#I hope he is and he is living his wonderful life away from all these crazy guys

[solaceseven]

crawling back to you

pairing: sukuna x reader

genre: angst

inspired by the song do i wanna know? live at bbc by hozier

it’s been three months.

three months since the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence in your wake. three months since you walked away, and sukuna didn’t chase after you—not that night, not the morning after, not the weeks that followed. he told himself it was for the best. that this was what you wanted.

but now, as he sits alone in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a vice, he wonders if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

the buzzing of his tattoo machine is the only thing that keeps him sane most days. his clients come and go, faces he barely registers as he inks intricate designs onto their skin. it’s the only time his mind goes quiet—when his hands are busy, the hum of the machine drowning out the thoughts he doesn’t want to face.

but the second the machine powers down, reality creeps back in. and reality is cruel.

because no matter how hard he tries, you’re everywhere.

he sees you in the smallest things—things that shouldn’t remind him of you, but somehow always do. In the flicker of a neon sign outside the shop that hums the same soft glow as the fairy lights you used to hang in your room. in the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine that lingers when someone walks past him on the street, never quite matching the way it clung to your skin. in the half-empty coffee cup sitting on the counter, lipstick smudged at the rim, and he’s reminded of lazy mornings when you’d steal sips from his mug, laughing when he grumbled but never really minded.

you’re in the song that plays softly from the radio while he works—one he never paid attention to before but now knows every word to because it was always on your playlists. in the chipped black nail polish on his coworker’s hands, a fleeting reminder of the countless nights you sat cross-legged on his couch, painting your nails and teasing him for being too still as he let you paint his, too.

but worst of all, he sees you in his reflection—tired eyes that have lost their edge, the weight of regret carving its place in the lines of his face. in the faint traces of your touch that still linger like phantom sensations along the tattoos you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, as if memorizing every inch of him.

and when his coworkers scroll through their phones, laughter echoing through the shop, there you are again—captured in a fleeting Instagram story from some party last weekend. grainy, imperfect, but unmistakably you. smiling, carefree, eyes crinkling in that way that always made something in his chest tighten. and god, how he hates the way it guts him, wishing—aching—that he was still the reason for that smile.

you unfollowed him. he noticed immediately.

one day, your name was gone from his notifications, your profile nowhere to be found. he tried not to care. tried to convince himself that it was just social media. but it gnawed at him. you were cutting him out piece by piece, and all he could do was watch it happen.

he lurks in the shadows, hoping one of your friends posts something—anything—that gives him a glimpse of you. It’s pathetic, he knows, but it’s the only thing he has left.

there’s a bitter irony in it all. he was the one who pushed you away first. always keeping you at arm’s length, never letting you in too close. you wanted more—deserved more—but he couldn’t give it to you. not when vulnerability felt like a weakness he couldn’t afford.

and now? now, he craves your presence like a man starved.

the shop is quieter than usual tonight. it’s late, and everyone else has left. sukuna leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of traffic outside barely audible through the thick walls. the glow from his phone screen flickers beside him, but he doesn’t touch it.

not yet.

he’s been doing this every night. sitting here, contemplating. the urge to reach out is unbearable, but something always stops him. pride, maybe. or fear.

fear that you’ve moved on. that you don’t want to hear from him. that he’s too late.

his chest tightens at the thought.

he tried to fill the void, but nothing ever worked.

not the long hours at the tattoo shop, where he threw himself into his work until his fingers ached and his mind blurred. not the mindless scrolling through social media, hoping—not that he’d ever admit it—that he might catch a glimpse of you. not the empty nights spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to drag him under.

nothing could distract him from the ache of missing you.

his friends tell him it’s time to move on. they say three months is long enough to let someone go. that there are plenty of people out there. but what do they know? they didn’t spend endless nights memorizing the shape of your smile, or the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, like he was the only person in the world. they didn’t hear the quiet affection in your voice when you whispered his name in the dead of night, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his chest like you were trying to commit every line to memory.

his friends didn’t feel the weight of your absence like he did—the way it settled deep in his bones, heavy and inescapable. they didn’t know how every morning, he still reached for you instinctively, only to be met with the cold, empty space beside him. how even now, he still slept on his side of the bed, as if leaving room for you just in case.

how could he fall for someone new when he was still so busy being yours?

they didn’t see how badly he broke you when he shut you out.

the memory of your last fight is still fresh, even after all this time. you stood in the doorway, tears brimming in your eyes, asking him—begging him—to just let you in. to tell you what he wanted. and all he gave you was silence.

he thought you’d stay. you always had before. but that night, you walked away. and now, the silence is all he has left.

his fingers twitch toward his phone, but he stops himself. what’s the point? you deserve better than a half-assed apology three months too late.

but then he thinks about the what-ifs. what if you’re waiting for him to reach out? what if you’re lying in bed right now, staring at your phone, wondering why he never called?

he can’t take it anymore.

the weight of missing you presses down on his chest, suffocating and relentless, until it pushes him off his chair and out the door before he can even think twice. it’s reckless, stupid—but so is love, isn’t it?

the streets are quiet at this hour, the hum of the city softened under the cloak of night. his hands are shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, but none of it matters. all he can focus on is you. the thought of you, maybe asleep, maybe curled up in bed with your phone just out of reach. maybe dreaming of something—someone—that isn’t him.

the thought twists like a knife in his gut.

he walks with purpose, even though every step is a silent war between hope and dread. what if you don’t open the door? what if you tell him to leave? what if someone else is there?

he shakes the thought away.

it’s been three months, but it feels like no time has passed at all. and yet, it feels like forever.

before he knows it, he’s standing outside your apartment building, staring up at your window. the soft glow of light seeps through the curtains, and he wonders if you’re still awake or if you’ve just fallen asleep with the lamp on, the way you used to when reading late into the night.

his heart pounds so loudly he’s sure it’ll wake the whole block, but still, he climbs the stairs. each step echoes in the silence, a quiet reminder that there’s still time to turn back. but he doesn’t. he can’t.

and suddenly, he’s there. in front of your door. it’s familiar and foreign all at once.

he doesn’t have a plan. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. all he knows is that the thought of another night without you is unbearable.

he raises his hand to knock but hesitates. his breath is shallow, his pulse erratic.

but then, before he can stop himself, his knuckles rap gently against the door.

seconds pass. each one heavier than the last.

then, the faint sound of footsteps. the quiet click of the lock.

the door opens, and there you are.

soft, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket, and so heartbreakingly familiar that it steals the breath from his lungs.

“sukuna?” your voice is quiet, confused, and laced with something that might be disbelief.

he swallows hard, the weight of the past three months pressing down on him all at once. “i know it’s late,” he says, voice rough and barely above a whisper. “i know i shouldn’t be here. but… i couldn’t stay away.”

you blink at him, and for a moment, there’s only silence. then, softly, “why now?”

his throat tightens, and he runs a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “because i’m tired,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s held back. “tired of trying to forget you. tired of pretending i’m okay. i’ve tried. god, i’ve tried. but i can’t. i miss you.”

his voice cracks at the end, and he hates how raw he sounds. how vulnerable. but it’s the truth. And right now, that’s all he has left to offer.

he sees the flicker of emotion in your eyes—the conflict, the hurt, the love you’ve tried to bury—and it guts him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with regret. “i’m sorry for not being enough. for not being what you deserved. i know I fucked up. i know i wasn’t always what you needed me to be.”

his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists at his sides. “but i swear… i’ll do better. i will. i promise you.”

his voice is raw now, barely more than a whisper. “just… tell me it’s not too late.”

you stare at him, eyes glossy, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. and then, finally, you step back just enough to let him in.

and for the first time in three months, sukuna breathes.

[ur-local-wizard]

Ruin You

Mattheo Riddle, an incubus, is used to getting his way. But when he falls for you --the one girl immune to his charms -- and learns of your innocence, he's overcome with the want to ruin you for anyone else.

MDNI! corruption kink, praise, fingering, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, creampie, loss of virginity, incubus!mattheo x fem!reader, I am not responsible for your media consumption

w/c: 1.6k

in response to this request!

masterlist au list

a/n: first smut ever!! I hope this lives up to all the expectations! <3

Seduction came to Mattheo Riddle as if it was his mother tongue – natural, unhurried. He knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and the way to angle his smirk just right to make people weak in the knees. His smile was devastating, his voice rich and deep, his touch always featherlight yet never failing to leave a scorching heat behind. He thrived off sexual innuendos, his existence woven into every fantasy and every intimate thought that flitted through every mind.

But you seemed to be immune to his charms.

Remaining blissfully ignorant to his attempts, you somehow escaped every interaction with the demon entirely untouched by the sin that dripped from his lips. It was confusing, infuriating, yet somehow intoxicating; only serving to make him thirst for more. 

“You know,” he purred, leaning closer to where you sat in the common room. “If you ever need help with anything, I’m here. You only have to ask.” 

You blinked up at him, and a wholesome smile spread across your lips. “That’s so sweet of you, Matty. You’re such a good friend.” 

He nearly choked on his own spit at your response. Friend? He was a literal demon of temptation and desire, and yet you thought his actions were friendly? 

His flirtations only escalated after that. Every smirk, wink, lingering touch, was only met with a beaming smile or polite nod. You were a puzzle, a challenge. He wanted to figure you out – to understand how to get his message across. And yet he found himself drawn to you in other ways; ones that weren’t driven solely by physical need.

Then he heard the rumors.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He was just drinking at a party like usual, when he heard Pansy’s voice. “Y/n’s a virgin? Makes sense I guess. But with a face like that, I expected more,” he heard her say. 

He felt the world tilt for a moment, and not from the alcohol he was drinking. Everything in him was screaming, the depraved part of him clawing at the edges of his restraint. A virgin. Pure. Untouched.

His body ached at the thought, and the demonic part of him longed to find you and corrupt you, defile you. But the last thing he wanted was for you to see him as he was – a monster, a predator, a creature of hunger and lust. He wanted you desperately, needed you even, but he would never force anything on you.

For the first time in his life, Mattheo Riddle was at a complete loss for what to do.

Although it was difficult, Mattheo tried to distance himself after that revelation. He told himself that it was for your own good, that you were better off without him, that he would ruin you if he got too close. 

But the more he resisted, the more unbearable the distance from you became. He still heard your laugh echoing throughout the corridors, still caught glimpses of you in the Great Hall, still felt the echo of your innocent touches that lingered, their memory like a brand seared into his skin. 

However, you noticed the change in his behavior almost instantly, and began to wonder if you’d done something wrong.

“Matty?” You asked one day, your voice soft and uncertain. You’d caught him just after curfew, when everyone was meant to be heading to their dorms. “Are you mad at me? Have I done something?” 

Mattheo’s fists clenched at his sides, not able to stand the way your doe eyes were filled with guilt and concern. No fear, no anger, no suspicion, just pure and genuine worry. It broke his heart, and he had to look away. “No angel, you didn’t do anything.” 

You tilted your head in confusion, and your brows furrowing. “Then why have you been avoiding me?” 

His mouth floundered as he searched for something to say. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t scare you? That wouldn’t hurt you? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to lie either. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, giving a non-answer while shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Then explain it to me,” you said, looking up at him expectantly.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. You stood firm, gaze unwavering, arms crossed over your chest. The sight of you, so determined, so concerned, made him snap. 

“You drive me mad, you know that? Every time you smile at me, every goddamn touch, makes me go absolutely insane. I want you so bad… I wanna ruin you for anyone else.

“So? Who said I didn’t feel the same way, Matty?”

He stared at you in utter disbelief. “But all the hints I threw-” 

“Yeah, I get those now,” you grumble. “After I realize you share the same feelings. I just… didn’t want to assume.” 

He scoffs and takes a step closer. “So you want this too?” 

As soon as you nod, he’s on you. His lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry, his fingers tangling in your hair, tugging lightly, as he backed you against the wall. One hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him, and you could feel his desire pressing against you. The kiss was fervent, full of pent-up desire, yet beneath the urgency there was tenderness. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot on your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You’re so fucking perfect.” 

His hands were warm as they slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. Your bra was next, falling away to meet your shirt, and you should have been mortified of being so exposed in the common room. But you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Not when his touch ignited something within you that you never knew was there, not when his lips brushed against your ear, whispering sweet praises that made your stomach tighten with need.

His own shirt was next, falling into the growing pile of clothes forgotten on the floor. Hands finding your hips, he spun you around, and you immediately braced yourself against the wall. The stone was hard and cold against your hands, and the cold air of the common room caused your nipples to pebble. His touch drifted down your back, before slipping under your skirt to rub against your core. Letting out a gasp of surprise, your hips jolted towards his touch, earning a soothing hum from the man behind you.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? So fucking gentle,” he murmured as he moved your panties to the side. Two fingers slipped inside your cunt with ease, earning a whine from you. 

“Fuck. You're so tight. So wet,” he groaned as he curled his fingers, hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars. “I really am the only one to touch you like this? Gonna be the first and last, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you moaned, head falling forward as a knot started to form in your belly.

His fingers picked up their pace, pumping and curling just right, just enough to drive you dangerously close to the edge. “I want you to promise, angel. Promise me I’ll be the only one to ever see this beautiful pussy of yours.” 

You nodded enthusiastically, but that didn't satisfy him. Right as you were about to finish, he tore his hand away from you, leaving you teetering on the brink. The loss and emptiness made you whimper, but when you heard him unbuckling his belt, anticipation replaced the frustration. The suspense made you tense, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

The head of his cock brushed against your entrance, teasing, but he didn't move. “I want to hear you say it. Promise me, angel.”

“I promise,” you whined, growing impatient from the loss of sensation. You wanted him desperately.

That was all he needed to hear, his hips surging forward, thrusting into you with one swift motion. A choked gasp escaped your lips, the stretch making you wince. He stilled, letting you adjust, though his grip on your hips tightened like he was barely holding himself back.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Your fingers curled against the wall, and when you started to squirm, he took that as a hint to move. His first thrust was slow, gentle. It was your first time after all. But eventually his restraint snapped. His rhythm was deep and deliberate, fucking into you as if this was the last thing he'd ever do.

One hand snaked around your body to rub tight circles on your clit that made your knees buckle. He caught you, keeping you upright as his pace never faltered. 

“Feel so good. Like you were made for me,” he moans, his voice raw. 

His continued ministrations made pressure build once again, white-hot pleasure beginning to curl insistently in your stomach. You could feel it, the inevitable, and his increasingly erratic movements were a tell-tale sign that he was close too. 

“Come for me,” he whispered, coaxing you. “Prove to me how perfectly you were made for me.”

Pleasure crashed over you, blinding and all-consuming. You tightened and fluttered around him, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within his throat. He followed soon after, burying himself deep with a groan. 

For a moment, neither of you moved, lost in the shock of what had just happened. Then he pulled out and turned you around, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You did perfect, just like I knew you would.”

tag list: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls @riddleswhcre @riddleshire

[4linos]

when words fail.

yang jeongin x gn!reader

synopsis/request: the connection between you and jeongin has always been strong, but unspoken. when you begin to pull away, jeongin is left wondering if he’s lost his chance.

wc: 2318

Jeongin and you had always had a strange, almost unspoken connection. You were never officially dating, but there was something special between the two of you that no one else in the group seemed to understand. You had a huge crush on him, and it became more obvious through time. You always favored him over the other members, immediately drawn to him. It was just how you felt around him.

Maybe it was the way his laugh made your stomach flutter or how his gaze seemed to linger on you just a bit longer than the others. Whatever it was, you never tried to hide it. You were always near him, sitting next to him, talking to him more than anyone else.

Your touches, like brushing against him when walking by or lightly resting a hand on his shoulder were never something you thought twice about. They were a part of your connection. You had developed a kind of natural closeness with him, one that felt comfortable and safe.

However, there was always this underlying tension, especially on Jeongin's end. Despite the chemistry between you, it was clear to everyone that he wasn’t one for physical contact. He had a personal boundary when it came to closeness, and he often recoiled at unwanted touches from others. But with you, it was different. He didn’t mind the proximity, didn’t mind the light touches or the way you’d lean in when talking. He secretly loved it, more than he realized.

The fact that you made him feel safe enough to ignore his usual discomfort with physical closeness made his feelings for you all the more complicated. He had a crush on you too, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he never let it slip. He didn’t know how to navigate the feelings that seemed to run deeper than friendship but too delicate to be love.

So, he kept everything inside, letting his affection remain a quiet secret, one he told himself he could live with, so long as you didn’t pull away from him.

But that’s exactly what started happening.

Your growing distance hadn’t been lost on him. At first, it was just a subtle shift in how you acted around him. The casual touches weren’t as frequent, and your laughter didn’t come as easily when you were around him. Conversations became shorter, more formal. Jeongin couldn’t ignore it. He’d tried to rationalize it, telling himself you were just busy, that maybe something had happened in your personal life, or maybe you were just going through a phase. But the more he thought about it, the more it stung. It felt like you were slipping away from him, and he had no idea why.

And then, one evening, the truth hit him.

