six months here, you'd broken several school records, including but not limited to 'quickest escape attempt', 'most uncooperative to government propaganda about becoming a hero' and 'farthest runner before being shot with a tranquilizer bullet'.

In other words you were driving the principal, though you called him the warden because this was 100% a jail in your opinion, absolutely insane. He was a younger hero, maybe late 20s. He had fire powers and had retired from hero work allegedly due to some issue with his villain nemesis.

You had, once again, found yourself in his office. He was staring at you with a carefully controlled expression but you could feel the anger and annoyance radiating off of him in waves.

"This is the third time this month." He said sternly, sitting across from you. "You can't keep trying to stage a coop. You're just going to get more hours of detention." 'Detention' wasn't even normal and instead consisted of listening to government propaganda podcasts and stuff for a couple of hours.

"Then can I go home? I'm not becoming any sort of hero, period. I'm supposed to be helping my parents with their flower shop, as I've always done." You were just as stubborn, meeting his cool look with a glare.

"Look Y/N," he'd long since dropped using your last name with how often you ended up in his office. "I wasn't happy either when I was first enrolled here-."

"I wasn't enrolled. I was kidnapped off the street." You corrected. "And I haven't seen my parents since."

"Anyways, I'm trying to tell you that I get it. You're having a hard time adjusting to life here. Despite your powers, you feel you don't belong."

"Because I don't. I'm not becoming some stupid hero." You said. You crossed your arms, fully ready to get another detention if he said something to set you off.

"Look, do you want me to try and see if Ridgeside will take you? Because that's your only other option here. Either you stay here and become a hero or we label you as 'rebellious' and ship you off to become a villain." The warden snapped.

"I don't want to become anything! I want to go home!" You yelled. "Why can't you understand that?!"

"I do understand, but 'home' isn't an option. Y/N I've laid your choices out. Hero or villain. Pick your poison or whatever, but make a choice. I don't want to keep seeing you in my office every day, but I will continue meeting with you like this if I have to." He threatened. "Two hours of detention after dinner tonight. I'll be supervising it, seeing as most teachers here are done with your attitude."

You just groaned, grabbing your things as you were dismissed. As you made your way down from his office, you could see some of the other students outside, training or playing around with their powers. You were the only person here who didn't want to become a hero. The few people you'd talked to about wanting to leave just missed home or wanted to see their families. All of them had said, though, that they'd come back here once they were done.

You were supposed to have some roommates like everyone else did. Other perspective heroes to help raise a sense of camaraderie, but you had a room all to yourself. You'd gotten moved to an empty room after you used one of your roommates powers to help you escape during your first week. Now you didn't talk to people outside of school hours and meal times. Any free period was spent alone, brainstorming ways to escape.

And you swore it, you would escape this place and find your way home, no matter what it took. Besides becoming a hero or villain, that is.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were in the hallways again. Your teachers were mostly used to you misbehaving and refusing to participate, so you spent a lot of time sitting in the hallways. It wasn't so bad, it definitely gave you time to focus on escape plans and what you would do when you finally made it home to your parents.

Today, however, you sat there, watching as some random guy hoisted himself through one of the hallways windows. You watched as he landed on the ground, dusting himself off before freezing when he noticed you. The two of you just blinked at each other.

You just shrugged, going back to your escape planning. So what if some dude just scaled the side of a building and came through a 4th floor window? That's not your problem. After thinking for a second, you added scaling the building to a possible way of escape.

"Why are you in the hallway?" You glanced up at the random man, who was now standing over you. He was clearly older than the principal by a bit. Maybe he was some government official or a visiting hero. But that still didn't explain climbing in through the window... Eh, you honestly didn't care enough to ask.

"Because I hate it here and refuse to participate." You answered, returning to your notebook. The strange man didn't take the hint and leave, instead continuing to stare at you. Finally you grew tired of his staring and asked him, "why are you in the hallway?"

"Oh! I'm here to surprise Dean! It's been so long since I saw him." The man said. "Do you know where his office is?"

"Dean?" You asked. This place didn't have a dean, just assistant principals.

"Ah! I suppose because you're a student you would know him as the principal or headmaster." Your face immediately scrunched up in disgust.

"Oh... him... His office is one floor up. Take that staircase, and it'll be the third door on your left." You said, indicating the nearby staircase. You'd been there enough times to know how to get there in your sleep.

"Thank you. What's your name hallway child?" He asked.

"Y/N."

"I'll make sure Dean rewards you for being so helpful! Later!" With that, the strange man bounded up the staircase, full of energy. You just shrugged. People were weird.

⋅⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"Y/N!" You were just laying in your dorm room during your free period. You hadn't even done anything this time, so it made no sense as to why the warden was pounding at your door like you'd tried to escape again.

With a groan, you opened the door, already done with the conversation before it began. "Yes?"

"You let him in! Not only that, you told him where to find me!" He fumed. Literally, he was beginning to smoke. You just waved your hand in an attempt to keep the smoke out of your room.

"Who? I don't even know what you're talking about. I didn't even do anything today." You complained. He groaned, taking a few deep breaths as he slowly stopped producing smoke.

"Did anyone strange come up to you today asking about me?" He asked. His tone was the one grown ups used when they were pretending that you weren't in trouble when you definitely were.

"I mean, yeah. But he knew you by name, so I assumed you were friends or something. Wait, do you even have friends?" You asked. You certainly don't get why anyone would want to be his friend, but whatever.

"Of course I have friends!" He sounded offended. "But that man isn't one of them!"

"Okay. So you're getting mad at a student for not knowing who your friends are?" You asked, not following.

"No! The reason I'm mad is because you allowed a villain to roam the halls of a school without reporting it!"

"He was a villain? Am I supposed to just know who's a villain by looking at them?" You asked. The warden just groaned.

"Look. Do you know how he got into the building?"

"Yeah. He climbed in through the window. On the 4th floor." You said. "Can I go back to resting now? This is supposed to be a free period."

"No. You're coming to my office so we can have a little chat about proper protocol when you see someone climbing through a window!"

"But my free period!" You whined as you were all but dragged to his office.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It was a Saturday, which meant a free day for you. It was pouring outside and the sound of rain on your window was marginally soothing. Normally you would spend your weekends planning out every way of escaping you could imagine, but not today. Today you just lay in your room, trying your hardest to focus on the book in front of you. It had been in your bag when you'd been snatched off the street and was the only thing you'd been allowed to keep.

Your parents had gotten it for you, and it was the only thing you had of them here. You weren't even allowed to send them letters. The book had been one of your favorites back home, but now you struggled to get through a few pages. It felt wrong to be reading when you didn't even know how your parents were doing, or if they knew you were okay.

You were attempting to gather enough willpower to just read the first chapter to give yourself something to do when you jumped at the sound of a knock on the window. Turning, you saw the strange man you now knew as a villain, was back. Only this time he'd found your room and also had managed to scale the building when it was slick with rain. Despite knowing you'd get chewed out for it later, you opened your window.

"I'm supposed to report it if I see you again. Apparently you're a villain." You informed him. Your face scrunched up as he expertly came through the window before you realized he was completely dry and wasn't dripping water.

"I wondered if you recognized me but I assumed you didn't. Guess I was right." He said, looking around your room. "Dean must've lectured you for hours. Geez kid, your room is so empty. No roomie?"

"I'm too much of a flight risk apparently. They think I'm gonna corrupt some wanna-be hero because I don't want to be here." You said. The strange man perked up.

"You don't wanna be here? Do you wanna be a villain?! I promise, being a villain is a lot more fun." He said, looking ready to give you the whole spiel on it.

"I'm not becoming a villain, but i'm not becoming a hero either. I just want to go home to my parents." You groaned. Only to flop down on your bed in defeat when the door to your room suddenly slammed open. "Great. Now he's here too."

"Xavier." The warden growled. He was smoking again but the villain, Xavier you guessed, didn't seem phased.

"Dean. Lovely weather we're having. Maybe you should take a walk outside before you burst into flames." " Xavier was completely relaxed as he took a seat in your desk chair. "I wonder if Y/N is going to end up like you in the future. You certainly acted the same way you punish them for when you were their age."

Instantly the mood shifted, the headmaster grew tense as he grit his teeth, glancing at you for a second. You sat up on your bed, suddenly way more interested in the conversation. The warden had what.

"I learned my lesson. Hopefully they'll learn theirs soon." He said, a few small flames bursting to life at his fingertips before he forcefully began to calm himself down. "You have no right to bring that up. Especially not after all you did."

"I was just trying to do what was best for you. I still think it would've been a better path than the one you've ended up on, but you'll understand in time." Xavier glanced at you before smirking. "Sooner rather than later, if I'm right."

"You don't know me, Xavier. Not anymore." He said, finally calming down enough that the smoke stopped.

"Um... can you have your little," you gestured between them, "whatever this is, not in my room?"

"Y/N. Please be quiet or I will make you sit in my office and retest your comprehension on the proper protocols when villains enter the school. Again." Dean said.

Xavier just smiled as he stood, brushing invisible dust off his pants. "Fine. I can see where I'm not wanted. I'll just see myself out okay?"

He smiled at you as he made his way over to the still open door of your room. "And Dean? I know you're trying to deny it, but you can't forever. Sooner or later, you'll need my help and my door is always open for you."

"Why didn't you report it when you saw him?" Dean asked, back to his default headmaster mode.

"How did you even know he was in my room?" You countered.