Jeongin wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but when he heard your voice from the hallway, he couldn’t help but listen. He hadn’t expected to overhear something so personal, so raw, but the words you spoke to Jisung, your second closest best friend in the group, made his heart drop.

“I just… I’m done, Jisung,” you said, your voice small, almost fragile. “I feel stupid. I’ve been hoping for something that’s never going to happen. I can’t keep doing this. I need to give up.”

Those words sliced through him like a knife, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

You were talking about him.

It took a moment for it to click, but when it did, it hit him with the force of a storm. All this time, you had been quietly giving up on him without him even realizing it. His mind raced.

Jisung’s comforting words only added to the weight of the moment. “Maybe it’s time to pull back. You deserve someone who can give you the same thing you give them.”

Jeongin didn’t know how to process it. He stood frozen, hearing your vulnerability as you admitted you were ready to walk away from him. The realization was like a punch to the gut. He could see now that you hadn’t just been distant. You had been hurting, and in your heartache, you were starting to lose hope in whatever connection the two of you shared.

And it broke him.

That night, Jeongin barely slept. He spent hours wrestling with himself, regret and guilt eating him alive. He had never been good at expressing himself, and now he was afraid it was too late. He had never told you how he felt, never given you the reassurance you needed, and now, you were pulling away. But what hurt even more was realizing that you’d probably been feeling this way for a while. Maybe you’d been pulling back little by little, trying to protect yourself from what you feared was a one-sided love.

He couldn’t let you slip away. He couldn’t let you feel like this was your only option.

The next day, he decided he couldn’t stay silent anymore. The tension in the air between the two of you was unbearable, and he couldn’t handle the thought of losing you, even if it meant confronting everything he’d kept inside for so long.

He found you alone, sitting in the living room, a faraway look in your eyes. There was an awkwardness now between you two, a hesitation that made it hard for him to even breathe normally. But this time, he couldn’t let it go.

He approached you slowly, trying to keep his voice steady, though his heart was pounding in his chest. “Hey,” he started, his words tentative but earnest.

You looked up at him, your expression unreadable. “Hey.”

There was a long, quiet pause as Jeongin struggled to find the words to ask what he needed to know. Finally, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Why have you been like this? Why have you been avoiding me?” His voice broke slightly, showing the rawness of his emotions. “I miss you. I miss how things were.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for a second, you just stared at him. Your mind raced, fighting with the urge to keep your feelings hidden. But his words his raw, honest words broke through your defenses. You knew you couldn’t keep pretending.

“I… I’ve been trying to protect myself,” you said softly, your voice wavering. “I thought if I distanced myself, maybe I could stop feeling so… stupid. I thought maybe I could get over it. Over you.”

Jeongin’s heart tightened, but he didn’t let it show. He stepped closer, his gaze steady and vulnerable at the same time. “You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to pull away from me. I’ve been too afraid to say it, but I like you. I like you more than you know.”

The words hung between you, raw and real, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. His admission hit you harder than you expected, and your own feelings flooded back to the surface.

You opened your mouth, the confession on the tip of your tongue, but Jeongin was quicker. “I’ve always liked you,” he said, the weight of the words sinking into both of you. “I was just too scared to say anything. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

You blinked, the realization hitting you like a wave. He had liked you this whole time, but just like you, he’d kept his feelings hidden, too afraid to take that step forward. He’d been waiting, just like you had, for something to change.

In that moment, everything felt different. The weight between you, the space that had grown, seemed to dissolve. You both stood there, the air between you suddenly lighter, as if the truth had finally set everything in motion.

“I guess we’ve both been idiots,” you whispered, your voice tinged with relief.

Jeongin let out a soft laugh, a nervous, happy sound. “Yeah, but we’re not idiots anymore.”

And finally, in the quiet of that moment, you both let yourselves believe that things between you were about to change because now, the feelings were no longer unspoken. Now, they were real.

After the weight of your confessions settled in, there was a new, unspoken understanding between you and Jeongin. The air between you felt lighter, but there was still a hesitance a mix of excitement and fear as neither of you quite knew how to move forward. It wasn’t that either of you regretted what you had said. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the reality of everything that had been left unsaid for so long was still sinking in.

Jeongin, after taking a deep breath, was the first to break the silence that followed your mutual confessions. He shifted slightly, his hand still resting gently on yours, and there was a nervous energy in the way he smiled at you. "So, what now?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, as if the weight of vulnerability made him unsure.

You could tell he was looking for reassurance, just as you were. He didn’t know how to act now that the thing that had kept both of you at arm's length was finally out in the open.

You took a slow breath, considering your answer. "I think... we start by being honest with each other," you said, meeting his gaze, your heart racing. "And not pretending anymore. We can’t keep pretending like we don’t care."

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your hand in a way that felt both comforting and intimate. It was as if he was reassured by your words, the fear of rejection, the fear of ruining everything, starting to fade.

"We’ve wasted so much time," Jeongin said, his voice tinged with regret but also a glimmer of hope. He gently pulled you a little closer, his hand now fully enveloping yours, his fingers lightly tracing the back of your hand. "But I don't want to waste any more."

You felt your heart flutter, and a smile tugged at your lips. For all the angst and uncertainty that had built up between you, there was something simple and undeniable in this moment. You were finally here.

"I don’t want to either," you replied, the words flowing easily, as though they had always been there.

And then, as if the universe decided to finally align with the way you both felt, Jeongin leaned in just a bit closer, hesitating only for a split second before brushing his lips against your cheek, the contact soft and careful. It wasn’t a kiss at least, not the kind that usually happened in stories, but it was enough. It was his way of letting you know that he was there, that he meant what he said. He was nervous, unsure, but he wanted this.

You closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of his closeness, the soft pressure of his lips against your skin. When you opened them again, he was looking at you with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"I guess this is where we start something new," you said, your voice a little more confident than you felt.

Jeongin smiled, a small, genuine smile that made your heart race. "Yeah," he agreed, his thumb gently tracing the side of your hand. "Let’s take it slow. I don’t know exactly what this is, but... I’m willing to find out."

With that, you both laughed softly, a nervous but happy sound that felt like the first step toward something real. No more pretending, no more hesitating.

From that moment, things between you and Jeongin began to shift. It didn’t all happen at once, of course. You were still getting used to the idea of being open with each other, of letting down the walls you’d both built up. There were awkward moments, when one of you would hesitate before touching the other, unsure of where the line was between friendship and something more. But each time, the hesitation faded a little faster, the connection between you both growing stronger.

You spent more time together, in small, quiet moments that were as much about building trust as they were about enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes, you’d catch him looking at you with that familiar smile, the one that made your stomach flip, and sometimes you’d find yourself leaning in a little closer than usual, both of you still navigating what it meant to be open and vulnerable with each other.

One night, as you and Jeongin sat on the couch watching a movie with the rest of the group, he rested his arm on the back of the couch behind you, just shy of touching you. It was a familiar gesture, one that used to feel like a safe distance but now, there was something different about it. Something more. You didn’t hesitate this time. You leaned back just a little, letting your shoulder gently brush against his, and when he looked at you with a questioning glance, you gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"I’m glad we did this," you whispered, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Jeongin smiled softly, his heart racing as he let out a quiet breath. “Me too,” he said, his voice barely audible but filled with emotion.

And just like that, the awkwardness that had hung between you two for so long faded away. There was still so much to figure out, still so much to learn about how to navigate this new dynamic, but the foundation was there. You both had taken a risk, put your hearts on the line, and let go of the fear that had kept you apart for so long.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But for the first time, you both felt like maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something real. And that, in itself, felt like enough for now.

//

❌ proofread

masterlist.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things: It Wasn't A Mistake (Nameless, Faceless)

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: Murder. Blood. Death. Weapons. Canon typical violence. Everything that makes Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2009

Bookend: "Heroes always have their scars. Some you can see, some you read about later on." - George Foreman

A month has passed since your return to the BAU, and everything feels… different. It's not just the challenge of easing back into the work or learning to live with a healing injury. It's Hotch. He's changed.

While your relationships with the rest of the team have slipped back into their familiar rhythm, your dynamic with him is far from what it once was. He's distant, his demeanor toward you almost uncomfortably stern.

The others have noticed it, too—throwing you questioning glances whenever he cuts a conversation short or keeps interactions strictly professional. But every time you try to confront him, he finds a way to avoid you—burying himself in paperwork, excusing himself for a meeting, or simply walking away. It's as though the bridge between you has been burned, and you're left staring at the ashes, wondering why.

Less than 24 hours after your most recent case in Canada, you're abruptly woken by a phone call from JJ.

"This one's urgent. I'll send you the address," she says as you rush out of bed to get dressed.

You groan. You haven't even had a chance to de-thaw from the iciness that is Hotch now. All you can do is hope that something about his treatment this time is different.

You arrive at the crime scene and follow the team inside. One person is notably missing. It's hard to concentrate without his presence.

"Where's Hotch?" you ask, scanning the room.

"Not sure," JJ says, already pulling out her phone. "I tried his cell, but he didn't answer."

"Try him again," Rossi instructs. "Leave a voicemail—tell him to meet us at the next address."

JJ calls again, but there's still no answer. A nagging unease settles deep in your gut—this isn't like him.

You turn to Emily. "Do you think I'm needed here right now?"

She furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"

You sigh, lowering your voice. "Hotch being MIA isn't sitting right with me. If you think I can slip away, I want to check on him—just for peace of mind."

Emily studies you for a moment before nodding. "You're a good woman." She squeezes your arm in reassurance. "Go. I'll cover for you."

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Arriving at his apartment, you scan the halls for his apartment number. He's been to your house so many times now, yet you've never been to his. He gave you his address after you were attacked, in case you ever needed a safe house. Little does he know that wherever he is, is where you feel the safest.

You knock, but there's no response.

"Hotch… Aaron, it's me. Answer the door."

Silence.

You dial his number, praying he picks up. But then, you hear it—his phone ringing from inside the apartment. Your pulse pounds in your ears, blocking out every other sound. Instinctively, your hand moves to your gun.

Hesitantly, you reach for the doorknob. It turns easily.

The door swings open, and you step inside, gun raised, sweeping the space for any sign of movement.

The apartment is eerily still. No sign of Hotch. No sign of life.

You move around the couch—and that's when you see it.

A large pool of blood.

Terror tightens around your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs, but you push forward, clearing the apartment. In the kitchen, shattered glass litters the floor. On the table, Hotch's gun and some scattered files. Beneath the table—his phone.

Your hands tremble as you dial Garcia.

"Hello, babycakes, how can I make your wildest dreams come true?"

"Pen, something's happened to Hotch." Your voice shakes despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "I need police and FBI techs here immediately. Maybe even an APB."

"What happened?" Fear creeps into her voice.

"I don't know. But there's blood. I don't know whose. His car is still out front, but he's gone."

"Okay," she says, inhaling deeply. "You just stay strong, my love. I'm sure he's fine…"

Her words are meant to comfort you, but they don't. Not really.

"Don't tell the rest of the team yet," you say. "They need to focus."

She hesitates, then agrees.

You end the call, steadying yourself with a breath. Your gaze drifts across the apartment, carefully avoiding the bullet hole in the wall. You can't let yourself dwell on what that means—not yet.

This is where he lives, where he rests his head at night, where he tries to find peace, if such a thing is even possible for him. You step toward his bedroom. It's pristine, of course. Not a wrinkle on the bed sheets, not a pillow out of place.Everything is meticulously arranged, controlled. Just like him.

For a moment, your mind drifts. You wonder what it would be like to—

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. Police officers and FBI agents begin to flood the apartment, their presence swallowing the space. You watch in silence as they take over, searching every inch of the apartment.

Buzz.

You glance down at your phone. It's Penelope.

"Talk to me, Garcia," you say, trying not to let your hopes rise too much.

"I called hospitals to see if Hotch had checked himself into any emergency rooms," she begins, her voice tight with urgency. "He's not listed anywhere, but someone dropped a John Doe off at St. Sebastian Hospital, and that someone was FBI agent Derek Morgan."

"That doesn't make sense," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips.

"Do you think someone got the credentials mixed up?" Garcia asks.

You scour your brain, desperate for any hint of logic. If Aaron were here, he'd have drawn the answer out of you already. Then, it hits you.

"Oh my god, The Reaper," you murmur, the realization crashing over you. "Typically, The Reaper takes something from his victims. Nothing of mine was missing when I was attacked because Morgan tried to stop him, and he wasn't able to finish his routine on me. Afterward, Derek realized he didn't have his credentials. Foyet must have taken them."

"Why would he drop Hotch off at the ER?"

You freeze for a moment, the pieces clicking into place.

"What hospital?" you ask quickly.

"St. Sebastian."

"I'm heading there now," you say, already heading for the door. "I'll call you when I know more."

"Go take care of our boy," Garcia says softly, her concern almost palpable.

"I will," you respond, feeling your heart tug at the thought of him.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The moment you step into the hospital room, the sight of Aaron lying unconscious in the bed hits you harder than you expected. His face is pale, too still, and the sight of the IVs and the bandages covering his torso make everything feel unreal. Your heart clenches at the sight—this isn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to end up here, like this.

You walk toward his bedside, your breath catching in your throat. The room feels cold, too sterile. You reach out a hand, your fingers brushing the edge of his, desperate for some sign that he's still here, still fighting. The soft rhythm of the machines is the only sound breaking the silence, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside you.

"He was stabbed 9 times, but no major arteries were hit. It's a miracle he's alive," the doctor explains, her voice distant, clinical.

"When will he wake up?" you ask, your voice quiet, the question coming out almost like a prayer.

The doctor doesn't meet your eyes immediately. "There's no for sure answer. But he will be out of it when he does," she adds, glancing down at her clipboard.

You nod, but your heart sinks. That was the last thing you wanted to hear.

"Can I stay here?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, the words almost a plea.

"Are you his wife?" she asks, her tone soft but probing.

You feel a lump form in your throat at the question, your chest tightening. You swallow hard, unable to keep the emotion from your voice as you answer, "No. I'm his friend though." The words sound too hollow, too distant compared to what you truly feel for him. It hurts to say it.

The doctor studies you for a moment, her gaze full of sympathy. It makes something inside you break a little more. "Alright," she finally agrees, stepping aside to give you space.

You sit down, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The familiar sense of fear and helplessness floods back to you, dragging memories of your own attack to the surface. The panic. The helplessness. The pain. You can't help but feel it all over again, but now it's Aaron in that bed, and you can't stand it.

Your tears come without warning. Silent and unbidden, they slip down your face, and you let them fall. You can't hold it in any longer. You can't stand seeing him like this, can't stand the thought of losing him, especially after everything you've been through together. The weight of it all crashes down on you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to grieve for him, for both of you.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The soft beeping of the machines gradually begins to sync with your heartbeat as you sit by Aaron's side, never moving from your spot. The sterile smell of the hospital room is a constant presence in your mind, but you're lost in the steady rhythm of his breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest is the only thing that reassures you he's still here.

It's quiet, too quiet, as if the entire world outside the room has paused, waiting for him to come back to them. Your eyes are heavy, but you refuse to let them close, not when he's here, not when he's so fragile.

It's a soft groan, barely a whisper, that breaks the stillness.

Your heart leaps in your chest, and you look up. His hand twitches, lips parting, and you lean forward, barely daring to breathe.

"Aaron?" you whisper, your voice trembling, unsure if he can even hear you.

He doesn't answer right away, and for a second, you're afraid. You're worried that you imagined it, that the moment of hope was just that—momentary. But then, his fingers twitch again, more deliberately this time, and his eyelids flutter.

"Aaron," you say again, this time louder, more confident. "It's me. You're okay."

His breathing hitches, and then his eyes crack open, barely slits at first. He blinks rapidly as if trying to adjust to the light, the unfamiliar space. His gaze is unfocused for a moment before they find you. His brow furrows slightly, confusion flashing across his face.

“Y/N…” Aaron's voice is hoarse, barely more than a rasp, as if the air is too thick to breathe.

You nod, your own voice caught in your throat. "I'm here. You're safe."

His eyes narrow, and you can see him trying to process. The way his lips curl slightly, as though he wants to speak but can't find the strength, makes something in your chest tighten. He's disoriented and exhausted, and you know the fight is far from over.

"You're gonna be okay," you continue, your voice a little firmer now, trying to soothe him, to reassure him. "You've been through a lot. You're gonna make it through."

Aaron doesn't respond immediately. His eyes flicker to the machines, the IV, and then back to you, and you see the recognition settle in. The confusion begins to clear, replaced by something else—something darker.

"You—" He starts, his voice rasping again as he struggles to speak. His hand reaches out, weakly, and you take it, squeezing it gently. The first time you've ever held his hand. Both of you feel it, the draw, the electricity.

"I'm here," you whisper, squeezing his hand a little tighter, as if that might anchor him, bring him back to you fully.

He swallows, trying to push past the fog of pain and grogginess. His gaze moves from you to the sterile hospital room, his expression growing more alert, more aware. He seems to be piecing together the last few hours, his brow furrowing with the effort.

"Where…" he starts again, his voice cracking.

"Foyet," you answer softly but stop yourself, "You're in the hospital, Aaron. You were hurt… but you're going to be okay."

His eyes close again briefly, as if the weight of it all is too much. You watch him, waiting for him to say something, anything. When his eyes reopen, there's a flicker of something deeper in them—a fear that makes your heart tighten in your chest.

"Y/N…" he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. You know he wants to acknowledge the distance he's caused. That's Aaron. He has to hold himself accountable. But you won't let him right now.

"None of that matters," you repeat, fighting the lump in your throat. "I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, there's only the sound of his shallow breathing, and then, as if the strength is returning to him, he squeezes your hand. It's not much, but it's something. It's enough.

"You found me," he says, his voice rough, but there's a faint trace of something else in it, something vulnerable, that you can't quite place.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Aaron Hotchner," you answer, leaning closer, trying to keep the worry out of your voice.

He takes a shallow breath, and his eyes meet yours again. There's a fleeting moment of clarity behind the haze of pain, and the faintest hint of a smile touches his lips.

"I guess… you're not getting rid of me that easily either," he says, his voice hoarse, but the words are enough.

And for the first time since everything went wrong, you let yourself believe it. He's going to be okay.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

A few hours later, the team joins you. They're working desperately to track down Foyet, but they keep their distance, letting you stay by Aaron's side.

Aaron's eyes never leave you. Even when you're speaking with the doctor or conferring with the team, his gaze is locked on you. Despite everything—his attempt to push you away, the distance he's put between you in the past few weeks—you found him. You stayed by his side. You held his hand, God what he wouldn't do to still be holding your hand right now.

Your attention shifts back to him, and you offer him a gentle smile, one that could heal him faster than any medicine or doctor could. It's a smile that speaks volumes—comfort, reassurance, maybe even love.

"What is it?" His voice is weak, but there's curiosity in it.

"You know," you begin, a smirk tugging at your lips, "We match now."

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

Your eyes drop to his wounds, your expression softening. "Matching stab wounds. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's pretty romantic."

Romantic. His heart rate spikes, and the rapid beeping of the machine makes it clear how much the word has affected him. He glances at the monitor, then back at you with a knowing look. "I clearly agree."

The door opens and the team files in, their presence a welcomed distraction. You stand and instinctively move a little closer to Aaron, positioning yourself between him and the others in a protective gesture. You trust the team, you always have, but right now, there's a primal need to shield him from anything that could remind him of the pain he's enduring. You need him safe. You need him whole.

"So Foyet dropped me off here?" Aaron asks. 

Rossi confirms, and Prentiss fills him in on some missing details from his memory. Somehow, you don't hear anything they say. Your eyes are fixed on Aaron. You come to when he speaks again, a sudden look of nervousness on his face.

"What did he take? He always takes something from his victims," he sighs, his voice weak.

"The only thing that caught our attention was a page ripped out of your address book, the B section," Emily responds.

"What did he leave? He always leaves something with his victims," Hotch asks, his voice strained.

"I went over your entire apartment—nothing seemed out of place," you reply, tense.

"Where are my clothes?" He asks, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

Emily grabs them, pulling them out of a small evidence bag. Your stomach churns at the sight of his bloodied clothes. Hotch weakly reaches for the bag himself, pulling out his credentials. Inside is a photo. He unfolds it, revealing a picture of Haley and Jack.

Fear floods his eyes, and he quickly shuts them, his head falling back against the bed. His breathing becomes jagged,distressed. "Haley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands. He knows where they live."

Dread sinks deep into your chest, the consequence of his words settling in like a cold shiver.

The team moves fast, and you trust that Haley and Jack will be safe in their hands.

You sit next to Hotch again, your gaze never leaving him as he rests. But soon, a change occurs. His breathing becomes erratic, his heart rate spiking—not for the same reasons it did earlier when you spoke to him, but for something more serious, something more urgent.

You can see his stress increasing, his body twitching with unease. Something is wrong. The doctor rushes in, calling out his name, trying to bring him out of this episode.

"I'm okay," he manages to choke out, his voice strained.

The doctor looks at you, her tone firm. "I need you to step out of the room."

Fear tightens in your chest as you force yourself away from Hotch, the uncertainty of what's happening gnawing at you.

"No, I want her here," Hotch musters up the strength to say, his voice uneven but insistent.

You nod, the uncertainty in your chest easing slightly. "I'll be right outside the door, Aaron," you reassure him, your voice soothing yet determined.

The doctor works swiftly, stabilizing him, then motions for you to return. You don't hesitate, rushing back to his side, your heart pounding in your chest. It relaxes next to him, though.

"JJ just texted. Haley and Jack are safe and on their way here," you murmur, your voice soft but filled with relief.

Hotch nods, letting out an irregular breath as he sinks into the pillows, a subtle wave of relief washing over him.

You wrestle with the question, unsure if it's something you should ask. But the words slip out anyway, driven by the need for understanding.

"Hotch," you begin, your voice weary. "The Reaper went after you, and now he's targeting Haley and Jack. But… why did he attack me?"

The room falls into a heavy stillness as Aaron processes your words. The guilt building in him seems to burden him even more, as if the air around him is too dense to breathe.

"I mean, believe me," you continue, trying to buffer the intensity of the question. "I would much rather Foyet make a mistake and I be the collateral damage than him go after Haley and Jack. I just… you know him better than anyone. Why did I get caught in the crossfire?"

Your words hang between you, full of pain and confusion, as you await his response. But Aaron doesn't answer right away. Instead, he looks down at his hands, and you know the answer isn't easy for him to say.

As Aaron takes a deep breath, clearly preparing to reveal the truth about why Foyet attacked you, the door opens, and Haley steps into the room. You exchange a brief, silent nod with Aaron, then turn to Haley, offering a quick glance that says everything you can't put into words right now. You quietly step out without a word, giving them the space they need.

In the waiting room, the tension that had been hanging over you like a storm cloud starts to lift slightly as you spot JJ and Penelope sitting on the floor with Jack, their laughter softening the atmosphere. Jack's eyes meet yours the moment you enter, and the change in his expression is immediate—his face lights up with relief, and before you know it, he's running toward you.

He crashes into your legs, his little arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. "Is my daddy okay?" he asks, his voice small but full of concern.

You kneel down, smoothing his hair back and offering him the reassurance he needs. "Of course. All he can talk about is how he can't wait to see you." You give him a soft smile, trying to mask your own anxiety for his sake.

Time seems to stretch on as you keep glancing toward Hotch's room, the silence of the waiting room now deafening. It feels like the walls are closing in, and with every passing minute, the weight of everything—everything that's happened and everything that's still to come—sinks deeper into your chest.

"You did good today," Penelope says, her voice full of warmth and a touch of admiration, though the strain in her eyes tells you she's not immune to the gravity of the situation either.

"I'm so in over my head, Pen," you whisper, barely managing to push the words past the tightness in your throat. You don't need to say more for her to understand. She wraps her arm around your shoulder, pulling you close into the comfort of her embrace, and for a moment, it almost feels like everything might be okay.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Penelope's voice breaks the silence again, softer this time. "Oh, incoming," she whispers, her tone shifting to one of quiet anticipation.

You look up to see Haley approaching, her gaze searching the room as she locks eyes with you. She doesn't look at you with warmth—not that you'd expect it. There's a coolness, a distance in her eyes that you've learned to recognize but can't quite reconcile with the situation at hand.

"Y/N, right?" she asks, her voice neutral but pointed.

You nod, feeling a slight knot form in your stomach. 

"I'm gonna bring him into Aaron," Haley says, her words short as she nods toward Jack.

You look down at Jack, whose face is already lighting up again as he eagerly looks up at you. You smile at him, trying to keep the mood light. "I know your daddy will be so excited to see you."

"Really?" His eyes widen, and the joy on his face is almost heartbreaking, especially with everything else on your mind.

"Really." You say it gently, guiding him toward his mother, offering him the comfort of normalcy amid the chaos swirling around all of you. The heaviness hasn't left, but for now, it's enough to see Jack's smile as he walks hand-in-hand with Haley, all while you stand in the waiting room, helplessly caught between the past and what's to come.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Aaron holds Jack close, his grip firm but gentle, memorizing the warmth of his son in his arms, knowing this could be the last time he sees him for the foreseeable future. He presses a lingering kiss to Jack's temple, breathing him in, as if trying to make the moment last just a little longer. Across the room, Haley watches them, her fingers twitch slightly at her sides,like she's holding herself back from reaching for Jack just yet.

"Jack said earlier that you were helping another agent who got hurt," she says, her voice measured. Then, after a beat, she adds, "Was it Y/N?"

Aaron's gaze flickers to her, his breath hitching just enough to betray his surprise.

Haley gives a small, knowing smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "She favors her right side when she walks and winces when she stands. I learned a thing or two from being married to a profiler for so long."

Some of the tension in his shoulders eases, his guard lowering ever so slightly.

"The same man who attacked me went after her a month ago," Aaron admits, his voice flat, factual. "Left her for dead as a message to me."

Haley doesn't react immediately, but when she does, her question is sharper than he expects. "And why did he choose her for that message?"

A hush stretches between them. Aaron has no answer that he's ready to give. Or maybe, he just doesn't want to say it out loud.

Haley exhales, her features softening in a way he doesn't quite understand. "As long as you aren't alone," she murmurs. She steps forward and presses a gentle, remorseful kiss to his forehead, lingering just long enough that his eyes flutter shut. "Don't shut anyone out, Aaron. You can't forget to be human."

He looks up at her, searching, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. For a moment, he forgets that he's a profiler, that he should be able to read her. Right now, he can't.

"Don't profile me, Aaron," she says, amusement flickering through her tired expression. "We were married once. You know what I mean."

And for the first time in a long time, she smiles at him—not the polite, distant smiles they've exchanged for years, but something real, something worn down by time but still familiar. Then, with one final nod, she turns toward the door.

You're standing in the hallway with Prentiss, Morgan, and U.S. Marshal Sam Kassmeyer when Jack runs out, making a beeline straight for you. His little hands tug at your pant leg, and when you kneel down, he looks up at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

"When I'm on my trip, can you come see me?" he asks, his voice small and sweet.

Your heart clenches. You glance up at Haley instinctively, searching for any sign of her feelings. She meets your eyes, and for a moment, there's something obscure there. Then, after a beat, she smiles—not big, not bright, but a smile nonetheless. A resigned kind of acceptance.

You turn back to Jack, smoothing his hair with a tender hand. "You're going on a very special trip with your mom," you tell him gently. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of that. But maybe when you're home, we can make spaghetti again, just like when we first met."

Jack grins at the memory, and from the corner of your eye, you see Haley's shoulders ease slightly. Maybe she recognizes the reassurance in your words—that you would never come between her and her son, that you know where the boundaries are.

"Give Miss Y/N a big hug," Haley encourages.

Jack throws his arms around you, and you hug him back, holding onto him just a second longer than you should. When you finally pull away and stand, your eyes find Haley's again.

"We're going to catch this guy, Haley," you say, voice firm, steady. "This won't be for long."

She exhales through her nose, then reaches out, lightly squeezing your arm. "I don't doubt it," she says quietly. "My concern is… at what cost?"

The significance of her words is not lost on you, and then she's turning, taking Jack's hand in hers as they start toward Sam. But just before they reach the end of the hall, Haley stops. She turns back to you one last time, something unreadable flickering across her face.

"Take care of him," she says.

And then she's gone.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You and the team return to Aaron's side, the room filling with quiet murmurs of reassurance and unwavering support. Morgan cracks a joke in an attempt to lighten the mood, Prentiss offers a knowing look, and JJ's soft words are meant to soothe. But despite it all, you hover just beside him, your hands hanging at your sides, unsure where you fit in this moment of camaraderie. Every so often, your gaze drifts to him, and without fail, you find his eyes already on you.

The team fills him in on the case they closed earlier—an investigation wrapped up in a matter of hours—but you can tell Aaron isn't entirely there. His nods are absentminded, his jaw tight, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. You know where they've gone. To Jack. To Haley. To the uncertainty of what comes next.

You shift closer, just enough that your fingertips barely graze his. It's subtle, a quiet offering meant only for him. Something small, something grounding. A tether, if he needs it.

For a moment, there's nothing. And then, slowly, his fingers brush against yours, the touch light, tentative. But then he holds on—just enough to make it count. Just enough that neither of you has to say anything. The contact is both everything and nothing, a lifeline and a release.

It's the smallest of gestures, unnoticed by anyone else, but in that fleeting moment, it feels like you're both holding on for dear life—and somehow, at the same time, setting each other free.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

When everyone else leaves, you stay behind, offering to be his security for the night.

As the unit settles into its late-night hush, the nurses dim the lights and draw the curtains around his room. You giggle softly, the absurdity of it all hitting you at once.

Aaron glances at you, his lips curving into a faint smile simply because yours is so infectious. "What is it?"

Your laughter only grows. "I just think it's bizarre that a month ago, I was in the hospital from stab wounds, and now here I am, in the hospital with you… because you were stabbed." You shake your head in disbelief. "Wanna know the most ironic part of it all?"

He chuckles, the sound low and rough but full of amusement. "What's so ironic?"

Still grinning, you tug at the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the fading, jagged marks along your skin. Then, you step over to the chart hanging by his bed, pointing to the initials scribbled across the top.

"Of all the things my scar could've been, it had to be your initials," you say, shaking your head before bursting into laughter again. "Penelope said last week that it's like those soulmate tropes—where your soulmate's initials appear on your skin. Except mine were carved in by a psychopathic serial killer."

Aaron exhales a quiet laugh, but the motion is too much. He winces, pressing a hand to his side.

"I've been there," you say knowingly, your amusement fading as you settle beside him.

The silence that follows isn't heavy, nor is it uncomfortable. It simply exists, a quiet space between you both.

Then, in a voice so soft you almost think you imagined it, he whispers, "It wasn't a mistake."

Your breath stills. "What?"

"Foyet targeting you," Aaron murmurs, his eyelids fluttering shut. "It was never a mistake."

You blink rapidly, his words sinking in, pivoting something deep within you. But before you can speak, his body relaxes against the pillows, the exhaustion overtaking him.

[hansmic]

𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒

hyunjin x gn! reader

summary:
you and Hyunjin are high school sweethearts and go your separate ways, each experiencing heartbreak and growth along the way. Years later, you cross paths again under unusual circumstances. Can you rekindle your old flame, or is it just a nostalgic memory?

genre: fluff, romance

warnings: none

word count: 661

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It started with a glance, a fleeting moment in the crowded high school hallway. You locked eyes with the new transfer student, Hyunjin, and the electric feeling of attraction was undeniable. Over the course of several weeks, you found yourselves drawn together, spending afternoons studying, laughing over inside jokes, and sharing dreams for the future.

The first time your lips met, it felt like fireworks exploding in the night sky. For the first time, you understood what it meant to fall head over heels.

Years passed, and life took the two of you down separate paths. You both faced heartache, disappointment, and the harsh realities of adulthood. Each of you grew and evolved, carrying the memories of your high school romance in your hearts.

One day, while browsing social media, you discovered that Hyunjin was now famous, and rumors of a troubled life in the spotlight. Curiosity piqued, you sent a private message, wondering if he remembered you from his past.

To your surprise, Hyunjin responded almost instantly, his tone warm and friendly. You caught up on the past, laughing about old times and updating each other on your lives. The spark was still there, hidden beneath the surface, and you wondered if the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Eventually, you decided to meet up for coffee, both nervous but excited to see each other after so many years. The moment you saw him walk through the door, your heart raced just as it did back in high school.

As he approached your table, you couldn't help but smile. "Hey, stranger," you say, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies in your stomach. Hyunjin grins, his eyes lighting up as he takes a seat across from you.

"It's good to see you, " he replies, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "I've missed you more than you'll ever know."

The conversation flows easily, with you both sharing stories, laughter, and memories. You can feel the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment, like a flower slowly opening its petals.

When it's time to leave, you exchange numbers and promise to keep in touch. You hug, and as you pull away, you realize that the spark between you is as strong as ever. Will you have the courage to explore these feelings again, or will you let them slip through your fingers like sand?

Over the following weeks, you and Hyunjin continue to text, call, and meet up when your busy schedules allow. With each interaction, the bond between you deepens, and you realize that the old flame has never truly been extinguished.

One rainy evening, as you share a cozy dinner at a quiet restaurant, you find yourselves in a heartfelt conversation about your past love. "Did you ever think about us? About what could have been?" Hyunjin asks softly, his gaze locked onto yours.

You take a deep breath, unable to hide the vulnerability in your voice. "Yes, " you admit. "I thought about us all the time. I wondered if we'd ever have a second chance."

Hyunjin's eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like the world around you disappears. "Do you think we deserve that? A second chance at love?" he asks, his voice trembling with hope.

You reach across the table and take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I think we do, " you say, your voice filled with determination. "We've both grown and learned from our past. Why not see where this connection takes us?"