"There are walls with guards surrounding this school if you'll remember. Since his last breach I've had them on high alert." He groaned. "I'm not in the mood to supervise another one of your detentions so we're going to pretend this never happened. Behave Y/N."

With that he stalked out of your room, shutting the door and leaving you alone once again. You glanced at your book for a second before immediately ignoring it for a more enticing train of thought. Just what was the relationship between those two? And why were you getting drawn into whatever was going on?

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were getting impatient. It had been months, but Dean and Xavier were still keeping an eye on you. Xavier would climb through windows or just stroll into your dorm like he owned the place. Dean would constantly call you to his office to 'check in' and seemed to have a Xavier detector, often finding the two of you a couple of minutes after Xavier would sneak onto school grounds.

Either way, you were no closer to an escape than you had been when you'd first arrived. At least, that was until a school trip was announced. Apparently it was around the time when the rest of the heroes-in-training in your age group would find out who their nemesis was supposed to be. For some reason, you were included in this trip.

Of course, Dean had threatened you with everything from detention to private lessons during your free time to shipping you off to become a villain yourself. It wasn't going to stop you. Not when you were so close to your goal. This time, you would see your parents again. 

Eventually the bus had to stop so you all could use the restroom and get some snacks. You were supposed to stick with your assigned buddy but when he drifted off towards his friends you took the opportunity. You stood by the door, waiting for the right moment. The second you heard someone start bickering and the teacher's attention was turned to them you ran. You could see the train station from the rest stop and jumped the turnstile, darting onto the train you needed at the last second. You just managed to make out a pissed off Dean, staring right into your eyes, by the ticket counter as the train pulled out of the station.

You had done it. You were going to see your parents again. You knew, deep inside, that you'd just be taken back to the school at some point, but it didn't matter. For now, you were going home.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Something was wrong. You could tell the second you got off the train and saw smoke rising from somewhere in the neighborhood. You could feel it in your stomach, that something was fundamentally wrong. You ran.

It wasn't until you found yourself outside your family's flower shop did you confirm it. The building was on fire, you could see the pretty displays you'd once helped to set up turning to ash. When you couldn't find your parents out on the street you ran into the building.

It was hot, hotter than you'd ever imagined. You crawled into the back where your apartment was, avoiding the areas with fire. Smoke billowed over your head and you could barely see. Your eyes were burning and you felt like you had no air, but you still pushed on. 

"Mom! Dad!" You tried screaming, only to inhale smoke. You began coughing but didn't let that stop you.

"Y/N?!" You could faintly hear your father's voice. He was close. You were so close.

"Dad! Mom!" You called again. "Where are you?!"

"Y/N!" There! Your parents were across the living room, on the floor. They both looked unharmed. Upon seeing you they both began making their way over. You held out a hand to pull them towards you... and that was when the ceiling gave out. You couldn't even scream as you watched the roof crush them underneath. Couldn't hear anything over the sound of crackling fire, blood rushing through your ears and your own screaming.

You struggled, ignoring how your hands instantly blistered as you tried lifting the burning hot pieces of roof. They couldn't be... no! After all you'd gone through to get back here, they had to be okay!

"Mom! Dad!" You were sobbing now, your hands were burnt and you could barely breathe. As you became more and more lightheaded, you resigned yourself to dying there, along with your parents. You wouldn't stop fighting to save them.

You were hysterical, and fought viciously when someone pulled you away, forcing an oxygen mask over your face. All your mind could focus on was the collapsed roof and your parents. You scratched and squirmed, trying desperately to break their grip on you. By the time you registered the pinch at the base of your neck you'd already been injected with a high grade tranquilizer and the whole world faded to black.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"That was mean of you." Xavier's voice echoed through the bedroom. You were laying in the bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine, IV drip and more machines used to monitor your health. Your bandaged hands rested on top of the comforter. You had yet to wake up in the hours since Dean had pulled you out of the burning flower shop.

"I didn't start the fire." He said back. He sat in the chair next to your bed, watching over you. "I didn't want this to happen."

"But you knew what would happen. You knew what happens to those that escape, don't you Dean? What happens to their families?" Xavier probed.

"That's enough! If you think I wanted what happened to Calista and Rome to anyone else you're more insane than I took you for." He hissed. "This isn't the time for this. Y/N is... they're..."

"So you finally understand." Xavier smirked. "You understand what I did to you all those years ago. Why I tried so hard to lock you up. They remind me of you. Both of you are too stubborn for your own good."

Xavier stepped closer, his smile growing when Dean didn't push him away. Instead one of his hands made their way to Dean's head, playing with his hair. "They don't have anyone anymore, Dean. No parents, no home to go back to. They're all alone. Don't you remember how it felt to be all alone?"

"I... I need to help them. I need to save them." Dean murmured, slowly accepting his own dark feelings as Xavier egged him on. "They need me..."

"They didn't want to become a hero, right? You need to keep them safe where they can't be hurt in hero work. You need to make sure they never leave you. I'm sure you remember what happened when you left me. Do you really want to have to do that to them? To make sure they can never be a hero in the public eye again?" Xavier asked. He knew Dean was already going to do it. He just needed to add a little more fuel to the fire to make sure you would be extra safe.

"They always wanted to go home... so I will make them a home here. That way they will never leave me again. They can never be hurt again." Dean decided.

That was the moment your fate was sealed. No matter how much you cried when you finally woke up. No matter how much you screamed when the bandages on your hands needed to be changed. No matter how much you disassociated when the news was finally broken to you that from the amount of third degree burns you received you'd never regain the full range of motion in your hands. No matter what happened, Dean and Xavier were right there beside you, making sure you wouldn't injure yourself more than you already had. You would never be free again.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night. 

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life. 

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding. 

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage. 

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building. 

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too. 

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen. 

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize. 

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime? 

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace. 

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine. 

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?” 

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope. 

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–” 

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth. 

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil. 

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game. 

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line. 

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa. 

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves. 

He liked to abuse his privileges. 

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior. 

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent. 

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either. 

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks. 

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost. 

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. 

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul. 

The veritable nectar of the gods. 

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[megsdoodletag]

yes ok I have been asked about the updated codex let’s talk updated codex

So. Post Plague-Wars. Ultramar system. Guilliman and Yvraine have a strong alliance, and in completely and totally unrelated news have a daughter named Juno Vaeyncaria Guilliman.

MEANWHILE…

on the other side of the Imperium, the Emperor is given a Text-To-Speech Device. Now the original ITEHATTSD obviously happens prior to Plague Wars so while the basic framework is there (kitten exists, magnus is back, dorn and his Boy are there, etc.) it’s obviously a lil different. Through a series of convoluted events we don’t need to discuss at this point, Magnus accidentally pokes the timeline in a weird way and pops the dead primarchs back into existence. They remember everything just fine! They are just. no longer dead. and now in 42k.

This brings us to what I’m affectionately calling ‘2012 Avengers Tower Imperial Palace.’ All the known primarchs are active, though some are still running around 'lost-ish' in the warp. Most of the previously dead primarchs are ‘recovering’ in their former residencies alongside the TTS crew, seeing to what’s left of their legion and figuring out what the hell is going on with. whatever is happening in M42.

Horus in particular is in a weird spot. first, of all the returnees, he’s alone. Ferrus makes up with fulgrim pretty immediately, sang is permanently covered in various marines of his geneline, konrad’s having a Great Time Actually (we’ll get to that later). but nobody seems to like horus much, a position he’s never been in, and this includes his legion which is entirely under abaddon’s control and not going anywhere in the near future. so he does what any guy going through a midlife crisis does and gets himself a hobby.

See, two supposedly dead primarchs remain unaccounted for after Magnus’ spell, namely the two original Lost Primarchs. by logic this means they must still be alive, somewhere. everyone else is unbothered by this, as Malcador’s memory spell disallows any concentrated thought of the two, and even though the primarchs are aware they had more brothers, to their knowledge dad went out to meet with them and something Went Wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️ and then he came back and retired shortly thereafter. weird! oh well.

but horus was not just killed, he was Unmade. when he was reconstituted it was as though he was new, without the stain of chaos.

and free of malcador’s influence.

while ostensibly crashing on dad’s couch, Horus throws himself into finding out what he believes is the key to all of this, the thing that poisoned the imperium before even the Heresy, the original Deviation from the Plan: whatever actually happened to the two lost primarchs?

Ok it’s later now. Konrad Curze always believed in fate. He followed it dutifully into its darkest depths, to his own grisly death.

And then he came back! He never saw anything about that! He figures that, having lived out his fate to its completion, he’s now free of it entirely. Oh he still has visions, but he’s much more lax in interpreting them, and thinks himself above their dictates besides. So. He still likes flensing people and thinks fear makes a fine method of control and hes still got…issues…but he’s not quite as stuck and he's having a wonderful time about it. and he’s also hanging around the palace bc he’s also got very little contact with his legion, which is either scattered or under Sevatar and/or whichever NL prophet we're on now.

So he gets roped into fucking around in emps’ restricted history section with horus! yippee!

The two actually work really well as a buddy-cop kinda pair, with horus slowly repairing his relationships where he can while konrad trails him and learns how to be alive outside of the narrow scope of his futuresight. Magnus inevitably sticks his nose into things and gets to work undoing the mind-block on the rest of them. Alpharius gets involved because it turns out one of the lost legions might actually still exist. and even lion and leman join the hunt cause honestly they're really curious at this point.