Hyunjin's face breaks into a wide smile, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, love has a way of finding its way back. As the rain continues to fall outside

you both know that this is just the beginning of a brand new chapter in your story. Together, you will face the challenges and joys that life has to offer, stronger than ever before and ready to embrace the love that's been waiting for you all along.

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hope you enjoyed

masterlist is here!

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

nymph. [part 6] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings:  fluff, a little bit of smut and angst, wondering about a potential pregnancy, gods and mythology are treated in a simple way

A/N: I haven't written this series in a long time. My head has been occupied with other things, I guess… I'd like to finish it. A series I didn't plan on. Maybe some of you will stick with me to the end. Thank you for that.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

"What do you mean? A wedding?"

Marcus kissed your hands and looked at you with a mixture of tenderness and concern in his eyes. As soon as he got home he was urgently called by Brutus and since then something was clearly worrying him. 

Although you asked, he dismissed you with answers that it was nothing, or that he would solve everything himself, that you shouldn't worry. However, things must have taken a turn for the worse, because that evening he asked you to talk.

It was a warm and quiet evening. The garden smelled of flowers, and you found a secluded place by the pond. It was there that the words about the wedding were said.

"Marcus, you know I don't need this." You said, squeezing his hands tighter. "I love you with all my heart, being by your side is enough for me."

"I know, my dear." he sighed "And I don't want anything more than every other day with you, but... There were some complications. Emperor Geta, and a few other senators, noticed you during the last gladiator fights." And he told you everything Brutus had told him. 

Your presence in the coliseum didn’t go unnoticed. Several senators caught sight of you, began to wonder where you were from and what connected you with General Acacius. At first they thought you were his lover, a slightly better-off slave. 

Marcus did not hide his indignation when he said these words to you. However, someone led them to the fact that you were free. And since you were free and had no official relations with General Acacius... Emperor Geta heard these rumors and even summoned Marcus to his place to ask about you.

"I didn’t like it." he muttered "He asked about you, and I felt my blood boil. I want you to be safe, my love, but this man will strive to have access to you. I don't know what made him come to us, it was some whim of fate. I was naive and stupid... I shouldn't have taken you to that place then."

You squeezed his hand tighter. "It's not your fault, Marcus. None of this is your fault." You said quietly. "I was deluding myself that we would live together away from all this, but it's your world that sets the rules for us. I don't want you to have problems because of me."

"Problems?" he snorted. "It's just the whims of a child who pretends to be the ruler of the world. He would be nothing if it weren't for me and the army." and then as if he caught himself on those words, he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have listened to this..."

"You know perfectly well that what you say is safe with me forever." You slid off the bench and sat down by his lap, resting your chin on his hands. "I'll do whatever it takes, whatever you expect of me. I'll be who you want me to be if it only protects you too."

His warm hand stroked your cheek, and you snuggled into it with pleasure. "I want you to be yourself, to be safe..." Marcus said "Marriage will allow me to protect you."

"So let's do it."

A faint smile appeared on his lips, he sighed quietly. "I don't know what I did that by the grace of the gods you appeared in my life."

"Or maybe it's a giggle of fate?" you mumbled, kissing his hand.

"I'll take it without batting an eyelid, if I can spend the rest of my life with you."

Word of General Acacius's impending wedding has spread throughout Rome, probably thanks to Brutus, who has mobilized all the friends he can trust. According to him, Marcus and you had been planning your wedding for a long time, and the promise of marriage was made before he returned to Rome.

"You know how it is! Acacius fought wars and conquered lands, marriage was not on his mind. But then the gods mocked him and sent him this woman. The boy fell in love!" Brutus said to everyone who asked him why the wedding was taking place in such a hurry. "There's no point in waiting! The descendants of his family should be born as soon as possible."

Aurelia, Brutus' wife, had taken care of everything at her husband's request, and you praised her for it, because you had no idea what was going on. You felt like an outsider when you listened to the orders she gave the servants, and when she asked you for your opinion, you weren't sure what to say. Marcus was the one who made the most important decisions, you trusted him.

Meanwhile, your thoughts were occupied by something else. Melitta. You hadn't had the opportunity to talk to her in private since that evening. Every time something interrupted you, or she was so overwhelmed with duties that she quickly left you. 

"You seem nervous." Marcus noticed on the morning before your wedding day. "Is something worrying you, my love?"

You shook your head, not wanting to burden him with your problems, because he carried a lot on his shoulders already. You overheard him telling Brutus about his unpleasant conversation with Geta, that only his service to Rome saved him from his wrath.

"He won't leave you alone until you marry that girl, Marcus." Brutus muttered. "You're like a son to me. You love her, I know that, so do what would have been inevitable anyway."

"This is not how I imagined it..." Marcus' voice was a bit resentful. "I wanted her to feel alive. To experience everything..."

The sound of footsteps and the creaking of a chair meant that Brutus sat down. "And you can still give her all of that. Your whole life ahead of you! You're both young, in love!"

Marcus snorted. "I don't want her to feel forced into this wedding!"

"Remember, I was the one who talked you into appearing with her in public. She would have sat hidden in this house forever for you. Children would have started to appear and what would you have done then, huh? Don't look at me like that! I was young and I know what goes on behind closed bedroom doors." Brutus chuckled, and you felt the heat pour into your chest and neck. 

You knew what he meant. All those closenesses with Marcus, at night and during the day, his hands never leaving your body, his cock buried deep inside you, the seed he left inside and which later flowed lazily down your thigh. You had lived in this world for hundreds of years, you had observed people and gods, you had seen pregnant women, you had been present at births and deaths. But what if?

A dark thought like a cloud covered your mind. You no longer heard what Brutus or Marcus were saying. Your feet led you to the garden where you sat under a spreading tree, lost in your dark thoughts.

Could you even give him children? Could your womb create a new life, a life that would be the sum of you and the man you loved so much? Minerva had made you human, but did that mean you were already completely like them, with all their flaws and good qualities? You didn't think about it that way. 

Ever since you stood before Marcus' eyes, life had swallowed you whole, but at that moment you really started to wonder. You were mortal, your veins were pumping blood. You remembered how you had injured yourself while doing some housework and only Melitta had bandaged your hand, because you were too surprised by the sight of blood. You remembered your first monthly bleeding, but what if it was just a whim of your body?

You knew that Marcus dreamed of children. He didn't have to say it, but you saw it in his eyes. He was also at the age when a man wanted to have his own offspring, someone to whom he could pass on his name and teach what he himself knew.

And what if you couldn't give it to him? What if you were just...

"My lady!" quick steps and calls distracted you, you hastily wiped your cheeks and stood up, revealing yourself to Melitta.

"I'm here." you said, trying to smile, and you allowed her to drag you into the preparations.

"You're nervous." Aurelia smiled and looked at you fondly. "I remember when my daughter got married, she was scared too. And I was too, although we're lucky and we marry those who are meant for us."

"Do you think so?"

Your voice must have sounded uncertain, because Aurelia stopped adjusting your white robe and carefully took your chin, lifting it so that you looked into her gentle eyes. 

"My child..." she said. "I've known Marcus since he was a child and I know that his heart belongs to you. His feelings are sincere, strong and true. The gods created you for each other, I'm sure of it."

"I don't want... Aurelia, I don't want Marcus to be ashamed of me. I know that I don't fit in this place..."

The older woman thought for a moment, then said. "You were at the temple yesterday, right?" you nodded "I'm old now, but I believe that we get what we're meant to. And you were meant to meet. You couldn't run away from it, child. Accept what the gods gave you and live by the side of the one you love. Because you love Marcus, right?"

"Oh, Aurelia!" your eyes filled with tears "I would do anything for him."

The woman smiled and stroked your cheek. "So let's thank the gods for this love."

The gold ring sparkled on the ring finger of your left hand, and you stared at it as if you couldn't believe that it was Marcus, dressed in white and gold, who had put it on. You could still feel the sweet taste of wine in your mouth, you could hear the buzz of the guests' conversations, but the only thing that mattered was the warm gaze of the man to whom you had given your life.

“What is it about this that I can’t take my eyes off?” you asked as he entered the bedroom and walked over to the bed.

"A promise." Marcus replied, tenderly stroking your cheek with his fingers. "A promise that we will always be together. That I place my life in your hands."

You knelt on the bed and took his face in your hands. Silver strands of hair mingled with dark ones, you saw small scars and wrinkles, you stroked his cheek covered with stubble. His face could be a model for butchers, and he was only yours.

"My life belongs to you." you said quietly, your lips brushing his "Forever."

"That's the most beautiful thing you could give me." he smiled.

His hands carefully slid your clothes down, revealing your naked body. No matter how many times he saw you naked, he always felt the same delight. And you felt the same. Your fingers deftly stripped him of his clothes, and soon his warm, sun-kissed body was on top of you. 

For a soldier, Marcus could be an incredibly gentle and tender lover. Devoted to you and what connected you. Adoring you as much as goddesses and gods. Sometimes you thought he sinned with such words, but over time you understood that only they could express what he truly felt.

"Even before I slid that ring onto your finger," he said, kissing your neck, "I already knew you were mine. You were mine before I first saw you. Before I even learned your name."

"What if I had never revealed myself to you?" you asked, sliding your fingers through his soft hair, he raised his lust-darkened eyes to you, "If I had never stood before you in mortal form?"

"I don't want to think about life... about this illusion of life that I would have to lead without you. I felt you, my love. And nothing and no one would be able to satisfy my hunger."

You kissed him, hard and deep. With all the strength of the feeling you had for him, with the promise of the life that you were now going to share in two. You wanted to give him everything - your love, your devotion, your loyalty, your womb and the children that could come of it. Or if they ever did. 

You lost yourself in his body, in the way he caressed and worshiped you. Bodies tangled together, him moving hard inside you, your sweet moans filling his ears. He left his seed so deep inside you that you could only hope that you would be able to give him what he so desired.

Your quiet footsteps were almost inaudible as you walked through the sleeping household. Marcus was fast asleep, unaware that you had left your bed, but you had to do it eventually. You pushed open the heavy door and entered the servants' part of the house. You quickly found Melitta's room and quietly slipped inside.

She wasn't asleep, but you didn't seem surprised. The sweet scent of herbs filled her room.

"I was expecting you." she said quietly. "What do you want to know, my lady?"

"How did a nymph become a slave? How did you end up in Marcus' house?" you asked, feeling your insides clench.

A lazy smile appeared on the girl's beautiful face. "You're afraid, aren't you? You're afraid that you'll end up like me... Broken, abandoned, without the one who promised you love forever."

You frowned. "Marcus, he would never..."

"He's a mere mortal." Melitta hissed, her eyes lighting up. "He's weak. His body is already slowly dying, and we gave up our immortality for people like that..." 

You approached her slowly. The smell of burning sage and other herbs filled your nostrils. "What did they do to you, sister?"

"Everything they promised not to do."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist @picketniffler @tranquilty @psyched2b @jeewrites @tuquoquebrute @aotfantasmagorias @mynameismothra @kluvspedro @fefa-la-printcessa

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 4/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Edric finally takes what he wants.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Non-Con, Abuse/Torture (not towards Reader), Light Bondage, Light Blood Play, Blood Drinking, Drugging, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Voyeurism, Cuckolding, Forced Relationship

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! Coming out almost twice the length of the other chapters, this one is also twice as spicy and twice as dark. Heed the warnings! Hope y'all enjoy the debauchery 🥰

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Another night in his miserable life, and Caleb is spending it indoors.

His feet tap on the floor, his hands threaded in his hair. Restlessness consumes him, a kind he thought was forgotten long ago when he threw his inhibitions to the wind.

What is he doing wrong?

He knew some women were shy, wilting under attention where others flourished, but Caleb figured he could push past that. You had been living together for months now, surely you’d longed for him for even a little bit, right? Even just at the beginning, when he had spurned you, hadn’t your heart wanted for this exact thing? Wanted him?

Your silence has made things crystal clear. The sheer displeasure on your face when he is near, compared to the content you show when alone.

Or with his creator.

Caleb bats that thought away, ashamed by its ridiculousness.

You had scurried off from dinner, quicker than usual. When he saw you were absent from the garden for the second night in a row, Caleb found himself tearing apart the cellar for the true last bottle of his stash. He was sure his father had missed some, desperate for something to replace his usual fix. Sulking back to his own room, he was too upset to rejoice when he finally found one tucked surreptitiously away. He must have hidden it after his creator scolded him the first time and had threatened to burn the whole lot, a promise he had made good upon.

It doesn’t matter, it’s as foul tasting as the rest, doing nothing to settle the aching in his belly. At the very least it's particularly strong, its dizzying effects compensating for the poor taste. Wine rarely got him this drunk anymore, not with his superior digestion burning off the alcohol before it could settle too long. He has to down drink after drink to stay pleasantly buzzed, as annoying as it was useful in impressing simple humans with his ‘tolerance’

So now he sits, drunk and alone at his vanity, no one there to admire his beauty except himself. Caleb looks at his solemn reflection, no sign of his distress in the fine contours of his face. Perfectly polished, as always.

Caleb takes another swig, pushing himself up from his seat with a sigh. Perhaps he’ll look for you. You’re probably in your room, either asleep or preparing for it. Either way Caleb could watch, be entertained by your human mannerisms.

He hardly makes it one step away from his vanity before he’s falling, his knees banging against the carpeted floor. His vision swirls, the bottle falling out of his now loose grip.

Gods, how drunk am I?

The twirling patterns of the carpet dizzy him, his hand trying its best to get the bottle, but his body isn’t responding how he wants it too. His face hits the carpet next, his muscles surprisingly weak and no longer able to hold him up.

What’s…happening?

Those are the last sluggish thoughts in Caleb’s mind, before everything goes to black.

—

Edric thinks you have never looked more beautiful.

He wonders why he hasn’t watched you sleep before. As much as he enjoys your conversations, here he can admire you uninterrupted, no sense of propriety or shame holding him back. He can let his eyes wander down your neck, down your chest, down your sumptuous thighs, all the way to your toes.

He lets himself brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, knowing you won’t wake. He had brewed the tea himself, made sure the dose was strong enough to knock you out cold. It needed to be for his work to be done.

He draws his hand up your inner arm and to your palm, fiddling with the knots around your wrists. He hopes they do not burn your skin, hating to hurt you in any way. But he knows it's better for you this way. It will be confusing and painful, as it always is, your body will fight it. You will claw at him, at your own skin, trying to resist it. He had learned from his first experience, seeing Caleb nearly rip his own face off in panic and terror. Edric sympathizes, knows the new and incredible can seem so scary at first. Knows you might not understand at first why, but that you’ll learn to love all that he is giving you.

He kisses your nose.

He knows he is doing the right thing.

—

Caleb had almost forgotten what pain feels like.

His last memories of the sensation was the last day of his human life and the first of his immortal one. The mortal kind had been short, his body so fragile and easily breakable under his master’s claws. The immortal kind had been agonizing, the slow transformation of Edric’s blood changing every inch of his body, inside and out.

This pain is different, far less intense, though enough to thrust him out of unconsciousness. That and the stinking smell of burning flesh, his burning flesh, rubbing against the chains tightly secured around his arms and stomach.

He thrashes around, a mistake that presses the chains into his sides. It heals as quickly as it burns, but the silver plating is like a hot poker being dragged across his abdomen, leaving red agitated trails beneath. Just a flesh wound, but deeply uncomfortable. Enough to sap him of his energy, to leave him panting and shaking.

Caleb’s wild eyes fly around, conscious brain catching up to his nervous system as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He is gagged and bound to a chair and only in his underclothes, that he is quick enough to realize. What’s harder to figure out is where he is; The fine decorations reveal that he must still be on the estate, yet in a room he does not recognize. Not his own, not his wife’s, so where-

“You finally wake.” Says his creator, standing unusually bare in just an undershirt and drawers. “You always did have a habit of sleeping in. It’s quite immature, Caleb.” Claws tap on hardwood, Edric clicking his teeth in a sign of disappointment.

This must be his room.

Caleb thinks, unable to snap back at the insult. It makes sense, the space every bit as gaudish as Edric; Collections of old books and ancient artifacts fill a numerous of shelves, larger than life portraits and landscape paintings decorate the walls, and a bed fit for a king, lined with a plush bedding and encircled by a saphenous curtain. But it still does not explain what he is doing here, bound with silver plated chains.

“But I suppose I am to blame for that, aren’t I?” Caleb snaps his eyes back to his creator, his neck bobbing with unneeded breaths, an old stress response from his human days. “I’ve been far too lax with you, son. I see that now. I let you run wild like an animal, and expected you to snap quickly back into being a man.” His creator strides over to Caleb, that disappointed look that has Caleb’s stomach twisting. A long sleeping fear of being the prey, not the predator, awakens in his chest. “It is my fault for not being more disciplined. For not having a firmer hand when I guided you. Spare the rod-” Edric’s hand shoots out like a venomous viper, wrapping around a covered part of the chain and yanking, making it cut even deeper into Caleb’s ribs. He collapses forward, a pained scream muffled by his gag, tears bubbling up at the side of his eyes. “-Spoil the child.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, anger and fear all melding together. His teeth clank against each other in his mouth, eyes bulging as he leaves them planted on the carpeted floor. The embroidered patterns are the only swirling thing he can make sense of, the only thing grounding him to reality. Keeping him far away from the searing pain and the sizzling of his flesh.

“A young man like yourself needs a strict enforcer, something to curb his appetite and slap him out of his delusions.” His master keeps one hand wrapped tight around the chain, not pulling just yet, but the threat of doing so still lingering. The other pats the top of Caleb’s head. “I do not want to be cruel to you, Caleb. I understand that children need love and affection as well as discipline. It was my fault for confusing the two, for trying to have it all and failing at both. ”

A shiver wracks down Caleb’s spine, finally able to lift himself to sit upward, though his eyes stay locked on the floor. He fears any sign of disrespect will cause another burn. It is not until claws come under his jaw and tilt his face up that he is forced to look the monster in the eyes.

“But do not worry, my son.” Edric says, a sick sort of affection in his voice. The same affection that dug itself into Caleb’s stomach that terrible summer night, that ripped out his guts and forced blood down his throat. “I have found our solution.”

Relief falls down his spine as his creator walks away, the fear of more pain assuaged. But it’s quickly tampered when his master whips back the curtain on his bed, revealing you, unconscious and tied to the bed posts. Still in your nightgown, unaware of the monsters that linger nearby. A terrifying realization comes to Caleb’s mind, and he thinks he might vomit.

Fuck.

—

You’re hot, too hot, boiling hot. The kind of heat that wakes you from the deepest of slumbers, throwing off pillows and clothes and whatever you can for some sort of relief. But you can’t. You’re not sure why, still lost in the haze of awakening, body on fire.

Your recollection comes back to you slowly, yet muddied. The last thing you remember was an invitation from Edric to have tea with him in his study, received by a servant as you read in your bedroom. You vaguely remember walking down the halls, being nearly giddy with excitement, but absolutely nothing after that. You do not remember changing into your nightgown, nor going to bed.

Where…am I?

Your eyes and ears feel like they are underwater, a sudden burst of light only blotting and confusing your senses. You only recognize Edric once he’s right above you, his hand caressing your jaw.

“Good morning, my sweet.”

Then, he kisses you.

It’s almost enough of a surprise to knock you out of your stupor. The feeling of his lips on yours, the passionate way he tilts back your jaw and devours you, has your body jerking away on instinct. But it can’t, the strain in your wrists and shoulders revealing that your hands are bound by a rope. The rest of you is covered by your father-in-law's body, pressed against your scandalously undressed form. Heat explodes across your chest and neck, embarrassment at being seen in something so risque. No man has ever seen you like this before. You furiously wiggle underneath him, half-convinced this is a dream you need waking up from.

“It’s alright.” Edric shushes, pulling away so his lips are only an inch from yours. “Everything is alright, dearest. You need not panic.”

His lips pepper around the side of your mouth, moving up to the apple of your cheeks and nipping where skin meets bone. It makes your heart beat impossibly faster. Your head jerks as much as it can away, body still sluggish and in a haze of delirium.

The sound of wood thudding against carpet draws what little strands of your attention are left, and that's when you notice Caleb. Your hands uselessly yank again on the rope, shame leaving a sour taste in your mouth. You want to plead that this was not your idea, that you don’t know what's going on, when you realize he too is bound. His entire upper half is chained to a chair, tear tracks running down his cheeks and his face ruby red, a mixture of shock and the gag pulling taut against his cheeks. His night shirt is torn between his bonds, enough to make you realize that the smoky scent is coming from him, of something searing through the fabric and into his skin.

Your mind finally wraps around every little detail, finally fires the orders to your mouth to scream. Edric is quicker, slapping his hand over your jaw and forcing your attention back to him. He shushes you like one would a newborn, broken up by reassuring kisses to your jaw.

“Just ignore the boy.” Edric whispers in your ear, tugging on your lobe with another nip of his teeth. “He is only here to learn a lesson in adulthood.” Edric’s hand crawls onto your hip, his thumb pressing into your plush stomach. You gasp and gingerly buck away from it, but that only brings you closer to Edric, a warmth he greatly enjoys. “He is here to see what it really takes to be a husband.”

Edric devours you in another kiss, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. His hand moves up your hip, charting a dangerous path until his thumb presses right below your breast. You jump once again, right into Edric’s eager mouth. Something briefly stings, and an irony taste on your tongue tells you that you’ve somehow cut open your lip. Were Edric’s teeth always that sharp? His body shudders above in a moan, his fervent tongue quick to lap at the bubbling blood. You can hear a similar, animalistic grunt come from Caleb, followed by another bursting sound of sizzling as he seizes forward. Even with the gag you can hear his pained moans.

You want to pull away, to bite Edric back, to kick and scream at the top of your lungs. But Edric’s hand lights a flame across your body, leaving you a melted puddle in his bed. Each kiss only intensifies it, as if every nerve has been turned on in your body. The faint traces of your mind think of Eros, with his piercing bolts that could strike anyone into a lustful frenzy. Of potions and elixirs that could turn even a nun into a debauched whore.

Edric finally forces himself away from your mouth, blood smeared across his lips and tongue. They leave crimson kiss marks as he moves his way down your body, stopping occasionally to nip at the skin, savoring the way you yelp. A sinful moan escapes your lips once he reaches your chest, your head throwing back in ecstasy once Edric’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. He sucks on it through the fabric, soaking it through.

“Need a taste.” He sighs, and Caleb thumps again in the corner. But you can’t focus on him, not when Edric’s canines are pulling at your nightgown and-

Rip!

You chest pebbles despite the overwhelming heat, bare as the day you were born. You gasp, a mix of embarrassment and lust, Edric wasting no time to taste the sweat of your skin. His tongue laps up between your two breasts before he quickly returns to your sensitive nipples, moaning between long sucks.

“Sweet ambrosia.” He sighs into your sternum, nuzzled in your cleavage. “Dionysian delight.”

After deeming it sufficiently lavished, Edric moves down your chest and onto your stomach, his peppered kisses ticklish as he reaches below your navel. But once he reaches your mound your more sensible mind kicks back in, thighs snapping together, feet kicking fruitlessly. This is no obstacle for Edric, who easily pulls open your legs and slots himself in between, mouth never leaving your skin. He at least has the decency to not rip apart the bottom half of the gown as he did your top, but not enough to stop from pushing it up your thighs and over your hips, his head disappearing under the fabric.

You don’t have time to wonder what he is doing, a moan ripping from your chest as his tongue licks a long stripe up your womanhood. You’re shocked just as much by the filthy action as you are by how rapturously good it feels.

“Edric!” Your voice cries, not sounding at all like yourself. It is too sensual, too indulgent, too much like a whore.

Said man moans directly into your entrance, the vibrations rewarding him with gushes of your essence. Like before Edric does not falter in his pace, mouth quickly devouring you like a peach on a hot summer day. His lips suck on your womanhood, tongue pressing and writhing against your entrance. Your juices run down his jaw as he worships you, nuzzling his face impossible deeper, the tip of his tongue pressing past your maidenhead and searching your walls for sensitivity. Your toes curl into the comforter, hips bucking into Edric’s face. It feels too good, you think you might pass out.

Too ashamed of your own voice, of unleashing that debaucherous sound again, your teeth clamp down on your lip. You ignore the sting of the cut, the drips of blood now running down your jaw. But it can’t be ignored by Edric and Caleb, feather’s flying as Edric’s nails dig into the comforter, Caleb’s chair’s feet being dug into the floor.

While his tongue traces patterns into your center Edric’s nose presses against your sensitive button, shockwaves being sent up your belly. It’s far more intense than the few times in your life you’ve touched it yourself, whether when riding or in the shameful moments of night. Now it is as if every rub and press resets your brains; Making it hard for you to remember what exactly is happening, where you are, who is currently in between your legs.

When Edric finally pulls away, dewy strings connecting his jaw to your lips, the whine you let out is instinctual. Your ankles cross behind his shoulder, body jerking, trying to find that sensation again. He chuckles with this, kissing at your inner thigh.

“Be patient, dearest.” Edric whispers. “My son did not properly consummate his marriage, so I must be thorough.”

Another sizzling of flesh as Caleb seethes in the corner, his whines not unlike a dog being whipped for it’s disobedience.

The words fall on your deaf ears, still recovering from the feeling of Edric’s mouth on your pussy. Before they can even attempt to enter your mind they’re shot out, two fingers pushing into your wet heat.

“Ah!” Your body arches, the foreign feeling of being full not nearly as painful as you had been led to believe. Edric’s fingers sink into your hole like a hot knife through butter, tingles shooting up your stomach as the pads press against your walls. Your hips roll into Edric’s hand, abdomen clenching when Edric’s palm presses against your button.

“Does that feel good, dearest?” Edric’s fingers pull out, then slowly push back in until his knuckles are soaked by your dew, your body convulsing. He does it again, faster, making sure to grind the heel of his palm against your button.

“Ngh!” You sigh, biting down again on your lip. The taste of blood in your mouth is foul, tangy.

“Tell me how it feels.” Edric’s voice takes a deeper tone, dangerous and dark in the way it rolls your stomach.

“G-good!” You finally pant out, struggling to put the most basic of syllables together.

A soft kiss presses into your thigh, Edric chuckling against your skin.

There is no warning as his fingers start to bully in and out of you. Each press goes deeper and deeper, his fingers desperately searching for that spongy part inside you. Each press against your button has stars shooting out from behind your eyelids, your mouth gone dry. Your moans have become raspy and even more desperate, your body that of an animal, rutting and trying to chase the pleasure. The scent of burned flesh still lingers in your nostrils but is ignored, whimpers falling to the wayside in your own bubble of decadence. It feels so good.

“E-dric~!” Your whorish voice whines, not sure what it's pleading for. Your skin has started to go numb, your lower half burning and aching, on the precipice of something you do not understand. Edric hums, and if you had the thought to look at him, you’d see a devilish smile full of far too many sharp teeth. If you had the energy to turn your head, you’d see Caleb, slack-jawed around his gag. You’d see his own hips jerking, a sizeable bulge in his pants as his eyes rove over you in starved fascination. “I’m-I’m-” Your voice pilters out.

“Cum for me, ___.”

His voice is what sends you over the edge, the voice of your companion, your friend, your Edric. Your entire body convulses on his palm, reduced to jelly in his hands.

It takes several moments for your mind to come back to you. Still numb, you barely register when Edric kisses the side of your cheek, realizing he’s once again laid atop of you. Now no fabric separates your bare chests, your dress ripped open and his shirt quickly discarded. But the strongest sensation is something hot and heavy slotted against your aching maidenhood. It rubs against your button, stoking the flame once more.

“You’re ready, my love.” Edric says, before forcing you into another kiss. He sucks on your bottom lip, a rumbling groan pulsing from his mouth into yours. The taste of your blood lingers on his tongue, forced down your own throat.

Edric’s palm lies flat on your chest, rubbing down your body. It isn’t still something hot and weeping presses against your entrance that you realize what is happening.

“Wait-” Your words are cut off by Edric’s kiss, you shout muffled once he finally pushes inside you, stealing your virginity as he did your pleasure.

This fullness is more uncomfortable, but still not accompanied by the sharp pain you had always heard of. It’s vulnerable, the way you can feel him pulsing from within you. Your lower half clenches on instinct, which only digs Edric’s claws into the headboard.

“Divinity.” Edric sighs into your lips, forehead rested against yours. He’s still icy cold, and if it weren’t such a blessing against your scalding heat, you’d question it further.

It’s several breathless moments before you feel normal, your body relaxing into the sheets. It's then that Edric first moves his hips; A microscopic movement, but the dragging sensation against your walls still steals the breath from your lungs. A mewling sound comes from your lips, which only emboldens Edric. He moves again, pulling out further and seating himself back in harder. Another thrust has your legs clamping shut, thighs pressing into Edric’s side. He chuckles into your ear, though it’s less composed than you’re used to.

“What a bl-blessing it is to be your first.” Edric’s words tumble with his stuttering hips, now moving faster and faster, hitting deeper and deeper. “You hold me like a vice, dearest. So warm and t-tight.” Edric‘s words are punctuated by a hard thrust, one that tears another moan from your throat. Wood begins to creak from underneath you, the movement of your two bodies causing the curtain to flutter. His spine rolls with each hump of his hips, something hot brewing between you two. It’s enough to get lost in, until a thump of a chair being scooted across the floor reminds you of your guest, of your husband.

Your eyes clench shut, too overwhelmed by every possible feeling to keep them open. You don’t know if it's ecstasy or shame, the reminder of the sin you’re indulging in. Your husband at least had the decency to keep his adultery away, to relegate it to outside your shared home and never speak of it so openly, even though you obviously were aware. And here you are, being ravished in front of him, by his own father.

“A-ah!” You cry, Edric’s sharp hip bones now slamming into your plush belly, his grunts more like that of an animal than a man. His cock pounds against the deepest part of you like a sledgehammer now, no sense of restraint. The headboard slams against the wall, shaking the many paintings nearly off their hangings. The slapping of skin is louder than the heartbeat resonating in your ears, a wet and sticky sound.

“Hmmph!” Edric groans in your ear, laying his full weight behind every sharp dig of his pelvis. Your body has scooted up to the bed, face nestled into the pillows, a cushiony barrier between you and the wooden headboard. A headboard currently taking a beating, between being repeatedly slammed and clawed at by Edric’s outstretched hand. It finally hits its limit, the wood creaking and bursting into pieces. Chunks fall onto your hair and forehead, finally forcing you to open your eyes. But what you see when they do is heart stopping, too terrifying for you to even scream.

Above you is not Edric, or at least that Edric that you know of. He is no longer the handsome, older gentleman who you confided in. His skin has become an inky black collage of fur, dark and shaggy. His finely shaped nose has been pushed out and upright into a snout, and his kind smile is wider and bursting with fangs. No longer a man, instead he is a monstrous man-sized bat, giant ears and muzzle and all. The only thing that remains like before his eyes, adoring and obsessive, swirling patterns of red amidst dark pools of black.

Your head jerks to the side, trying to escape from the nightmare right in front of you. They claw towards Caleb, a strange new beacon of normalcy, before you realize that he too is gone. His own golden locks have morphed into a honeyed fur, chains cutting into this large, muscular form, his clothing having bursted at the seams. His beautiful, adonis-esque face has also been twisted into the shape of a bat. He ruts and whines against his bindings like a beast in heat, tongue lolled out and drool dripping down his jaw.

Your eyes force shut, like when you were a child afraid of the dark, convinced the covers would save you. But you can’t ignore the long tongue that now laps at your neck, the sharp pin pricks of Edric’s teeth on your neck. Fur clings to your sweaty skin, hips burning as they stretch around Edric’s uncomfortable new size. Even his cock feels bigger, thicker and hot as it fucks you open.

The worst of it all is how good it feels. How your body still longs for Edric’s touch, how it craves each press against that spongy spot, rolls into his thrusts. You’ve lost control, mind split in two, desperate for this to be over yet also desperate to finish.

“Ha-aah!” You whine, the same rush from before twisting your insides, faster and more blinding than earlier. Edric purrs in your ear, his snout nuzzled into your collar.

“Yes, yes, yes.” The beast pants, legs beginning to shake as he also closes near to his end. A paw reaches in between you both and deftly pinpoints your sensitive spot, rubbing it roughly and making your vision go white.

Edric roars into the night, his head tossed back as both of you reach your peak, exploding around each other. Hot floods of his seed fill you up, leaking from out the sides and onto the sheets. He stays locked with you, hips still flush with yours, a frightening smile on his beastial face.

When you finally regain your breath, a terrifying thought of you, pregnant with the antichrist, has you nearly vomiting. Voices ring in your ear but you barely understand them, heart thumping as the fear of bearing a demon catches up to you. The Earl is whispers directly in your ear, close enough that you can actually process what he says.

“I’m so sorry, my dearest. I promise, the pain will last only for a moment.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means. Not when his fangs are plunging into your neck and ripping it open, the pain immediately exploding until there is nothing left. As the light fades from your eyes, you hear a distant sound of someone screaming.

—

It is warm in the drawing room.

You always request it to be, the hearth constantly attended, if not by the servants than by you. It’s fascinating watching the fire glow, seeing the wood crackle and burst as the heat becomes too much. You had never realized just how pleasant the sounds of it could be, how relaxing it is as background to your reading, to your thinking, or your embroidering. The only things that occupied you nowadays, frivolous things to pass the never-ending time. You still had yet to reach the end of the estate’s book collection, more often than not re-reading your favorites rather than treading into new territory. It is comforting, the old words you know so well.

“Long years had brought their fighting days to a halt, but they were eloquent speakers still, clear as cicadas settled on treetops, lifting their voices through the forest, rising softly, falling, dying away.” You read aloud, fingers twirling in Caleb’s hair, occasionally watching the way his spun-gold locks catch the light. It is simply unfair how silky it is, despite the little care he puts into maintaining it. He always forces you to comb it for him, insisting it's too much of a struggle to do it himself, that you do it better anyway. And yet it's hard to complain when it is one of the few solace you have left, the softness beneath your fingers, the familiarity of brushing another one's hair. As if you really did have a son, a family of your own. “So they waited, the old chiefs of Troy, as they sat aloft the tower.”