Eventually the uncles drag their niece and her friends into the whole ordeal, in part because she happens to have a particularly strong psychic presence that attracts lost and dead marine souls in the warp. Like a cooler, named character version of the Legion of the Damned. Usefull when trying to gain accurate historical info.

oh yeah and emps gets off the throne at some point. he’s not bothering with the Mystery Gang because he’s too busy being one half of a political deadlock with guilliman, where it’s very clear gman does not actually trust him to lead the imperium anymore and is essentially running his own show off-leash from ultramar, but neither of them are remotely willing to like, discuss this. in any way. so instead they’re just stuck awkwardly across from each other, guilliman never offering control of the imperium back to his father and emps never reaching to take the regent position from him and i think if he stopped to think about it this is bc emps would be. a little nervous about resuming full command back from guilliman. because he’s not sure guilliman would give it to him. and he’s not sure he’s in a position to handle that. again. but emps is allergic to being emotionally competent so his brain skates over that thought, unable to confront it directly with any introspection, and instead he just. doesnt mention it! and guilliman doesnt mention it and emps sits in the wreckage of the dream he accidentally set on fire himself while his son methodically does the work to put it out and they won’t look at each other and its fine its all. fine.

and that’s the Updated Codex! 👍🏻 feel free to ask more

thanks to @wolf_feathers12 for the chance to give my ted talk, and tagging @thisuserissilly for lore posts (tm)

[lostinlovingrevery]

Roadtrips and Relaxing (18+!!)

Old Man Logan X F!Reader

A/N: I just want him to use me

Plot: You and Logan are out on a roadtrip trying to find more medicine for Charles. Logan is stressed, and you know exactly how to help him.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, a lil porn with plot, established relationship, Unprotected PiV, public bathroom sex, Oral (M recieving), ya'll fuck nasty, Logan is subby at first but immediately becomes a dom after bc he can't give up control for long, rough sex, a lil fluff at the end. Reader is female, and a former doctor. Ya'll are in love , logan uses pet names and one (1) derogatory term

Word Count: 3234

These trips were always exhausting. 

You and Logan were out, traveling miles upon miles through country and desert, in the search of medicine for Charles. You had left Caliban to take care of him, a job that usually belonged to you, while you went with Logan this time to retrieve the medicine. You hit a speed bump though, as your usual source- a sketchy clinic that didn’t require prescriptions had been burned down to the ground, with no signs of a possible reopening, contacting of the owners, or a relocation. 

You were a doctor yourself, but due to the fact that you were hiding out with Logan and Charles, and the fact that you weren’t working in a valid medical practice, meant you couldn’t write prescriptions- unless you wanted a pharmacy to call the police on you. It did mean that you knew exactly how to take care of Charles, what to give him to control his seizures, and you even have tested out different mixes of medicine that Logan acquired, stuff that has helped Charles greatly, but doesn’t stop his declining state which broke your heart. 

Now, with your usual source for drugs gone, you and Logan were on a search for something else. Clinics, dealers, they pop up, come and go, making it tricky for you to find an actual source. Logan was getting stressed. It's been a few days, and you both knew that what was left behind for Charles was running out which meant you needed to find something soon.

“We need gas.” Logan mutters under his breath. You looked at him, as he flipped on the turn signal- spotting a gas station that looked like it was part diner as well. You saw his hands tensing, gripping the steering wheel so tightly the veins popping out along his scarred hands. He pulled up along a gas pump and put the limo into park, leaning back in his seat with a hard groan as he tipped his head back against the headrest. 

You admired his aging face. His salt and pepper hair and beard, his nose- sculpted like a Greek god, his lips, which you rarely saw a smile appear on, but when you did felt like you were blessed by the heavens. He constantly demeans himself whenever you two are together, telling you that you shouldn’t be with an old man like him. You, on the other hand, truly believed he was your soulmate. It didn’t matter how old he was, how cranky he would get, you loved him to pieces and you hated seeing the stress on his face, the tension he carries in his shoulders. You did everything you could to help him, both as a lover and as a doctor. You could not, however, stop the adamantium from slowly poisoning his body. 

“Lo. It’s okay. We’ll find somewhere.” You say softly, reaching out to put a hand over his, that was resting on the console. “You need to relax a little, maybe I can drive for a bit-” 

He moved his hand away, a scowl on his face as he didn't look at you. Pushing the driver's side door open, stepping out of the limo with a clear ache in his body, before slamming it shut. You sighed as you sat in it alone. You never took it personally when he got like this- although you certainly made sure he heard about it later when his mood picked up, and you’d get rewarded with sweet kisses all over your body as he apologizes, thanking you for dealing with him. 

You knew he needed to relax. Even if it’s just for a few minutes but you also knew that you would not be able to talk to him when he gets like this. Stubborn, bull-headed. He gets in his own head, determined to do things his way, and take care of everyone. Be the hero. Normally, he’s fairly receptive to you- your opinions and suggestions. You both have been on the road for awhile, barely any sleep, chasing leads that end nowhere. You knew he had to be exhausted, and aching. 

There was only one way to get him to relax.

You looked at the gas station- part dinner. Didn’t look like a shabby place actually, with only a few people inside either eating or perusing the snack aisles. You pushed open your door, stepped out, and walked to the building; knowing Logan was watching you as you walked away, not even looking back at him- knowing it’ll irritate him but that’s exactly what you wanted.

You stepped inside, going towards the back of the building, and finding the bathrooms. You went to the one marked women, stepping inside, glad to see it was a single-person bathroom. You locked the door behind you, stepping to the mirror as you fixed your appearance up, washed your hands. Now, you just need to wait. 

You knew it would be a few minutes before Logan came to look for you. He’d pick up that you were gone longer than you usually were, wonder if you were pissed and come in to get you. 

It was about 5 minutes later when you heard him knock on the door.

“Baby?” He called, voice low and gruff. “Are you there?” 

You unlocked the door, pulling it open, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him inside- as you pushed the door shut, turning the lock, and immediately pressed your lips against yours as you pushed him against the door. 

He grunted as he bumped into the wooden door, kissing you back eagerly as his hands went to hold your hips, bringing you against his as he ran his tongue over your mouth, eager to be invited in. Making out though, was not your plan. 

Harsh pants echoed in the small bathroom as you pulled away from him, instead opting to kiss his neck, nipping at the flesh that made him groan. Your hands slide down his chest, down to his belt buckle, as you quickly undo it, the belt clinking. You unzipped his pants, and moved down onto your knees, as you tugged his slacks down pulling out his semi-hard staff. You always admired his length, it didn’t matter if he was soft or hard- the sight of him just made your mouth water.

“Princess- fuck.” He groaned, as you licked a long stripe from his base to his tip, stroking him as you felt him grow harder in your palm, his tip growing redder and leaking with each stroke, using his pre-cum as a lubricant that made slick noises through the bathroom.

You brought him up to your lips, kissing the slit of his tip, then moving downwards, pressing soft kisses all the way down his shaft, down to his balls, making him groan, twitching in your hand as he became more and more desperate for your warm mouth around him.  “Come on bub, quit the teasing.” He groans, his hand going to your head, intertwining in your hair. You smiled against his cock, pressing him against your cheek as you looked up at him with wide eyes. He groaned at the sight, biting down on his inner cheek as his hand came down to stroke your face. “Goddamn you’re so beautiful.” He mutters, making you smile bigger.

“Gotta relax, tough guy.” You say softly, before you lean back, and slowly take his tip between your lips. You hummed at the taste of him, closing your eyes and leaned further in, taking more of his throbbing length into your mouth. He let out a guttural moan, tipping his head back, as his hand moved back into your hair. You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, and you pushed down more, swallowing him with each inch until you felt his coarse hair against your nose. Your eyes watered by the size of him in your mouth; over time you had learned ways to accommodate his large member inside you, making sure he feels every bit of pleasure you could possibly give him. 

“Come on baby, please” he whined softly under his breath. You moved back, pulling out from your mouth, a small gasp as you looked down at his length, now thoroughly soaked through with your spit, a long string of saliva connecting him to your lips. You gave him a few hard strokes with your hand before you took him back in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down, stroking his base with what you don’t take in, every few strokes you take him fully down your throat again. You could hear him panting, small whines that graced your ears, as you opened your eyes to look up at him. His teeth gritted, and pupils blown out with lust, you attempted to smile with his cock in your mouth. The action made him roll his eyes back, mouth agape as he attempted to control his breathing. You felt drool leaking out of the corner of your lips, and you continued working him over, bringing him closer and closer to his finish. You could feel his thigh tensing under your palm, so you pulled back, stroking him with your hand again, as you sucked on his tip, pressing your tongue into his slit, and looking back up at him.

“Fuck!” He cursed, his hand gripping your hair, and pulling you back onto his cock as you felt his warm release coating the back of your throat, your hands braced against his thighs as he kept his dick sheathed inside your warm mouth as he spilled inside you, his head tipped back in pure pleasure. Your eyes watered as you began to struggle to breathe, and he finally pulled back out of you roughly with a harsh grunt. You swallowed everything he gave you, as you brought your arm up to wipe your mouth clean of the drool and cum that leaked out. “Fuck, cmon, up-” He orders, grabbing your arm and pushing you up to your feet. His hand grabbed your jaw tightly, pulling you in for a deep burning kiss, before he shoves his tongue down your throat, turning into something sloppy. Pulling away, he looked down at you with fierce eyes, a scowl on his face. “I’m not done with you.” He growls.

He spun you around, pushing you against the sink. He grabbed your hands, placing them both on the sink firmly. “Keep em there and don’t fucking move till I tell you.” He mutters. 

You knew what this was about. He lost himself in you, and now he needed to regain control; so you prepped yourself, preparing to get fucked within an inch of your life. 

One hand came up, beginning to fondle your breast, as the other began shoving your pants down to your knees, before he kneeled down to pull them off of you completely. You heard a snikt! And suddenly you felt your panties fall off your body, torn to tatters by his claws. They retracted and he stood back up. 

“You’re fucking soaked darling.” He muttered into your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back. “Get that turned on sucking an old man like me off hmm?” 

His warm hand made contact with your mound, simply cupping it, before holding it up in front of your face. “Look how fucking soaked my hand is already, I barely even touched you.” 

You nodded, arching your back against him. “Lo please-” You whimpered. 

He brought his hand back down, his finger sliding through your folds, before making contact with your clit. You jerked at the stimulation- you were so focused on getting him off, you hadn’t realized just how wet and sensitive you’ve become yourself. He pressed your swollen bud again with just his finger, teasing you with just barely enough stimulation. 

“Lo!”

“Oh, now you don’t like the teasing huh bub?” He says raspy. You shook your head and he grinned. “Liar. You love it.” He turned to nip your ear. He finally gave in, using two fingers to rub circles against your clit, the pressure he applies to it ranging from soft to rough, between fast and slow- bringing you to the brink of an orgasm, as you felt that white-hot burning heat in your lower belly, but he pulled away- making you cry out. “Don’t worry princess.” He groaned. He took his cock in his hard, half-hard again as he stroked himself to a full erection. “Fucking filthy, you know that? Luring me in here just to suck my cock.” He growled as his arm came around your hips, pushing them back as he teased his tip at your pulsing hole. 

“Just-” You gasped as he barely pushed his tip inside you. “Wanted to make you feel good-”

“Yeah? Always trying to take care of your old man, hm?” He muttered. His feet kicked yours farther apart, forcing your legs open wider, as his other arm came around your whole body, pinning your arms to the side, and giving him full control over you. You nodded desperately, enraptured by his whole body surrounding you. All you could feel was him. “You got your wish, you made me feel real fucking good. So good that I don’t think I want to stop just yet.” He groans in your ear. “I’m gonna use you up, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl- got it?” 

You nodded desperately, your body practically trembling in anticipation. You barely had a moment to register as he thrust his whole length inside you in one moment- making you cry out as your body jumped with his thrust. You went on your tippy toes, accommodating the way his one arm practically held you up. He pressed his cheek against yours, his beard scratching against your face as you heard him grunt. You felt him so deep inside you, as your body molded around him to accommodate his size. 

“Gotta stay quiet darling. You want people to hear?” He mutters. “Probably do, coming in here and acting like a slut.” 

You moaned, and his hand came up to cover your mouth. He was a hypocrite, because he was being just as loud as you were a few moments again. Your toes curled as you felt his hips began to move, as he pulled out, and thrust back into you. You yelled against his hand- not in pain, but full pleasure. You loved when he got rough. It meant he was feeling good, able to use some of his strength that he usually couldn’t carry much anymore every day. You knew this was exactly the kind of stress relief he needed, even if he didn’t realize it himself immediately. You made a mental note to tell him that you wouldn’t mind being his stress toy. 

His thrusts were hard and rough. He started slowly, your body bouncing against his, before he picked up- pounding into you, the sound filling the bathroom and no doubt if someone were to walk by they would hear it. The sound of skin slapping against skin. You couldn’t move, squirm, nothing. Logan had his arm firmly around your waist, pinning your arms to your side, his hand covering your mouth- attempting to silence your whines and moans. 

“Fuck you’re being extra loud sweetheart.” He grunted. He pushed two fingers into your mouth. “Suck on em” He orders. “Give those pretty lips something to do and stay quiet.” You obliged, wrapping your lips around his fingers, sucking as you ran your tongue over his warm fingers, taking in the taste of him.

He growled, as his body pushed down on you, bending you over against the sink, as he fucked into you hard. His hips slammed against your ass, surely you’ll be bruised later by the pace of his skin smacking into yours. His cock stretched you out, and he angled himself to fucking against the spot that had you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back as you couldn’t even think straight, no longer able to even suck on his fingers as you began to drool, he fucked you dumb and weak. He pressed his lips against your temple, feeling the way you clenched tightly around him, signaling your impending release. 

“Come on baby, cum all over my cock-” He grunted, his hips thrusting hard into you again. “Fuck I love you-” 

That was all you needed, as your whole body tensed, and your explosive finish came to. Waves and waves of ecstasy rolled through you, squeezing around Logan almost painfully as he grunted, committing a final thrust as he spilled inside you. You both stood there, bodies attached to each other, heaving for breath, sweat beading your skin, as Logan did a few lazy thrusts, drawing out the last bits of your mutual ecstasy. He dropped his hand from your mouth, wrapping his other arm around you in a hug from behind- still inside you, as both your releases dripped down your legs. He pressed soft kisses to your cheek, down to your neck. 

“You okay princess?” He asked softly. Your body was trembling, but you were on cloud 9, as you managed to nod. He carefully pulled out of you, turning you around. You could barely feel your legs as you used the sink to balance yourself, and you brought your hands to his chest. 

“You feel better?” You hummed, running your hand soothingly over his chest, and he smiled- that rare smile that always made your heart skip. 

“Yeah princess. Thank you.” He says softly, putting a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone as he admired your face- you knew you had to look like a mess, drool over your lips and chin, with wet eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Yet he stared at you like you were the most gorgeous thing in the world. “Could’ve just said something if you wanted me so bad…” He smirks. 

“You were being an ass mister.” You tilted your head knowingly at him. He looked away a bit bashfull, 

“Yeah. I know.” He muttered, bringing a hand up to scratch his neck, an action you’ve seen him do whenever he gets embarrassed- especially after he acted like an asshole. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You made it up to me.” You smiled up at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and you once again admired the man before you. You wished he’d see himself the way you saw him. Not just handsome, but compassionate, strong, someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He never considered himself a hero, never looked at himself as a good man, but before you, you saw a man that was doing everything he could for the people he cared for. “We’ll get through this.” You say softly, in a small attempt to provide some comfort to his mind. His face softened, and he nodded. 

“We will.” He says softly. He looked over you, you half clad figure- your bottom half was a complete mess, and he grinned once more- something about more devilish, kneeling down onto the ground before you, and taken your leg to place over his shoulder as his hands came up to cup your still shaky thigh and ass. “First though. Gotta clean you up- and even the score.”

[allfortheslay25]

Hi!!! I love your blog and was wondering if you have any Milo and Warren hcs?

Spoilers for Milo’s Future

The first cordial conversation these two have actually happens at Eden’s (before it is ruined lol)

Like I’ve mentioned before, Milo’s goal while being with the Foxes was to improve their teamwork and help them win a game. One of their team bonding things he suggested was clubbing together so he took them to Eden’s since his family has a history there (and he could house them in the Columbia house which he bought from an old Fox when he was 15)

Wymack allowed the team to go out as long as they stayed in doors and didn’t get into too much trouble. Milo was stuck babysitting the real trouble makers and he unfortunately had a rude awakening that the bartender he met back as a kid (Roland) was not as chill as he thought he was

Warren let the cigarette burn away at the tips of his nails. Christen leaned closer to his knuckles to blow at the cherry end, smirking when he recoiled in disgust.

“You need to smoke it or it’ll die.” Christen said.

Warren stuffed his free hand into the leather confines of his jacket pocket, clenching his fist so hard his scabs split open.

“Disgusting. Let it die.”

Ash stumbled, leaning her weight into Christen as she blew a mouthful of smoke his way. “I’ve been sooooo generous. We’ve been so generous. You don’t want to let your lungs stay a virgin forever, babe, it’s embarrassing.”

The striker had been nothing but a nuisance to Warren since he moved to the states. Intoxicated and naked, she preferred to press his buttons and rob him of his anger management progress. But Ash was scum and Warren found hanging out with someone like her made him feel better about himself, as horrible as it was. He felt indebted to her after knocking her out of last year’s season. Warren looked down at the cigarette between her fingers. It was hard to tell the arm had ever been broken at all.

When her hands reached for his face, he moved his arm up, stopping her in her tracks. Christen pulled them back, far enough that Warren would be forced to take three steps forward if he so much as wished to snap their necks.

“My eyes are up here,” Ash cooed.

Warren glanced away from her long throat and scowled at the two oufs.

“Really, though, how do you expect to manage all that crazy without something to take off the edge? Smoking a cigarette is the least dangerous option we’ve offered you.”

Christen jostled her. “I don’t even know why you bothered asking the retard.”

Warren dug his thumbnail through his pointer finger and clenched his teeth so hard he’d be sure to crack his jaw.

Ash grinned and hip checked Christen. “I like him. Big scary European dog. Woof woof.”

Warren curled his lip. He didn’t know how far intoxicated she was but it couldn’t be as hard as their usual routine. He saw Milo empty their pockets before they left.

Just like that, Warren’s body sagged in content. The image of Milo’s beautiful eyes swirled through his brain like crystal waves at the beach. Sometimes, Warren got jealous of the sun, being that the evidence of its kisses freckled his skin every time he saw him. Warren would not insult God by praying for the man, but he begged his forgiveness every night for he knew who he’d see in his dreams. Such a twisted form of fate to introduce him to someone so addicting. It wasn’t right. Warren was sure you’d have to first taste something for it to control you so, yet here he stood, poisoned with no antidote for heartache. Oh, Warren wanted so deeply it burned. It will burn. The devil smirks at me now.