He’s unusually compliant tonight, Caleb. You think it must be the lack of sleep he got during the day. Usually when you read to him he is full of quips, judgements of the characters or the story you’ve chosen, often deriding their mortal foolishness. But tonight he is silent, head laying on your lap, curled at your feet in a way that must be uncomfortable. You’d offer to move to the chaise lounge instead, let him lay on his back in a more comfortable position, but you really don’t care how comfortable he is at this very moment. Or ever, really.

“And catching sight of Helen moving along the ramparts, they murmured one to another, gentle, winged words…” Your fingers still in Caleb’s thick locks, knotted into the baby hairs at the base of his skull. You do not tug, though a part of you wants to. That part is too numb, an unfortunately similar bout of hopelessness striking you as your eyes dance across the page. “ ‘Who on earth could blame them? Ah, no wonder the men of Troy and Argives under arms have suffered years of agony all for her, for such a woman. Beauty, terrible beauty. Deathless goddess – so she strikes our eyes’ "

You pause, finding yourself unable to continue. Tears well up in your eyes but you force them away. Not again. You thought you had moved past this. But the words still catch in your throat. Caleb’s ear twitches, then his head is turning, looking up at you with his inhuman eyes.

“Why did you-”

He stops, mid-word. The numbness goes away, replaced by the shock of a hand on your shoulder.

“Hello, dearest.” Edric bends down low to kiss your neck, right at the space behind your ear. You see Caleb’s eyebrows furrow, his head whip back around, a pout probably marring his beautiful face. “I missed you.”

“I-” your mouth feels dry, your own internal voice beating itself with a hammer. Shut up. Shut up, Shut up- “-I missed you too.”

You place your hand over his, no longer surprised by the chill of his skin. It’s just like yours.

Edric chuckles, kissing your temple.

“And hello to you Caleb.”

“Hello.” Caleb’s voice is muffled, his face now turned into the fabric of your skirt. Only you can feel the way his hand fists and tugs on the dress, the only acceptable expression of his frustration.

“Are you enjoying the Iliad?” Edric asks the both of you. You nod, a small and polite smile on your face.

“Oh yes, this translation is rather interesting.”

Caleb stays quiet. Edric’s brow turns down a bit.

“I asked you a question, son.”

You fight the feeling to flee, to cower. Caleb tenses against you, his claws almost digging into your skin.

“...It’s good. She reads it well.”

“Well, no surprise there.” Edric’s lips move down to your cheek. “You do have a beautiful voice, my love.”

You giggle, demure and false, whispering a small “thank you”. You wish you could just accept the compliment, take joy in the small wins.

“While I hate to pull you from your books, it is getting quite late.” The hand on your shoulder squeezes, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how powerful Edric is. “I believe it's best we go to bed, dearest.”

Like an automaton, you close your book and stand up, Caleb’s head falling off your legs. He whips around, hand tightly coiled on your skirt, pulling it towards him. An argument brews in his eyes, lips curling back.

“But it's not even sunrise-”

“Now Caleb.” Edric’s voice is somehow both quiet and thunderous, snuffing out any dissent in the air. “Remember your decency. You spent all of yesterday with your mother, and tonight as well. It is not polite to be so greedy.”

Caleb shrinks back, thoroughly scolded, yet a dissatisfied look still lingering.

While you despise either option, Edric does seem the more tolerable of a bed companion. Caleb had kept you up all day, with his pawing hands and desperate hips, absolutely starving for your time. His father only deigned him worthy of sharing your bed when he was especially good, which seemed to be happening more and more lately. Caleb had yet to push it any farther than over your dress, but even with a layer of fabric between you his touch made you ill. Especially when he lathered your neck with his tongue, or threw your thighs over his hips and rutted like an animal for hours on end. Edric had waved away any complaints, reminding you that all the poor boy wanted was affection, that he was harmless. It was exhausting, being the carrot dangling on the stick.

So you pull at your skirts, gently so as to not offend, until Caleb lets go. You fall into Edric’s chest as he guides you both to your shared bedroom. You don’t look back at Caleb as he follows you like a shadow, ignoring his eyes burning down your silhouette. You don’t acknowledge when he whines and pleads with his eyes to Edric, who nevertheless forces him to leave you both at the door. Caleb stomps down the hallway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The next movements are rehearsed and robotic. Edric helps you undress, you help him. You both step into your day clothes and slip under the covers, your body stiff as Edric wraps around you like a constrictor. He starts kissing your neck, breathing heavily against your non-existent pulse.

“I can’t wait to see the stars with you tomorrow.” He whispers.

You close your eyes, and pretend to sleep.

And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow….

[taevbears]

Acorns & Thimbles - 01

I met the devil by the window, traded my life Temptation touched my tongue, spread the wings of desire

⤑ pairing: hoseok x reader ⤑ genre: faerie au, yandere, dark fantasy ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 5.7k ⤑ warnings: YANDERE/DARK ROMANCE, manipulation, blackmail, mc is often called "darling", faeries are evil creatures in this world lol. nothing too crazy in this chapter but, uh... it does get pretty crazy lmao. ⤑ note: happy birthday, hobi ♡ if i were to have a coin for every time i'd post a mini-series on a member's bday, i'd have 2 coins. which isn't a lot, but it's still funny that it happened twice💀. anyway, i've been working on this story for literally over a year, and i've finally had the drive to complete it! i'm so glad to share this story with you, and i hope you all enjoy!

Chapters 01 | 02 | 03| 04 | 05 (End)

Your grandmother is an odd, old woman, closed off from the rest of her small, quaint town with her little cottage on a hill.

She’s become skittish and grouchy, raising her gravelly voice and cursing animosities in the air. Weary neighbors whisper their growing concerns, bearing witness to her arguments against invisible foes.

More than once, someone had found her in front of her yard, squinting at the ground beneath her frail hands and feet. Alarmed, they’d cross the iron gate to help her up, only to realize she’s there with purpose. Meticulously, she’d count the number of leaves on clovers out loud, grumbling under her breath as she desperately tries to find one with four.

It seems that with her age, her mind is starting to deteriorate. She’d walk around town with her clothes inside-out, leave fresh milk, butter, or cream out by her front door to rot instead of putting them away, and pocket random things like iron nails, red jaspers, packets of salt, and small bells and chimes.

“It’s a shame to see her like this,” one of your younger brothers confides. It’s been decided that your poor grandmother can't live on her own anymore. That she needs someone to take care of her.

“Yeah,” your other brother agrees with a long sigh. “Nana wasn’t always like that.”

In fact, your grandmother had always been so full of life and joy. Despite her wrinkles and graying hair, she was a child at heart, witty with a silver tongue, and made the long stays at her home fun when you were all children. The nursery, where the three of you slept, had a toy box with wooden swords and costumes, a collection of fairy tales she'd read to you all before bed, and a large window with a thin curtain that was always open.

Growing up, your parents had to work a lot and often left you and your brothers under her care. Your childhood is full of fond memories of make-believe adventures for hidden treasures, running barefoot across her lush garden and pretending to fly, and listening to her wonderful stories about mermaids, pirates, dwarves, elves, and faeries.

Your imagination was so vivid as a child, surely influenced by your grandmother and her long tales. Sometimes, you still see pieces of your time at her cottage and your thrilling expeditions of pretend. Fragments of following the leader through the thickets and foliage of a beast-filled jungle, of playing house in an underground bunker and punishing your unruly sons with vile, sticky-sweet medicine, and meeting the very creatures who inhabit the dream-like island located second to the right of the north star.

One of those inhabitants, if you could recall correctly, was a boy.

A faerie, to be more precise.

His skin was golden like the warm rays of a summer sun. Pointed ears folded over a hat you sewed for him one day, and he refused to take it off since. He always had a bright smile on his heart-shaped lips, and had a contagious laughter that could make flowers bloom.

He was a friend to you. Maybe something more.

He'd tuck wildflowers in your tangled hair when you slept on his lap, teach you how to fly and fight so you’d triumph over your enemies together, and come by the nursery window each night so he could sneak you out and take you on another adventure.

Then, one day, the window to the nursery was closed shut. The curtains were drawn together, and you were no longer waiting for him to take you away somewhere.

Because like all children, eventually, you and your brothers started to grow up.

The visits to your grandmother’s cottage became less and less frequent. The memories of that place and that boy long-forgotten like a distant dream.

School kept you occupied through your youth. Then, you attended college and studied hard to earn your degrees. Then, you applied for jobs and worked through shifts. You made friends over the years – ones who aren’t lost boys or creatures from fairy tales – and spend a lot of your time with them. You’ve even met a couple boys that taught you love when you got together, and taught you heartbreak when it didn’t work out. You became independent of your parents and made a home for yourself, and before you knew it, you realized that you had grown up as well.

Both of your younger brothers are well accomplished with their lives. One is married with their first child on the way. The other is studying abroad in a foreign country. Neither of them, however, would be able to take care of your poor grandmother full-time.

So, rather easily, it was decided that you’d be the one to move in and look after her.

It felt like a blessing in disguise.

You’ve become a writer with the intention of creating novels of fantasy and adventure. Instead, you work in a soul-sucking office job, where the company berates young women like yourself and it feels very much like a boys club among the staff. The friends you made, you hardly keep in touch with now, as all of you have become too busy to meet up with each other more than a few times a year. And after a recent messy breakup, the place you shared with your ex is no longer your home, and you can’t afford to live on your own with your current measly paycheck.

A fresh start at a place that you once grew up in feels like a miracle.

You could start all over. Never having to look back at the burdens and troubles that have been weighing you down and keeping you from flying.

After talking to your family about it, and eagerly insisting that you’d be more than happy to take care of your grandmother, you packed your bags, quit your job at the office, and quietly moved away. Gone with the wind as your next adventure unfolds.

“Good luck, sis. Let us know if you need anything.”

Your brother gives you a hug when he drops you off at your grandmother’s cottage. It’s a big change, and it’s been years since you’ve last been here. But as you grab your bags and turn to face the old cottage, perched up on the hill, with an iron gate around the flourishing garden of vividly-bright flowers and lush greenery, the nostalgia hits you like a wave.

Memories of your childhood, your play-pretend adventures with your brothers, and the wonderful stories your grandmother would tell all flood back to you like arms of an old friend welcoming you home after a long time apart.

Your grandmother greets you and your brother with tight hugs and remarks of how you’ve both grown up. It almost seems like she’s her old self again, quipping at your brother and asking how his wife is doing. You let them catch up and take the opportunity to settle in.

Not much has changed from what you remember. The aromatic notes of herbs and teas your grandmother likes to brew still linger in the house. The antiques she’d collect are still on display, and the furniture she has are a bit worn and outdated. Even the nursery that you stayed in as a child hasn’t changed much: the toy box is still there, your brother’s teddy bear is on the bed he used to sleep in, and the window with the thin curtain is still shut.

The floor creaks as you slowly walk around the nursery, reminiscing on the old furniture and dusty toys. Yet, your gaze keeps drifting toward the window and the little latch that keeps it shut.

How many times have you sat by it and daydreamed about that world of make-believe? How lonely had you been to longingly gaze out of it and wish to meet an imaginary friend that’d keep you company? How often have you used it to look at the stars and wish – and hope – to be taken away and leave all your childish worries behind?

Before you know it, you’re standing right in front of it.

You draw back the dusty curtains and let light flood in.

“Don’t open that window, dear.”

You nearly jump in surprise, quickly turning to see your grandmother had come to the door. “Hi Nana. Why not?”

She doesn’t answer. Rather, she simply stares at you for a long moment, almost as if she’s lost in her own thoughts. But her eyes shift. You realize it wasn’t you that she was staring at, but the window. When you turn to face it, you see nothing there.

“Don’t open the window,” she repeats firmly. “He’s been waiting for you to open it again.”

“Who is?” you ask, thoroughly confused.

You don’t know who she’s talking about, or why it would matter when the window is on the second floor. But when you turn to face your grandmother again, she’s gone. 

Your brother left hours ago, and you’ve finally unpacked the last of your belongings after an exhausting afternoon of cleaning, laundry, rearranging some furniture in the nursery, and cooking dinner for you and your grandmother.

She follows you around all day as you catch her up on how you’ve been doing. It feels nice to connect with her again. She’s still a great storyteller and seems happy to be in your company. But there’s a worried look on her face when she thinks you’re not looking as her eyes drift to something unseeable over your shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to stay there?” she asks as you help her settle in bed. She suddenly looks uncomfortable with the idea of you being in the nursery.

“I’ll be fine, Nana. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t open the window,” she reminds you before you wish her goodnight.

Luckily, you can still fit in your old bed, although it is clearly designed for a child. You grimace a bit at the heart-shaped frame and the faded green paint, and make a note to yourself to start looking for new furniture soon. You send your other brother a picture of his old teddy bear, and he exclaims how he remembers it once he had a chance to see your message. Soon, that led you to face-timing both of your brothers and showing them all the old toys and costumes that are all still in the room.

“I should’ve stayed and helped move some of them to the attic,” your brother remarks with a slight shake of his head. “Maybe I’ll stop by this weekend and do that.”

“I don’t know. I kind of like seeing them here,” you admit with a fond smile, opening a tiny drawer. Inside are stools of thread, loose buttons, pins in cushions, and other sewing tools. You rummage through the drawer and realize you’re missing a silver thimble.

However, in its place, you find something else.

“What’s that?” your brother asks when you pull out what looks like an old necklace. Hanging on the black, leather thread is an acorn with a hole in the middle.

“I don’t know,” you reply, holding it up by the thread. Your pulse quickens, your heart remembering something that you can’t place the memory of. Yet, somehow, you know that it’s yours. “Did either of you give this to me?”

Both of them shake their heads and shrug. If neither of them gifted it to you, then who…?

Outside, you hear a strange sound. Like the whistle of a flute. It sounds close, yet far away at the same time.

“What’s wrong, sis?” your brother asks, seeing your perplexed expression from his phone screen.

“I thought I heard something,” you tell them, standing by the window now. Through the glass pane, you can’t see anything, and your free hand touches the iron lock that keeps it closed. Was it a bird? What was it doing, crowing at this hour of night?

“What did you hear?”

“I thought… I heard…” you slowly answer, pulling on the latch and the lock clicks open. You slide it up, and the wind gathers, seeming to assist you at that moment, letting the window fly open. A chill runs up your spine as a cold breeze pass, but all you hear now is the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of a dog barking. “It’s probably nothing.”

The wind dies down, but you still shiver. Suddenly, you remember your grandmother wanted you to keep it closed. You stand on your toes and pull the window back down, unaware of how the shadows seem to shift around the nursery as it shuts with a soft thud.

“Sis?” your brother calls out to you, and you’ve almost forgotten you were still on the phone with them.

“It’s nothing,” you repeat, more to yourself than to them. Perhaps it’s the paranoia of disobeying your grandmother’s request, but it suddenly feels like someone is watching you. 

When you sleep that night, your dream is vivid. More than it’s ever been in a long time.

You dream of swords clashing and cannons firing amidst a grand battle against a ship of pirates for their buried treasure. You dream of a mermaid’s lullaby in a moonlit lagoon, and how she knows all the secrets of the dark waters. You dream of elven wanderers and their ancient traditions, bearded dwarves and their brave expedition into a skull-shaped cave, and a group of handsome men cloaked in animal skins as they enjoy their meal in a woodsy hideout. You dream of faeries glowing like fireflies as they dance together with the moon and stars above them.

“I missed you.”

The voice that whispers is familiar, but belongs to someone you can’t quite put a face to.

“What is this place?” you find yourself asking, sitting on a pink cloud and looking at the island below. A little world that you strangely feel attached to. It feels nostalgic. It feels like home.

And it feels like it’s beckoning to you. Compelling you to warm its cold, icy seas after so many winters without you. To bring light into the world where it’s been so dark without your presence. To stay forever, and never leave this world again.

Someone is with you. A friend, you think. The person the voice belongs to. The one who rules over this world you dream about.

His skin is golden like the summer sun, body lean and strong as he wears clothing made of leaves and vines. A coy smile curves on his familiar heart-shaped lips.

“You don’t remember, darling? This place is ours.”

You wake before you figure out who it is. Or what he meant.

Sunlight shines through the nursery window, and a breeze gently blows in.

You frown as you stare at it.

You’re certain you had closed it before you went to bed. 

For the first time in a while, you open your laptop, pull up a blank document, and write.

You write about the dream you had: the peculiar island and the strange creatures that inhabit it. You write about their adventures, and the magic that faith, trust, and pixie dust can bring. You write about the feeling of floating and how thinking happy thoughts can lift you in the air.

You write about the boy you saw and what you can remember of him.

Then, you stop. The room is silent without the tapping of your keyboard. For a moment, you stare at what you wrote and frown.