“Hey!”

Warren startles, his fist coming out of his pocket but then he sees the eye of the sea and stops. Milo was a sight to behold. He’d demanded everyone dress their best for this night out, as if it were a requirement for entry at this so-called ‘Eden’. Warren had allowed Ash to dress him and in turn, he’d lent Christen a few things. But Milo had surely tricked him. The man must be planning Warren’s murder, why else distract him with a flash of his gorgeous and freckled abdomen. So many freckles.

Milo stomped over to the blonde mooncalves. Christen once again pulled them away, far from where the young Minyard-Josten could smell their deceit.

“You two! Get back inside!” He shouted.

Christen and Ash moved faster than Warren thought possible, hiding the cigarette and Ash’s positively large pupils. Milo chased them to the back door of the club, a breathtaking view as the moonlight earned her turn to caress his face in her light. Warren swallowed the lump in his throat or maybe the Lord holds his tongue as punishment for his unfathomable lust.

“Don’t ruin the night for everyone! You both know Coach said to stay indoors!” Milo hisses at their backs.

He huffed, shoulders going down as he muttered something venomous under his breath. Warren’s face flushed at the intrusive idea that Milo ought to shout at him instead. Don’t waste your words on the air or the piss covered concrete. Cuss at me. Spit the poison at me, burn me with your glare. Warren vaguely recognized the heat from the cigarette threatening at the first knuckle of his finger. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his longing. Milo’s teal coat emphasized the color in his irises, but paled in comparison to the makeup he asked the Captain to frame around his eyes after Barry David called him a slur. Warren had begun to realize Milo lived to spite others. He wore makeup to spite David, sung in the locker rooms to press the men’s buttons, trimmed his hair because Ash said long hair was more attractive on him, and pressed his chest against Warren’s just because he stole the ball from him during scrimmages. And if Warren found more ways to knock over Milo’s stick, just to feel the idea of Milo’s heartbeat against his own—

“Oh, Warren…” Milo noticed him, awkwardly dropping his tensed fists behind him.

Warren was too dumbfounded to speak. He bit his tongue to prevent it from getting him in trouble. Despite what the team thought, he wasn’t slow. English wasn’t easy, he found it hard to form a sentence that wasn’t as vulgar as he learned from the Sharks back in France. They taught him all the bad words first, then worse things so he’d follow along during their threats. But English, Greek, nor French—none of their vocabularies held the words Milo deserved to hear. However, this was his chance was it not? Couldn’t he start fresh? Couldn’t he apologize? He hadn’t ruined it all just yet. Milo isn’t like the rest. He closes the distance with Warren everytime they speak, he stands too close, closer than anyone on the team had the courage to. He could close the distance. He didn’t need Milo to hold him or fall in love with him. Warren was okay watching from the sidelines, listening to his voice was enough. Let me watch as you play exy with the kind of fire that devastates our earth, let me listen to you ramble on about anything. I’ll hang on to every word like clothes on a line or a painting on a wall. Just say yes.

Milo smiled, as if he heard Warren’s thoughts.

“Having fun?” He asked.

Warren bit down harder. He shrugged in lieu of an answer.

Milo glanced down at his cigarette. Warren was about to crush the offending stick until Milo leaned closer, taking a deep breath and giving Warren a soft look. “Sorry,” he said bashfully, “the smell reminds me of simpler times. It’s nice.”

“Do you smoke?” Warren blurted.

Milo paused, maybe not expecting Warren to speak at all.

“No… I can’t. But it’s a nice reminder that things hadn’t always been so bad.” He gives the cigarette one last gentle look before shrugging off the wall. “I’d better go back inside, make sure everyone is safe.”

Warren watched him go, because it’d be cruel to force him to stay. He looked down at the cigarette still holding on between his crooked fingers and brought it to his lips.

This is what the sketches looked like from three years ago lol

I would’ve added the rest of the scene (I wrote it three years ago) but the post was getting too long. Anyways, unfortunately the night ends when Milo is really put off by Roland (who’s been flirting with him since he found out who he was) so he’s trying to get his foxes to leave. Ashely refuses and is just doing drugs and chatting up some dude. Warren, pent up from the anger Chris and Ash stacked on him all night, went to civilly bring her to the cars. Ash badmouths him and comments on his mothers and his hard on for Milo (which is a joke since no one knows he’s crushing) so Warren snaps and breaks her jaw on the counter of the bar. They’re kicked out of Eden’s and Milo has to get them to the ER

Warren ruined his development with Milo who begins to be cautious around him now, keeping Warren at arms length and worst of all, Warren watched Milo’s hands tremble as he dialed coach on the way there.

[distantlcver]

POISON ME, PLEASE

bartender!sevika x f!reader ‼ non explicit suggestive content MDNI The feeling of being undesirable mixed with intense longing translated through arcane and music of course

"Water down what I call being grateful" - We'll Never Have Sex, Leith Ross

Sevika never cared for love stories.

They belonged to a different kind of person; people with soft lives and soft hands and futures they could actually imagine. Not someone like her. Not someone who’d spent most of her life clawing her way through shadows, surviving on scraps of loyalty and bitterness and smoke. People like her didn’t get love. Not the kind that stayed. Not the kind that didn’t ask for something first, flesh, obedience, silence.

So she’d learned not to expect much.

A body to warm the sheets. A few hours of distraction. Quick hands in back rooms. Sharp mouths saying things they didn’t mean. Sevika knew how to navigate that world. She was comfortable in its shallowness. It didn’t ask anything real of her. Anything deeper?

She’d stopped reaching for that a long time ago.

She was nineteen the first time she tried. Fresh into adulthood. Too full of hope she didn’t recognize as naivety. The object of her affection had been a mechanic; brilliant, fast-talking, all calloused fingers and oily overalls. They made her laugh. Listened when she spoke. Once even kissed her knuckles like it meant something. She mistook kindness for care. Touch for intimacy.

They slept together a few times. Nothing serious. Nothing committed. But Sevika, she felt. She tried to say so once. clumsily, like someone speaking a language they never really learned.

“I like being around you,” she’d muttered. Post-fight. Lip split. Hands still twitching with adrenaline.

The mechanic had laughed. Not cruel. Not kind either. Just… surprised.

“Oh, c’mon, Sev. Don’t go catching feelings. You’re not really built for that kind of thing.”

That sentence stayed lodged in her chest like a scar. Not visible. But deeper than most of the others.

After that, she stopped trying to be seen that way. If all people wanted was the rough exterior; the arm, the brawler, the cold woman with a sharp tongue and quicker fists, she’d give them that. It was easier than the sting of hoping.

Years later, she gave dating apps a shot. Bored. A little drunk. Thought it might be funny. It was, in a way. Funny like a bad joke.

The matches came fast and dirty. People didn’t want her, they wanted an idea. A kink. A novelty.

↳ What’s it like with the arm? ↳ You look like you’d wreck me in the best way 😘. ↳ God, you’re so intimidating. I love it.

Sevika played along at first. Picked a few matches. Hooked up once or twice. The experiences were forgettable. Sometimes degrading.

She even tried to take one girl on a real date once; rooftop bar, bottle of halfway-decent wine, even cleaned up a bit. The girl ghosted her. Never showed. Left Sevika alone at a high-top table, flower in hand, watching the shimmer of Zaun’s skyline tremble in her untouched glass.

She deleted the apps that night. Stopped pretending she wanted more. Love stories weren’t made for people like her. She was the side character. The lesson. The cold hand someone touched before finding someone softer.

So she built her life around not needing anyone.

Started working at the bar, then running it. It was small. Reliable. Quiet most nights. She liked that. Liked the control. The rhythm. She could pour drinks. Shut people down with a look. She didn’t have to feel much of anything.

The bar wasn’t even her idea. It belonged to some old friend of Silco’s who skipped town when things got dicey. Sevika took it over in a kind of reluctant inertia. Found comfort in the way it didn’t demand anything too emotional of her. Pour the drinks. Clean the mess. Throw out the assholes. Smoke when it got too loud inside her own head.

The loneliness was manageable. Predictable. Like the hum of an old machine she’d learned to live beside.

Then you walked in.

You arrived on a Thursday night. All easy charm and wide eyes. Sat down at the bar and asked about the jukebox like you’d been there a dozen times. Smiled when she handed you your drink, really smiled, like you saw her. Not the arm. Not the scars. Just her.

She didn’t smile back. Not right away. Didn’t know how.

But she remembered you. Remembered the way you laughed at your own dumb joke and looked to her like you were waiting for a reaction. She gave you one, a smirk, a scoff, something close enough to a laugh that you beamed like you’d won a prize.

At first, you didn’t seem like much. A soft face. Shy smile. Nervous hands wrapped around a water glass while you studied the drink menu too seriously. She saw you for what you were; too clean for the Lanes. Too gentle.

You left a good tip.

Came back the next week.

Then again.

And again.

It became a thing. Thursdays. Your favorite stool. Sometimes you read. Sometimes you talked to the other bartender. Sometimes you asked Sevika stuff, what drink she recommended, whether she liked the mural in the back, what her favorite band was growing up.

That last one… that one threw her.

No one asked questions like that. No one seemed to care about who Sevika was before the grit and metal. She didn’t answer. Just shrugged.

But that night she went home, dug through a pile of old junk under her bed, and found a dusty player. Played a track she hadn’t heard since she was a girl. It made her chest hurt.

You smiled at her when she poured your drink. Said thank you like it meant something. Made some stupid joke about the jukebox skipping like it was haunted. And you laughed at your own joke, then looked to her like you hoped she might laugh too.

And she did.

Just a little.

Just enough.

She started watching you more. Noticing things. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed. How you always ordered the same drink but pretended to consider changing it. The way you said her name, carefully, like it mattered.

And without meaning to, without even wanting to, she started hoping again.

It showed up in small things.

She swapped her old coat for a cleaner one. Bought cheap cologne. Tried lining her eyes once, but wiped it off before she left the house. Thought about cutting her hair. Or growing it out.

She looked in the mirror more than she used to.

One night, she brought a flower. Just one. A zynara bloom. Purple-pink, delicate, the kind that survived in the cracks of Zaun’s streets.

She kept it behind the bar. Waited for the right moment.

But when you walked in, radiant and effortless, smile soft and eyes bright and she panicked. Hid the flower. Said nothing. Pretended her hands weren’t shaking when she poured your drink.

She threw the flower out after closing. Watched the petals float in the gutter like a confession she never got to make.

That night, she stayed late. Lit a cigarette. Stared at nothing.

This was stupid.

She was stupid.

You weren’t flirting. You were kind. Friendly. Maybe a little lonely. But not interested.

Not in her.

Why would you be?

She told herself it didn’t matter. Just another customer. A blip.

But you kept coming back.

Week after week.

You brought your little books. Talked to the other bartender. Still talked to her—about the weather, about the mural that maybe looked like Vander. You even asked her what her favorite song was again.

No one had ever asked her twice.

She started pulling back. Stopped with the cologne. Let her clothes get wrinkled again. Answered your questions with one-word replies. Thought if she made herself smaller, duller, that the ache would go away.

It didn’t.

You still smiled. Still tipped. Still talked to her like she was more than the sum of her damage.

And that… that was the worst part.

Because deep down, a part of her wanted to believe it.

Wanted to believe you saw something worth loving in her.

But she knew better. She’d learned better.

People didn’t love women like her.

They tolerated them. Feared them. Fucked them.

They didn’t ask them questions about their childhoods. Or bring them flowers. Or look at them the way you did.

They didn’t choose them.

Not in the end.

So Sevika poured drinks. Took out the trash. Lit another cigarette. Tried to forget the way your smile warmed something long-frozen inside her.

Because you were kind.

And she was the kind of person kindness didn’t stay with.

And Sevika, who never believed in love stories, was terrified of what it meant that, for the first time in her life, she wanted one anyway.

She wanted you.

It should’ve gotten easier, pretending.

Pretending she didn’t watch the door at 6:45 every Thursday. Pretending her stomach didn’t tighten when she saw your silhouette in the doorway, hair caught in the neon glow, lips parted like you were already laughing at something she couldn’t hear yet. Pretending she didn’t slow her hands when pouring your drink, didn’t linger just a second longer when she slid the glass toward you.

It should’ve dulled by now.

But Sevika had never been good at slow deaths. She felt things all at once or not at all, and this, the waiting, the aching, the sharp bite of silence, was driving her mad.

You were wearing something different that night. Lighter, more skin, soft lines and colors she didn’t have the words for. Something about it made her forget to speak when you sat down.

“Sev,” you said brightly, resting your chin on your palm, “you look tired.”

It wasn’t the words themselves, it was the way you said them. Not like an insult. Like you noticed. Like it meant something to you. Like someone worrying about her didn’t have to be an act.

Sevika grunted. “Don’t start being nice to me now. I might actually collapse.”

You laughed. She could’ve swallowed glass and it would’ve gone down easier than that sound.

“I’m always nice to you.”

She didn’t answer. Just turned away, focused on the shelves like they were suddenly urgent. Her pulse was heavy in her throat.

Because it wasn’t true. You weren’t always nice to her.

You were kind.

And there was a difference. One she couldn’t ignore. Kindness was consistent. Soft. It didn’t expect anything in return. It showed up, even when it didn’t make sense. And somehow, you gave it to her freely.

She didn’t know what to do with it.

That night, when you left, you touched her hand.

Just lightly. Barely enough to register. A casual graze as you took your receipt from her fingers. But she felt it, skin to skin, your warmth against the rough heel of her palm.

She watched you disappear into the street, then stared at her hand like it had betrayed her.

And then she broke.

She walked home in the rain.

Didn’t bother with a hood. Didn’t light a cigarette. Just let it soak her to the bone. She needed to feel something that wasn’t you.

By the time she made it back to her apartment, the ache in her chest was too loud to ignore. She sat on the floor, back against the door, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Her arm whirred softly as she rested it over her knees.

There had been others, sure. People she’d wanted. People who didn’t want her back. But this was different. This was slow. Deep. It carved her out day by day like water through rock.

It had never been like this.

With them, the rejection came fast. Sharp. Clean. You learn not to bleed too long when the knife’s already out of your back. But with you, it was like drowning in sunlight. Hope blooming where it shouldn’t. Her own mind betraying her with daydreams she’d long ago buried.

She imagined you laughing at something she said. Reaching for her hand in public. Sitting on her lap and teasing her about how gruff she looked before you kissed the edge of her jaw.

She imagined waking up with you still there.

It was stupid. Desperate. She knew better.

But the part of her that wanted to believe that small, starved, trembling part refused to go quiet.

Maybe that was the worst of it.

Not the rejection. Not even the loneliness.

It was the hope.

Hope that whispered maybe you see her the way she sees you. Hope that made her wake up on Thursdays with her heart a little too fast. Hope that told her if she just tried a little harder, softened a little more, maybe you’d fall in love with the woman she was trying so hard to become for you.

But love doesn’t work like that.

People don’t change for someone who was never looking.

The next week, she didn’t speak much when you came in. Just nodded. Took your order. Kept her head down. You noticed, she could tell. Your words were hesitant, lighter than usual. You watched her like you were trying to understand.

She wished you wouldn’t.

She was unraveling and she didn’t want you to see it.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

Sevika cleaned a glass that was already clean. “Fine.”

A lie. But the kind she knew how to say.

You nodded. Smiled, even though your eyes looked a little dimmer than usual. You didn’t stay as long that night. You left her a napkin with a doodle on it. A tiny sketch of her arm holding a flower.

She stared at it after you left. Didn’t crumple it. Didn’t throw it away.

Just stared.

Because it hurt. Gods, it hurt. This fragile little world she’d built out of glances and imaginary maybes.

She wanted to tell you. Wanted to lean across the bar and say it. That you made her feel human again. That you were the only softness she’d ever trusted long enough to miss when you were gone.

But Sevika didn’t do softness. She didn’t do risks.

And you?

You were the kind of person who deserved certainty.

Not someone who would fall apart the second you loved them back.

So she tucked the napkin into her coat pocket and pretended her hands weren’t shaking.

She would keep loving you from across the bar. Quietly. Pathetically. Completely.

Because even if you never saw her that way, even if you never chose her, at least for a few hours every week, she could pretend.

Sevika had always been good at leaving.

Not quietly, maybe, not with grace or tact, but with finality. She knew how to disappear, how to burn the bridge before she ever walked it. It used to be a survival tactic, back when she still believed the worst thing someone could do was hurt you. Now she knew better.

It was the hoping that ruined you.

So when things with you started to tip, when your kindness grew teeth and started to resemble something dangerous, something real. She did the only thing she knew. She started to leave. Bit by bit.

First, she stopped asking you questions. Stopped watching your hands when you talked, or catching your eye when you made a joke. She stopped pouring your drink without you having to ask. Let other bartenders take your orders when she could. Stayed in the back just long enough to avoid you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because you noticed.

And you weren’t sure when exactly you started noticing her. Not just the way she moved behind the bar—effortless, like the world bent a little to make room for her—but the little things. How her mouth twitched when she was trying not to laugh. How she always rolled her eyes when she was embarrassed. How, for a few months, you always had a napkin doodle waiting on the bar—something stupid, but thoughtful. You kept them all.

When those things stopped, you felt it in your chest like missing a step on the stairs.

You noticed her pulling away, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit. Not because she owed you anything, but because you liked her. And not the way you liked most people. With her, it felt different. Quiet, heavy. Real.

You watched her closely, like she was a puzzle missing a piece you were sure used to be there. You caught yourself frowning when her laugh didn’t reach her eyes. Noticed how she flinched when you said her name too softly. You didn’t know what you had done wrong, but the silence between you started to grow sharp.

She tried to ignore it. Ignore you. But you didn’t make it easy.

It was a Tuesday the first time you backed her into a corner, both metaphorically and, to her horror, literally.

The bar was quiet, shadows stretched long across the floor. Most people had cleared out, and Sevika was halfway through counting bottles when she heard the shift of your chair and the soft scuff of boots against tile.

She didn’t turn around. Maybe you’d go smoke outside. Maybe you��d give up on her. Maybe you already had.

“Hey.” Your voice was right behind her. “Got a second?”

Sevika tensed. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to crack open her chest and let you see what lived there. But when she finally turned, you were already there. Inches away. Eyes locked on hers, searching for something you weren’t sure you wanted to find.

“Have I done something wrong?” you asked, brows pulling together. “Because I can take a hint, Sev. But I don’t get it. One minute you’re—”

She shook her head, too fast. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?” you asked again, voice lower. “Why are you looking at me like I’m the one who broke something?”