Somehow, trying to remember the boy in your dreams feels strange. You can recall the clothes he wears, the way being around him feels like basking in the sunlight, and the small dimples on his cheeks that look like tiny hidden kisses that reveal themselves when he smiles. But you can’t remember his face. You can’t remember his eyes.

It feels like you’re searching for a memory. Even if you’re certain you just made him up.

Was he based on someone you knew as a child? An old classmate? Someone you wanted to be friends with?

It doesn’t seem like it. Yet, whoever that person is in your dream, he must have been important to you.

“This place is ours.”

You save the draft and close the laptop with a sigh. What did he mean by that? And why did it feel like he was actually in your head?

For the next few nights, you have the same recurring dream. You see glimpses of that island: the mermaid lagoon with crystal clear waters, the dark and damp caverns of the skull-rock cave, the giant trees with deep roots that hide hidden houses for faeries and the lost boys, and the grand ship the pirates use to hunt for treasures. You hear the sound of twinkling bells from the tiny faeries, the sound of laughter in the woods, the song of pirates as they sail the sea. You smell the firewood of a large bonfire the elves made, the strong stench of alcohol the dwarves share with each other, the salty air of the island where water meets shore. Your dreams become so vivid, you could almost swear you’re there.

“This can all be yours if you wish it.”

The next time you see him in your dreams, you’re no longer floating on a pink cloud above the island. You’re on the island now. Your bare feet touch the green grass and dirt. You feel the cool, sea breeze against your hair and skin. You see flowers bloom prettily, drawn to the warmth of the person behind you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling your back to his chest. Being in his embrace doesn’t alarm you. Rather, it feels familiar, like he’s held you like this before. You find yourself melting into his touch.

When he kisses your cheek, warmth lingers on your face. Somehow, that feels familiar too.

“Who are you?” you ask him this time.

His kisses trail down to your neck now. His lips on your neck are something different, but not unwelcome. A soft sigh falls from your own lips and you feel his smirk against your skin.

“A friend,” he tells you. He places a kiss on your shoulder now.

“I meant your name.” 

He laughs. And something stirs inside your heart, like a magic spell has been cast from the sound. “That, you’ll have to work a little harder for, darling.”

And before you could turn and look at his face, you wake up.

When you dream of him, he’s always just out of view. Yet, always with you wherever you go. Like a shadow.

As soon as you open your eyes, you grab your laptop and flip it open. The document is already on the screen as soon as you log in, and while the dream is still fresh in your mind, you write everything you remember: the adventure you went on this time, the part of the island that he showed you, what you guys did there, what was said.

What his name is…

Your fingers type it out. Without thinking about it, without even realizing what you’ve done. And suddenly, the answer is there before you.

Four letters that form one name.

Hope 

“My darling,” your grandmother begins, sitting on her rocking chair by a warm fire. “Do you remember the rules I taught you?”

You pause what you’re doing. The water in a large pot continues to roll into a boil as the red sauce you’re making heats the fresh tomatoes, meatballs, and herbs.

At first, you think it’s about the window at the nursery. The night you arrived here, you only opened it for a minute before you quickly closed it again. Surely, your grandmother was sound asleep then. She couldn’t have known that you opened the window, right?

“What rules, Nana?” you ask her, adding the pasta noodles into the boiling water.

“The rules about the Fae.”

You stop again. “The Fae?”

“The first rule,” she begins as she continues to rock on her chair. “Do not draw the attention of mischievous faeries.”

“But—” You part your lips, almost pointing out to her that faeries aren’t real. But something stops you. Somehow, telling her that feels like a lie.

“The second rule,” she continues. “Do not tell them your name.”

Names hold power to the Fae. You remember that much from your grandmother’s stories.

“Like Rumpelstiltskin,” you mention, recalling the tale of a naïve girl who gets out of a bad contract she later regrets by learning the little spinster’s true name.

She nods her head. “The third rule. Do not lie to them.”

Guilt starts to creep up on you for opening the window at the nursery. Although she hasn’t mentioned it again, a part of you is paranoid that she somehow found out about it anyway.

“Sounds like the moral of a children’s story,” you comment, half-joking as you finish up making the pasta. It’s nearly finished.

“The fourth rule,” she goes on more sternly, a small frown on her thin lips. “Do not accept gifts, food, or favors from the Fae.”

“Right,” you mutter, turning off the heat of the stove and serving the meal.

This rule, you know as well.

Your grandmother has told you stories of how faeries lure lost souls into the woods, trapping them into their world. Of bargains that don’t go as planned, leading to a price to pay with one’s servitude and torture to the tricksters. You’ve seen strange reports of mysterious disappearances and rings of mushrooms and pebbles left behind, of people entranced in a waltz-like dance as they edge toward the end of a cliff and slip to their deaths, and of people who’ve tasted the food and drinks of the Fae and later find themselves poisoned from the sticky, sweet indulgence.

“And the fifth, but most important rule of all,” she finishes, turning to look you in the eye. “Should you find yourself in their debt, you must give something of equal value in return. Only then will your debt be repaid.”

You sense the worry in her voice, and it occurs to you then that she knows. You had opened the window, let something in that you shouldn’t have, and whatever it is now targets you. The dreams, and now the rules about the Fae.

“Nana, why are you telling me this?” you ask her, helping her to her seat on the table.

“So you could learn from my mistakes.” She is quiet for a long moment as you serve her plate. She doesn’t seem to want to eat as she looks at you with guilt in her eyes. “I have a confession, my dear.”

“What is it?” you ask, settling down on your own spot on the table.

“When I was young, there was a place that I went to. A wonderful world full of adventure. I didn’t want to grow up. I still wanted to play and have fun, and not think about grown-up things like work, bills, and raising a family.” She grimaces as she thinks about how foolish she was then. How she loves her children and her grandchildren more than anything now. “I made a deal with the faeries then. I didn’t want things to change. I wanted to stay the same, but once I started to grow up, I realized that this wasn’t what I wanted anymore. So I made a new deal with them.”

Neither of you have touched your plates. You look at your grandmother with a small frown. “What was the deal?”

“I would take back my contract, grow old and allow time to resume normally again, if they leave my children alone,” she admits with a frown. “I fell in love with your grandfather. I knew we’d be married and have a family together, but that wasn’t good enough. A change of contract means nothing to them when the family I was going to have meant everything.”

You feel your chest tighten. “So, what did they want?”

“They wanted you,” she tells you sullenly. “The first-born of my kin from the child they couldn’t have.”

“That’s… quite a story, Nana.” You’re not sure what to say, or how much of it is true. Things like dealings with faeries, contracts, and such are all make-believe. Isn’t it?

“I just want to remind you of those rules, my dear,” she replies with a sad smile. “Before he tries to take you from me again.”

You don’t believe in faeries.

But your grandmother does.

Perhaps, as a child, you once did too. Mischievous by nature, you’d once claim that they’re the reason your hair gets tangled in the morning when you wake up, or why you seem to keep misplacing your things. Your brothers would call you silly and forgetful, but your grandmother, upon when you had first told her about these minor inconveniences, suddenly looked at you with worry.

That day, when you were still a child, she had tightly held your hand and told you the five rules. The five things to always remember when dealing with them.

However, you were just a child. Following rules seemed boring to you when the temptation of adventure came to your window every night.

In the shadows, the one called Hope would silently watch you as you played with your brothers, jumping on the bed and swinging around a wooden sword as you’d re-tell your version of fairy tales – ones that often involved defeating treacherous foes and overcoming difficult obstacles, but always ended with a true love’s kiss.

Embodied as a boy around your age, he slipped through the open window and personally invited you to his world of adventure. He liked your stories, he liked that you could prove you’re just as tough as your brothers and could fit right in with his group of friends, and he liked how you had a sweeter, softer, motherly side of you as well.

Every time he took you to that place, he didn’t want you to leave. Yet, you always had to.

You’d worry about your brothers when they weren’t with you, or you’d be afraid your grandmother would forget about you and shut the window before you could make it back home. You had school, a family, and a home here – you couldn’t stay with him all the time like he wanted you to.

So, Hope brought between worlds with the condition that you’d come back.

And for a while, you kept your word, meeting him again by the window the very next night.

Until one day, you didn’t.

The nursery window had been shut and locked, and you and your brothers had returned to your parents to grow up and forget. Your promise with the faerie had been broken.

You find yourself with your laptop open again, reading through the notes you’ve jotted down every morning after you’d wake up. Tabs are open on your browser on websites about the Fae, and your grandmother’s illness is starting to make sense to you.

It’s not the air she’s scolding and warning to get away from her. There are reasons she’s seeking protection in forms of four-leaf clovers, inverted clothes, and carrying objects of iron with her at all times. That the dairy and sweets she leaves by her door are an offering to appease them so they won’t cause her and her family harm.

Because she can see them.

Wisps of light that float out in her garden at night, lingering hauntingly until the dawn breaks. Forms of small animals like squirrels, mice, and birds that come to her door for old buttons, pretty stones, and shiny objects. Tiny, mischievous winged humans that can spoil food before their expiration or hide keys and coins when no one is looking.

Faeries.

For some reason, they’ve been harassing your grandmother lately. Perhaps, they’ve been bothering her longer than you thought, angry that she had taken you away from them and that world they wanted to keep you in.

And now that you’re here…

“So, you figured it out?”

You gasped, turning to the source. By the open window, as the ends of the curtains float with the wind, the one called Hope stands before you. Only, he isn’t a boy anymore.

Rule #1: Do not draw the attention of mischievous faeries.

The man before you is tall and thin, with a sharp jaw and a perfect nose. The apples of his cheeks rise with his heart-shaped smile. His skin is golden, glowing warmly like rays of the sun. The tips of his ears are a little pointier, and sunlight seems to naturally highlight his hair and brown eyes.

Faeries, as you’ve researched, come in different forms. Sometimes as small animals. Sometimes as nymphs, sprites, wisps, and pixies. Sometimes, however, they appear to you in a strange form. Human. Visible.

Only strong faeries can do that. Like kings and queens of the Fae.

He looks at you curiously, and although it should alarm you that he suddenly appeared in your room, it doesn’t.

You know him. You’ve seen him in your dreams.

Rule #2: Do not tell them your name.

“Hope?”

His smile widens, almost devilish. “Hope? What happened to Hobi?”

“Hobi,” you repeat, and somehow, that name sounds familiar on your tongue as well. “Is that what I called you?”

“You don’t remember?” He feigns hurt, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head a little. “You sure changed a lot since the last time I saw you, darling.”

“Darling,” you echo, feeling your heart stir at the pet name. You remember him calling you that in your dreams as well. Is that what he always called you?

Rule #3: Do not lie to them.

The faerie moves closer to you, frowning as he looks you in the eye. Your heart pounds nervously as you hold his piercing gaze. “You’ve forgotten all about me, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve never—“ you start, but you catch yourself. You have met him. Considered him a friend, even. The dreams, the memories of your childhood. How much of it was real, and how much of it was make-believe?

Rule #4: Do not accept gifts, food, or favors from the Fae.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” he states, finally backing off. “You’re here now. I can show you all the things you’ve forgotten again.”

That paradise island. The one that you’ve been dreaming so often about. A small part of you can’t believe it’s real and not just some figment of your imagination. That this faerie could actually take you there.

“At what cost?” you find yourself asking.

The faerie smirks. “Clever.”

A commotion comes from downstairs. You hear the distinct sound of twinkling, like the chimes of a small bell. Following that, your grandmother’s voice.

“I told you to stay away from me!” she snaps from downstairs. A crash of a shattering plate, flung to a wall. Thuds of other things being knocked over as your grandmother continues to yell at the faeries to leave her alone. Alarmed, you jump to your feet, ready to rush down to help her. But the presence of the faerie intruder makes you stop in the middle of the room.

How long has she been enduring them on her own until they drove her mad? How far will they try to break her until they get what they want? How much longer can she still protect you from them?

Rule #5: Should you find yourself in their debt, you must give something of equal value in return. Only then will your debt be repaid.

You turn to the faerie. “If I go with you, will you leave my family alone?”

“If you wish it,” he simply replies, but his mouth twitches in a small smile. You feel like you’re falling right into his trap.

The commotion downstairs gets louder. Your grandmother is shrieking as she tries to chase the faeries out, her voice desperate and exhausted from their illusions and magic. You want to stop it for her sake.

“If I go with you, will I see my family again?” you ask, thinking about your brothers, your parents, and your grandmother. A sudden wave of déjà vu hits you, as if you’ve asked him this before. You fumble awkwardly with the memory, trying to grasp it.

“What about my brothers?” you ask the boy by your window, looking at their sleeping forms. He doesn’t seem enthusiastic with the idea of bringing them with you. “And Mother, and Father? Nana will surely find out too.”

“There’ll be mermaids,” he tells you, smiling as your eyes light up.

“Mermaids?” you echo, thinking of how amazing it’d be to meet one.

“Pirates.”

“Pirates!” you exclaim, then quickly cover your mouth, nearly rousing your brothers from their sleep. He wants you to tell the ending of your Cinderella story yourself to his friends, and in exchange, he’ll take you to a magical place.

How easy it was for him then, when you didn’t know any better. And how terribly naïve you were, making deals with the devil by your window.

You hear your grandmother shouting your name now, trying to make her way upstairs. The faeries, it seems, have suddenly stopped bothering her. They’ve quieted down, but she knows that something is wrong.

“Forget them, darling. Forget them all,” he whispers, coming up behind you. His lips brushes against your ear as your pulse races, kissing you as lightly as the wings of a faerie. “Come with me, and you’ll never, never have to worry about a thing again.”

Your grandmother’s shouts are getting closer. You can hear her running up the stairs as fast as her frail legs can take her.

You turn to face the faerie behind you. He stands so close to you, you could kiss him. “Never is an awfully long time.”

Your grandmother is an odd, old woman, and there are five rules that she taught you, in hopes that you’d remember them when facing the Fae. Since you were a child, she’s protected you and your brothers from the devilish creatures she sees, from the one in particular that has staked his claim on you.

It would be nice to say she made it to the nursery on time. That all her charms and rituals of protection are enough to repel him and banish him from her home.

But as she opened the door to the nursery, you were gone. Vanished into thin air, just as she feared.

All that’s left is the gentle breeze that blows the thin curtains from the open window.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist | Next

[rainbowsky]

Anonymous asked:

Hey rainbowsky I hope you are doing well love you account, I saw this on Twitter about wyb following an account on weibo that slanders xz and few other celebrities. I'm not on weibo personally and I was wondering if its true . Forgive my not so perfect grammar English ain't my first language

Hi, Anon. Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying my blog! ☺️

Your English is fine! It doesn't have to be perfect anyway, people. Even people who grew up with English as their first language sometimes struggle with how to express things. I'm not going to be grading anyone's messages. 😘

Regarding this issue, I want to remind everyone that following and reading what antis say anywhere is never a good idea. Their only purpose in life is to hate, and you should just edit that all the way out of your life. Block, ignore, and report when appropriate.

For background, there are some haters out there claiming that he followed a moto account that is a notorious cyberbully who slanders many celebrities.

I happen to be very intimately aware of who DD follows on Weibo, because I did a comprehensive post about it a while back. I know all of the patterns of who he tends to follow and their relationship to him.

DD absolutely does not follow any fan accounts, and never has. He does not follow the account in question.

The claim is that he followed this person and then quickly unfollowed them. I think that anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that is obviously an accidental follow. We have all done it at some point in our lives (and for some reason it only seems to happen with accounts we absolutely would not want to be associated with!).

If you've ever used the Weibo app, the follow button is a few millimeters away from the phone's back button, and it would be easy to accidentally follow somebody when you meant to go back to the previous page. Especially if you have huge hands like his.

Why would he be looking at the page of an anti? Probably for the same reason you were, Anon. Everyone has a morbid human curiosity about anti material for some reason, and they spend entirely too much time looking at it.

It's possible that he saw a hate comment about his husband and he wanted to see if it was someone claiming to be his fan. It's possible he saw something said 'in his name' that he didn't agree with. It's possible somebody mentioned that account as potentially in the next crop of people being sued. We will never know.

What we do know is that if he ever did follow them (and screen caps can be faked very easily, so I'm not even sure that's true), he doesn't follow them now.

Edit: apparently the supposed DD account wasn't him, it was faked. All the more reason to ignore this kind of BS.

These are the kinds of things that people can waste time hand-wringing over, when they are absolutely inconsequential.

The reality is that the people angrily spreading this story about him are just as horrible as the person they are claiming he followed. That is the irony of all of this. They are the exact same sort of person. They say and do all of the same horrible things as that account does.

The other irony is that all of this is happening on xitter - a platform no decent human being should still be participating in.

Anyone still on there is participating in a Neo-Nazi platform, and further legitimizing and lining the pockets of the richest, most corrupt dirtbag on the planet, who is right now actively engaged in an illegal, racist, anti-queer, anti-disabled, anti-kindness, self-serving fascist dismantling of the US democratic systems of government. That should be more worrying to you than this ridiculous story.