Sevika blinked hard. You weren’t angry. You just… cared. That made it worse.

She couldn’t think with you this close. She could feel your warmth in the small space between you, smell the soap on your skin, the faint citrus of your shampoo. Her heart beat so hard it made her ribs ache.

“I just—” she started, then stopped. Her throat was dry.

You waited.

Her voice came out low, rough. “You make it hard to breathe.”

The silence after that was instant. Crushing. Like the whole room had inhaled and forgot how to let go.

You froze. Blinked. Said nothing.

Sevika watched the expression fall from your face. Watched you pull your lips in slightly, your eyes going wide. Not in disgust, but in something else she couldn’t place fast enough to stop the spiral inside her.

Fuck.

She stepped back, hit the wall with her shoulders, and scrambled to fill the gap. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to be weird. Shit. I just—forget it. Forget I said anything.”

Her voice cracked at the edges. That made her panic more. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable, I swear—”

“Sevika,” you tried, but it was too late. She was already sliding past you, already grabbing her jacket, already moving like her limbs were full of lead and shame.

You stood there for a long moment, stunned. Her words echoed in your head like they were made of glass. "You make it hard to breathe."

The day after were quiet. Then quieter.

She changed her schedule. Volunteered for early shifts. Said she needed time to fix the inventory system. Told herself lies until they started to sound like reasons.

Because you knew now. And Sevika… Sevika had always known what people did when they saw her too clearly.

They turned away.

Maybe not with cruelty. But with silence. With avoidance. With gentle rejections that felt like blade points just the same.

She’d been the good time once, twice, too many times to count. No one had ever stayed. No one had ever wanted more.

So when you stopped coming in for a few days, she told herself it was over. She ruined it.

And it was better this way.

Friday night. Her shift ended late. Rain hung in the air like breath. The back alley was damp and quiet when Sevika stepped outside, coat collar turned up, cigarette half-lit between her lips.

She wasn’t expecting to see anyone.

She definitely wasn’t expecting to see you.

Leaning against the brick wall like you belonged there, arms crossed, damp curls stuck to your forehead.

You looked up. Your eyes found hers immediately, and she froze.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, voice rough. Tired. Not cruel.

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you, Sev.”

"Stop calling me that."

Her whole body screamed to turn around, to disappear back into the safety of routine and silence.

“Don’t,” you said, gently but firm. “Just—don’t go. Please.”

She hesitated, half in shadow.

“Why did you say that?” you asked, taking a small step forward. “That I make it hard to breathe?”

She swallowed. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her fingers twitched at her side.

“Because I’m an idiot,” she said finally. “Because I thought,” her voice cracked, “that if I got it out, it would stop hurting.”

You didn’t flinch.

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared?” you asked, voice soft. “Because I didn’t say anything either. I thought… I thought you just didn’t feel the same.”

She looked at you then. Really looked. The worry behind your eyes. The way your lips trembled with something you weren’t saying yet. You were just as terrified as she was.

“I thought I pushed you away,” she murmured.

“You did,” you said, but gently. “But only because you didn’t know you didn’t have to.”

And then, your hand found hers. Fingers tentative. Careful. You didn’t demand anything. You just waited.

And Sevika, who had spent her whole life being looked past or looked through felt, for once, seen.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded, once. And for the first time, she didn’t run. Not when you stepped closer. Not when your forehead brushed hers.

It was slow.

You didn’t expect her to pour her heart out all at once. She didn’t know how to. But she started showing up again. Started walking you home after shifts, brushing your hand with hers, lingering when she said goodbye.

She let you lean against her on the couch. Let your hand slide across the back of her neck when you kissed her temple. She let herself enjoy it. Even smiled, sometimes, like it surprised her to be happy.

And the physical closeness god, it scared her. But it healed her too. Because you didn’t touch her like she was a convenience. You touched her like she mattered. Like you chose her, again and again, not because you needed anything from her, but because she was herself.

And Sevika, who used to think the only thing her body was good for was fighting or fucking, started to learn that closeness could be soft. Could be kind. Could be mutual.

You didn’t push. You didn’t ask her to be someone she wasn’t. But when she gave you little pieces of herself—stories, silences, thoughts she hadn’t said out loud before—you held them gently. Like they were worth something.

Sometimes she cried. She didn’t always know why, and you didn’t ask her to explain.

You just held her. Let her hide her face in your shoulder. Let her exhale without flinching.

Sevika had never had that before. A safe place to feel messy. Ugly. Real.

And you, who had seen her at her worst, loved her anyway.

Maybe she wasn’t good at talking about her feelings. But she started showing up with dinner when you had a bad day. Started writing little notes and shoving them in your coat pocket. Started letting you hold her hand in public, even when it made her ears turn red.

And she started to believe it. That she could stay. That she could be wanted. That maybe she didn’t have to leave anymore.

And when she whispered “I’m not good at this, but I’m trying,” you squeezed her hand and whispered, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

It was a while before you both kissed.

Sevika thought about it. God, did she, but something in your touch, the quiet way your hand stayed in hers, told her she didn’t need to prove anything to be wanted. You just wanted her. And for once, that was enough.

You walked her home through puddles and broken streetlights, your coat over both your shoulders, your arm brushing hers with every step. When she paused at her front door and looked at you like she didn’t know if this was where the story ended or began, you smiled and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Not goodnight. Not goodbye.

Just tomorrow.

And that was the first gift.

It wasn’t perfect. She didn’t know how to be a girlfriend, even the word made her flinch. Too soft. Too open. It didn’t fit her rough edges, her scarred knuckles, the weight of shame she still carried from every time she’d been made to feel like nothing but a body and a burden.

But you didn’t want perfect. You wanted her when she was tired and cranky after a double shift. You wanted her when her arm was acting up, when she couldn’t sleep, when she snapped at things that weren’t your fault. You saw through her silences and past her bluster, straight to the soft, sore thing underneath that she’d hidden for most of her life.

And she tried, every day, to meet you in that place.

It started with small things. She’d make your coffee exactly the way you liked it without you having to ask. She started keeping your favorite tea in her cabinet. She let you nap on her couch and didn’t make a big deal about the way your hand always found hers, even half-asleep.

The big things came later. She told you about the dating app matches who used her like a challenge. Told you about the girl who once ghosted her after she opened up. About the person who said they “weren't into scars” and made her feel like she should be grateful for any scrap of attention.

She didn’t cry. But you did.

Not loud. Just a quiet kind of crying, like your heart was leaking through the seams. You pressed your forehead to her shoulder and said, “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

And for the first time, she believed it. Not entirely. Not all at once. But something cracked open in her chest that night, omething tender and aching and alive.

She started looking at herself differently.

She caught her reflection one morning, hair tangled, tank top askew, sleep still crusting her eyes. Before, she would’ve turned away. Would’ve muttered something under her breath about looking like hell.

But you were there, brushing your teeth in her bathroom, singing off-key to the radio and wearing her T-shirt like it belonged to you. You saw her in that state every morning, and you smiled.

Not because you pitied her.

Because you loved her.

And it made her wonder: what if I’ve been wrong about myself this whole time?

So she started trying.

She wore the nicer shirt you said brought out her eyes, even if she felt weird in it. She let you run your fingers through her hair without pulling away. She even smiled in photos when you insisted on taking them, her real smile, not the tight-lipped one she used to give to strangers.

And god, when you finally kissed her, slow, deep, reverent, like she was a cathedral, like your mouth was making a prayer out of her flaws, something in her shattered. Not in the way that destroyed. In the way that remade.

She took care of you, too. You didn’t ask. But she did.

She rubbed your back when you were stressed. Learned your tells, the way you bit your lip when you were overwhelmed, the way your fingers curled when you needed comfort. She started leaving little notes in your bag:

Drink water. :) I’m proud of you!! Come over after work—I’ll make dinner. ♡.ᐟ

She wasn’t good with words, but she was fierce with care. She protected your joy like it was sacred. Like giving it room to grow was a kind of holy work.

And when you had bad days, when you cried into her chest and mumbled things about not being enough she held you so tightly the world couldn’t touch you. Whispered, “You are. You always are.” The same way you had done for her.

Months passed. The bar kept humming. The world spun on.

But in the quiet corners of your life together. In the unglamorous, soft routines of brushing teeth side by side, of folding each other’s laundry, of learning what meals made the other feel warm. You built something neither of you had ever had before.

A home. Not in a place. But in each other.

One night, you were curled up on her couch, her head in your lap while you absentmindedly played with her hair. The TV buzzed low in the background, forgotten.

You said, sleepily, “You know you’re allowed to have good things, right?”

She didn’t answer right away. But then she shifted, turned her face toward your belly, her voice muffled against you. “Yeah,” she said. Quiet. Steady. “I know that now.”

You smiled. Kissed the crown of her head.

Touch had always been a negotiation for Sevika.

Even before the scars. Before the metal arm that made people flinch, or stare too long, or ask weird questions like she owed them something.

Even before all that, she’d already learned her body was something people either wanted to conquer or ignore. She was too tall, too strong, too quiet. Too butch to be the right kind of woman, too much of a woman to be anything else. Touch was something to survive. It was muted, hungry, temporary. It got taken from her, or she gave it with conditions.

So when you touched her, and didn’t want anything, she honestly didn’t know what to do with that.

And when you touched her and did want something, wanted her, not her armor or her sarcasm or the thrill of getting close to someone like her it messed her up in ways she didn’t expect.

The first time you kissed her like she might break, she almost laughed. It was instinct. Almost made a dumb joke just to shake off how heavy it felt. But then you held her face like it was something delicate, like you were trying to memorize her, and she went quiet.

Then you whispered, “I want all of you. Not just the pieces you think are safe to give.”

No one had ever said that to her. Not with their mouth. Not with their hands. Not with their body.

But you did. Every time you leaned into her space like she wasn’t something to be scared of. Every time you touched her shoulder without hesitating when your hand met metal. Every time your lips followed the line of her neck like you knew she held tension there, like you knew she’d been waiting for someone to finally touch her right.

It wasn’t about sex. Not just.

It was the way you lingered. The way you kissed her like time didn’t exist. The way you moved like you were worshipping something. Not because she was flawless, but because she was real. Because she felt things. And let you feel them too.

She started letting you see her in the dark. Not just her body, but all of it—the way her jaw sometimes shook, the way her mouth got soft when she said your name, the quiet little sound she made when your lips brushed the corner of her scar. You kissed every part of her like it belonged to you, but not in a way that tried to own her.

Like you were thankful.

Like you loved her.

And eventually, slowly, she started touching you the same way.

Not because she had something to prove. Not out of fear she’d lose you.

But because she wanted to. Because it felt right.

She traced your spine with her knuckles when you were curled up on her chest. She pressed her mouth to your ear just to feel the way your breath hitched. She held you after, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and eventually, it started to feel that way too.

Like maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to earn softness by being useful.

Like maybe she was already enough.

Just being her.

It happened one night in late autumn, when the wind rattled the windows and the bar had closed early. The streets were emptying, and you’d waited like always, leaning against the lamppost outside, scarf looped twice around your neck, eyes soft when you caught hers through the glass.

She stepped out into the cold, and you fell in beside her without a word. You always knew when she didn’t want to talk. And you always knew when she needed to.

She hadn’t said much the last few days. Hadn’t touched you as much. There was that slump to her shoulders again, that familiar edge of retreat. You hadn’t pushed. Not yet. But tonight, you took her hand.

And for the first time in a while, she didn’t pull away.

She spoke when you got to her place, after she’d changed out of her uniform and made tea like she always did when she didn’t know what else to offer. You sat together on her old couch, the silence soft and heavy between you.

“I used to think,” she said slowly, “that people only wanted pieces of me. The parts that were fun, or easy, or didn’t ask for anything back.”

You didn’t speak. Just listened. Just stayed.

Sevika stared into her mug, brow furrowed in that quiet, guarded way she had.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to do this. All of it. Sometimes it feels like I’m messing it up before it even starts.” She gave this small laugh, kind of bitter, kind of fond. “Even now. Even with you.”

You reached for her hand again, and this time you took it with both of yours.

“You’re not messing it up,” you said. “You’re showing up. That’s enough.”

Her throat worked around something she didn’t quite let out. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sob. It didn’t come.

She didn’t cry much. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she’d trained herself not to. Crying used to be dangerous. Too vulnerable. Too easy to use against her. In Zaun, it had never felt safe. But here, in your arms, on this couch where you’d laughed and eaten and kissed and talked late into the night about nothing at all. It felt like maybe it wouldn’t break her.

Maybe this time, it would be okay.

“I don’t know how to need someone,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “But I think… I think I want to learn.”

You leaned your forehead to hers, your eyes stinging, heart open in that way she still didn’t know how to brace against.

“Then let’s learn together.”

And you did.

You learned how to hold her when she flinched from comfort. Learned that sometimes she needed quiet more than conversation, and sometimes she needed to hear I’m not going anywhere until it stopped sounding like a lie.

And she learned, too.

She learned that needing you didn’t make her weak. That softness wasn’t something she had to earn by being perfect. That when she let you see the parts she hated most; The shame, the rage, the ache, you didn’t walk away.

You leaned in.

And that changed everything.

The relationship didn’t fix her. It wasn’t magic. But it gave her something she’d never really had before.

Room to breathe. Room to come undone. Room to be loved, even when she didn’t feel like she deserved it.

One night, lying in bed with you tucked against her chest, your heartbeat steady under her hand, she whispered, “I used to think I’d die alone.”

You looked up at her, sleep still in your eyes, but serious when you said, “You’re not alone anymore.”

And for once, she believed it.

Not just in her head. Not just in the moment.

But all the way through.

Because now, when she reached out in the dark, her hand always found yours.

And for Sevika, that was the most radical kind of peace. Not power. Not armor. Not distance.

But love that didn’t ask her to shrink. Love that didn’t hurt. Love that saw her, all of her, and stayed anyway.

A/N: incredibly self indulgent but anyway, butch sevika truther!!!

[yoiisa]

BABY, KISS IT BETTER ⋆˙⟡ HIORI YO

"But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs, The smell of smoke would hang around this long, 'Cause I knew everything when I was young." - "Cardigan" by Taylor Swift Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of Hiori's toxic ass parents! Fluff as well though, reader's really smart

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I’m writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums.

Folklore gave me so much shit! I love this album to death, and all the songs on it slap, but omg I couldn't for the life of me find a character to write a song for off of any of them! Finally, after listening to "Cardigan" for the nth time, I landed on Hiori, which I'm so excited about. My sweet angel, I love him so much. Again, mind the CW, and let's get on with it! ♡⸜(ˆᗜˆ˵ )⸝♡

Every child grows up thinking their mom and dad are soulmates, and the concept of transactional marriages is foreign. Well, at least most do. Hiori gained a type of awareness of the world at an age very few other kids do, or even should for that matter. His parents' arguments had most certainly shifted his perspective on everything, especially love.

It was an unhealthy connection that Hiori developed with video games. He devoted every second that wasn't for soccer to his controller. The code couldn't betray him the same way his folks did. They were his to command and he was powerful in a world where everything was the other way around.

Get up, go to school, go to soccer practice, come home and play video games until 2 AM, go to bed for four hours, and then rinse and repeat every day. Truly, he had everything figured out.

Then a girl hopped onto the VC one day.

It was a new person he'd never played with before. A friend from his gamer server invited you though, and within the first game, you proved well enough that you were a valuable asset. It was a first person shooter, akin to COD, with bunkers and abandoned buildings. You'd completely annihilated the other team within the first ten minutes of the round.

Your microphone was perpetually muted throughout the entire game, but Hiori could tell you were still listening in to everything him and the team were saying. Over the next week or so, he never asked for you, but he appreciated your presence nonetheless. His win stats were significantly improving thanks to your assists.

When you finally spoke for the first time, Hiori felt something stir in him that was foreign to anything he'd ever experienced.

"I might not be able to play for the next few days," you explain as the crew wraps up another two hour long session. "My soccer team is traveling for our championships, and I can't bring the PC, obviously."

You play soccer. He swears, he can feel his heart rot at the realization. Of course you do. That stupid sport has poisoned everything in his life, and is now infecting his games as well.

Probably against his better judgement, he grits out, "Ain't noo one's beggin' you to stay. Go."

Everyone on the call falls silent, before a soft and breathy laugh comes from you. Your icon lights up as the sound reverberates through Hiori's headset. The giggle alights something inside of him and he almost takes off the headphones entirely.

"A typical gamer," you giggle. "You've probably never played a sport in your life, hm Hiori?" When Hiori's silent, you press on, "Country boy? Hello?"

"You don't know nothin' ," he mutters, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Yeah, I guess not. You must know everything huh? About sports and video games. A total package," you scoff.

"Hiori's been playing soccer since he was young," another boy offers up. "He is actually really good!"

"Yeah?" you ask, "I'd like to see you play. Got any clips Hiori? Send them in the group chat."

Hiori remains quiet. He thinks he'd actually rather die than show anyone a video or photo of him kicking around a round checkerboard.

"I'm good," he says at last. "Y'all don't need to see that."

"Are you that bad? You gonna make Ken out to be a liar right now?" you tease.

"That's not it!" he sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. "I just . . . I'm here to play games, not talk about soccer. My parents already do that enough and I . . . I'm sick of it. I'm sick of soccer."

Everyone falls silent again, and Hiori mentally facepalms. He desperately hopes his parents weren't eavesdropping through the door and heard him say that. The ensuing argument would make his head hurt for a month straight.

"Then quit," you say.

Hiori balks. "What?"

"If it's that much of a bore, then give up and quit. Be a video game otaku for the rest of your life," you sigh and grunt as if you're stretching. "You boys, you think you know everything about the world and how it works. Y'all don't know anything clearly. Why torture yourself-"

"You don't know my parents, or me."

"I garnered plenty from the games we play though," you say, and Hiori can practically hear the smirk on your mouth. "You're assertive in the way you play, but I didn't know what to make of it at first but now I do. You probably mostly assist in actual games, and never want to shine too much in front of others. You're compensating for that in games, right?"

Hiori stutters and you laugh again. "Cute. In any case, I gotta go, but lemme give you some advice Hiori, soccer girlie to soccer guy.

"Find a balance in both. Don't try to keep games and soccer so separate. You'll probably find that combining them is more rewarding. In chasing both world, you'll lose one, and based off of how you've been talking right now, it won't be soccer. Anyways, gotta go! Bye y'all!"

As you log off, another one of the guys says, "She's kinda weird, huh?"

Hiori just stares at his monitor as if all the world switched to Greek.

A week later, he gets the letter for Blue Lock in the mail. He messages you a photo and you send a thumbs back.

you: rooting for you!

Maybe he didn't know everything about love after all.

a/n: me and the five hiori stans cheered!