The fact that there are so many high profile turtles who still participate there is an ongoing source of deep embarrassment and shame for the fandom.

Why not leave that hateful platform to the antis and move over to BlueSky, which has all of the features needed and none of the baggage? Most of those turtles already have a presence on there, they just don't actually use their accounts. They need to find the moral courage to lead everybody to greener pastures.

[andy-15-07]

A Dance of Eternal Promises

pairing:Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

summary:During preparations for a grand ball, Alexei and his beloved celebrate enduring love, whispered dreams, and hopeful new life.

word count: 2264 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

Alexei Vronsky and you woke early on that gentle morning, the sunlight barely brushing the ornate windowpanes of your shared home. Today was not merely any day—it was the day of the grand ball, and with it came the celebration of both your union and the soon-to-be arrival of your first child. In the hushed light of dawn, while the city still slept, the two of you found yourselves immersed in the soft rituals of preparation, each moment an ode to the love that had grown between you.

You sat before a carved antique vanity, your delicate hands moving with quiet precision as you arranged your hair. Resting gently on your lap was the unmistakable reminder of the life blossoming within you—a small, vibrant promise of the future. The room, adorned with roses and pastel draperies, filled with the scent of freshly cut peonies and the gentle murmur of your whispered hopes.

Alexei, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that spoke of refined elegance, approached with a smile that brightened his usually composed demeanor. “My love,” he said softly, his hand reaching to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, “you are more radiant than the morning light itself.”

Your eyes met his in the mirror, and a tender warmth spread through you. “Thank you, my dearest Alexei. Tonight, as we step into the ball, I want every eye to see the glow of our joy—of the life we are about to share.” Your voice carried both excitement and the weight of dreams fulfilled.

With measured care, he pulled you into a gentle embrace. “Every step we take tonight will be a step toward the future we build together. I long to dance with you, to lose myself in the music and the quiet promise that every heartbeat holds.”

The conversation flowed as naturally as the gentle breeze that stirred the lace curtains. You spoke of the anticipation of dancing beneath the soft glow of chandeliers, recalling memories of your first dance—when the world fell away and it was just the two of you, your hearts keeping perfect time. “Do you remember,” you began, your voice tinged with nostalgia, “when we first danced together, and it felt as though every note of the orchestra was written just for us?”

Alexei’s eyes sparkled with recollection. “How could I ever forget? It was as if the stars had aligned solely to bring our souls together. Every graceful turn we shared that night was a promise of the life we would lead—a life filled with passion, hope, and the constant wonder of love.”

As you both moved about your preparations, the room resonated with gentle laughter and whispered dreams. You carefully fastened a delicate brooch to your gown—a deep burgundy silk dress that hugged your form elegantly, its color reminiscent of the passionate hues of a sunset. “I have thought about tonight all week,” you confessed, adjusting the fabric with loving care. “I want our dance to tell the story of our journey, the struggles and triumphs, and now, the joy of a new beginning.”

Alexei stepped closer, his hand warm on your shoulder. “And I want every step we take on that dance floor to be a testament to our unyielding devotion. Our child will inherit a legacy of love, strength, and the beauty of shared dreams.” His voice, low and earnest, mingled with the soft strains of a distant piano.

You paused, a soft smile curving your lips as you glanced down at your belly. “Sometimes, I find myself imagining our child watching us now, wondering how we became so intertwined in each other’s hearts. It feels as if every moment, every glance, has led us to this crescendo of life.”

Alexei’s gaze softened. “Indeed, my love. Every heartbeat, every whispered word, every shared secret has woven the tapestry of our lives. Tonight, as we join the swirling throng at the ball, I want you to know that in every conversation, every dance, I see our past, our present, and the endless promise of our future.”

The hours ticked by as the two of you moved seamlessly between moments of quiet reflection and bursts of playful banter. At one point, while you adjusted a stray hem of your dress, you teased, “I wonder if our child will inherit my flair for mischief or your impeccable sense of style.”

Alexei chuckled, his laughter warm and rich. “Perhaps a little of both, my dear. I imagine our little one will have my adventurous spirit and your gentle grace—a perfect blend of both our souls.” His eyes crinkled with mirth as he continued, “And who knows? Maybe our child will be the one to steal the show at the next ball.”

The room around you was alive with the quiet symphony of domestic bliss—the soft clinking of fine china as breakfast was set out on a nearby table, the rustle of silk as you moved about, and the ever-present undercurrent of shared hope. Each object in the room seemed imbued with meaning, a silent witness to the love story unfolding with every whispered word and tender glance.

Before long, the time came to step out into the bustling world beyond your door. The grand staircase of your home, polished to a mirror-like shine, welcomed you both as you descended with measured grace. Every step echoed with the promise of the night ahead, a night where you would become the center of a celebration not just of opulence and artifice, but of a love that had been nurtured in the quiet moments between chaos and calm.

Outside, the world was vibrant with life. Carriages glided along cobblestone streets, and the chatter of passersby formed a lively counterpoint to the inner sanctum of your shared joy. Alexei, ever the gentleman, extended his hand to you. “Shall we, my love?” he asked, his tone both gentle and insistent, as if urging you to embrace the magic of the evening.

“Always,” you replied, your voice filled with quiet resolve and anticipation. “Let the night be a canvas for our dreams, a stage upon which our love is the performance of a lifetime.”

Walking together to the ball, your dialogue was a continuous exchange of memories, hopes, and plans. “Do you recall the first time we met at a similar celebration?” you inquired, eyes sparkling with the recollection of a long-ago summer night. “The way your smile lit up the room, making it seem as if everything had suddenly fallen into place?”

Alexei’s response was immediate and heartfelt. “I remember every detail. Your laugh was the melody that captured my heart. Even amidst the chatter and clinking glasses, it was as if only your voice reached me, pulling me toward you.” His tone held a note of reverence as he added, “Every dance, every glance since has been a reaffirmation of the bond we share.”

At the grand entrance of the ball, beneath glittering chandeliers and the admiring gaze of elegantly dressed guests, your conversation deepened. “Look at how everyone stops to admire us,” you whispered, a blend of amusement and quiet pride in your tone.

Alexei’s eyes never left yours. “They see only a glimpse of our story, but in that glimpse, they witness the passion and hope that define us. Tonight, the ball is not simply a celebration of society—it is a celebration of us, and of the future that awaits.”

Inside the ballroom, the ambiance was enchanting—a sea of dancing couples, lively music, and the soft murmur of delighted conversations. Yet even amidst this splendor, your dialogue remained intimate. While waltzing in a secluded corner of the floor, you said, “I sometimes worry that the splendor of this night might make me forget the simpler, quieter moments that truly matter.”

Alexei’s reply was immediate, his tone both reassuring and filled with adoration. “Never, my dear. For even in the brilliance of these lights and the grandeur of this setting, it is the simple truth of our love that shines brightest. Every shared smile, every whispered word, every heartbeat in sync with mine—it is all a reminder that true beauty lies in the authenticity of our connection.”

The dance continued, and with each turn and each gentle step, your conversation wove seamlessly between playful teasing and profound declarations of love. “Do you think,” you asked softly, “that one day, when our child is old enough, they will listen to our stories and understand the magic of a night like this?”

Alexei’s smile was both mysterious and tender. “I believe they will, my love. They will learn that our life has been a series of moments—a dance of passion and hope, of challenges met with courage and triumphs celebrated with joy. And in every step we take, they will see the unbreakable bond that has carried us through every storm.”

In the midst of the waltz, a dear friend approached, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Alexei, your love for her is as inspiring as the legends of old,” she said, her voice lilting in admiration. “Tell me, what is it that makes your union so extraordinary?”

Alexei’s eyes softened as he replied, “It is in the quiet moments, when the world fades away, and it is just the two of us—our hearts speaking in a language older than words. Our love is not simply a dance of appearances; it is a quiet, enduring melody that will guide us and our child through all of life’s seasons.”

Another guest, caught up in the enchantment of the night, added, “And now, with the promise of a new life soon to join your dance, it is as if the universe itself is rejoicing in your happiness.”

You smiled at these kind words, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Our child will be born into a world filled with love, laughter, and the beauty of shared dreams,” you said, your voice a soft murmur that resonated with every listener. “I want them to know that no matter where life takes us, our love will always be the guiding star.”

As the evening unfolded, every conversation, every shared laugh, and every whispered promise further enriched the tapestry of your lives. The ball became a living, breathing testament to the love you both nurtured—a love that had weathered storms and now shone as brightly as the chandeliers above.

At one point during a quiet interlude by a window draped with silver curtains, you paused to reflect. “Sometimes I wonder,” you said softly, “if all the beauty of this night is enough to capture the magnitude of our love. It seems so vast, so deep—how do we even begin to measure it?”

Alexei’s gaze was tender as he took your hand in his. “We do not measure love in grand gestures or opulent settings,” he said gently. “Love is found in the quiet moments—a shared glance, a soft touch, the way your eyes light up when you smile. Tonight, every moment is a note in the symphony of our lives. And no matter how grand the ball or how sparkling the chandeliers, it is our hearts that truly illuminate this night.”

In that moment, your words merged with his, forming a melody of hope and assurance that lingered long after the music had faded. You both knew that while the ball was a celebration of the present, it was also a promise—a promise of a future where every shared dance, every quiet conversation, and every new heartbeat would add to the enduring story of your love.

Later, as the final dance drew near and the crowd began to thin, you found a secluded corner where the gentle murmur of the evening gave way to a peaceful quiet. Here, with the soft glow of moonlight filtering through tall, arched windows, you continued your heartfelt dialogue. “I want you to promise me something,” you said, your voice husky with emotion. “Promise that no matter what comes, we will always hold on to this feeling—this unyielding joy, the simple truth of our love.”

Alexei pressed his forehead gently against yours, his voice a tender vow. “I promise, my beloved. Every day, every dance, every breath we share will be a reminder of the promise we made—to cherish one another, to hold our dreams close, and to nurture the love that has always been our guiding light.”

And so, as the night slipped quietly into the early whispers of dawn, Alexei Vronsky and you remained entwined in a timeless dance—a conversation of hearts, an endless dialogue of hope and commitment. The ball, with all its splendor and elegance, was but a backdrop to the real celebration: the celebration of your union, your shared dreams, and the promise of a new life soon to join your eternal dance.

In the gentle silence that followed, as the last notes of the music faded into the cool night air, you both knew that the beauty of this night would linger long in your hearts. It was a night of whispered confessions, of dreams shared between glances, and of promises made beneath the watchful eyes of the stars. A night that encapsulated the very essence of your love—timeless, unyielding, and infinitely beautiful.

With one final embrace and a quiet kiss that sealed every unspoken vow, you stepped out into the future, hand in hand, ready to greet the promise of tomorrow. The dance of your lives, rich with the laughter of the past and the hope of the future, continued onward—a brilliant, ceaseless melody echoing in every heartbeat, every shared word, every soft whisper of love.

[thebearme]

Hi, I hope you’re having an amazing day. Just wanna say I love your art and the things you’ve been doing to help Gaza and Palestine,

But I have a question so I’ve been in the dog man fandom for about a week, and I caught up in read a few books, and I wanna know how you and other people in the fandom feel about Alice (Officer Knight’s ex-girlfriend) because in my opinion, I think she’s kind of an interesting character, and I’m kind of happy she was added since in the Dogman books there’s no mention of her like think about it. She could be the perfect opportunity for angst between her and dog man.

(Sorry if this comes off as wonky, I have social anxiety)

Helloo, I hope you're having a nice day as well.

Even with all the things I'm doing it doesn't feel enough, most because the outreach for the families I post really rely on if there's traffic on my acc that day. But HOPEFULLY I'll get a reliable source of income that I can donate!

Anywho, with your question on Alice. I can confidently say I'm VERY INTERESTED about her; funny enough if I've answered this a few days earlier I would have said that I love the concept of her but not what was done. Almost like the majority of Stella fans ha

BUT with my dental and something interesting I found in the movie, I don't have to say I only like her concept

SHE WORKS AT A NAIL SALON

AND SHE LOOKS MISERABLE!! :D

I know that makes me sound insane but listen! I think she is still grieving from the loss of Knight and the future that they could have had together because he threw it all away FOR HIS DOG WITHOUT EVEN CALLING GOODBYE! I love Knight don't get me wrong but that is single handed the most dumb thing he did that day.

Imagine if your bf just got in a accident, didn't call you, and you find out ON THE NEWS THAT HE IS DEAD! Oh but don't worry cuz atleast he save the dog... And now you are expected to live in the same house with the dog in your bf BODY!?

Ya no wonder she leaves in a day! And I have a feeling that the whole "new boyfriend and dog" thing was a lie. A lie to make it seem like she got back at Knight, "If you can make big life changing decisions without caring about others THEN SO CAN I!"

But because of ALL of this she is miserable, and who can blame her. That is the worse week anyone can have.

But I think the worst thing of it all is that she lives in a dogman world. She will see him on the news, on the streets, everywhere and she can't escape it till she leaves the state. A constant reminder of the old life she could had have and was taken away from her too soon.

Everything would had been different if Knight just had called his Alice goodbye.

anyway- silly divorce meme

[pickletrip]

Did I start watching "For Him" because of the spicy GIFs on my dash? Yes

Is the acting good? Not really, I've seen better uni BLs from Thailand.

So why am I still watching it? BECAUSE NAIL AND HIM ARE WILLING TO TALK TO EACH OTHER AND NOT JUST BRUSH OFF THEIR PROBLEMS.

THEY COMMUNICATE.

My Dear Gangster Oppa could learn about communicating from them.

Look, they are at a restaurant to have a nice meal, Nail sees his ex and is instantly uncomfortable and Him clocks that and asks what's wrong. You know what a regular show would do, Nail would answer " Oh, nothing, it's nothing." But what does Nail do here? He honestly tells Him and Him understands that Nail is still dealing with his past relationship and they leave. Him says it's okay to feel this way and he understands that Nail is still dealing with the shit Jay did to him.

Take another instance from episode 4.

Te is being the usual creepy stalker idiot and tells that Him has done terrible things to Blue. Of course Nail wants to know what's happened so he asks Him without beating around the bush. And Him was honest about why Blue left him. We still don't know all the details but Him says he neglected Blue so Blue left him. He talks about how he needed to get some medical help because of what happened. Do you see how they communicate???! Other shows would have shown Him getting defensive and saying that Nail needn't know these things.

Even after the argument with Jay in the hallway, Him leaves because Nail is clearly upset, they talk over the phone and make up. They don't just leave it for another day and let the bad emotions stew and make each other feel like shit.

This is why I appreciate the show. They communicate. That's the foundation of a good relationship.

[ashraffamilynew]

Please help secure a future for an entire family - me, Ashraf, my wife Ghadeer, and our lovely innocent son Yamen 👶💙

Vetted by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi , fundraisers list Number (#328)

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on their list ( #74 )

Vetted on X platform on this spreadsheet (#391)

Shared by @90-ghost | Shared by @a-shade-of-blue | Shared by @dlxxv-vetted-donations

Please bring us back to life without war, destruction, genocide or killing because this is what fills our memories after we forget what a life full of hope is like ‼️

I'm Ashraf from the war-torn Gaza. I've lived an entire life under siege in Gaza, facing relentless military actions and life-threatening conditions daily. In October 2023, the conflict escalated drastically, devastating my newly built house, my neighborhood,my workplace, and jeopardizing the lives of my family.

My wife, Ghadeer @ghadeerarqan , and I live in Gaza with our baby son Yamen. My wife gave birth to Yamen during the war, and it is all he has ever known. Yamen has spent the tenth months of his young life without a stable home, surviving a genocide.

I mourn the loss of our safe haven, but more urgently, I need to secure a future for my family away from the constant threat of bombings that have become our grim reality.

Meet Yamane, our precious tenth-months-old. Who was born during this war, We aspire to provide him with opportunities that surpass our own experiences, fostering a future filled with joy and prosperity.

This campaign is a call to arms for all who believe in the transformative power of community support. By contributing, you're not just donating; you're actively shaping Yamane's world, ensuring his journey is filled with the promise and potential every child deserves. Join us in making a profound impact on his life

Yamen... he's only a baby. He doesn't understand the fear that grips us, the darkness that engulfs our lives. He just smiles, his eyes bright with innocent wonder, oblivious to the terror that surrounds him. He reaches for me with tiny hands, his laughter a fragile melody in this symphony of destruction. 💔

can we shield him from the reality of this war ⁉️can we keep him safe ⁉️

Your generosity is a beacon of hope for my family, especially for my little baby boy Yaman👶🩷, who deserves a future free from fear and filled with opportunity.

Thank you for standing with us during this incredibly challenging time. Your support means the world to us, 🌺🩷🌿🕊

But we still need your help to reach our goal. Please continue to share our campaign and consider contributing if you can. Together, we can create a brighter future for Yamane and all children affected by this conflict.

Vetted by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi , fundraisers list Number (#328)

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on their list ( #74 )

Vetted on X platform on this spreadsheet (#391)

Shared by /@90-ghost

Shared by @a-shade-of-blue

Shared by @dlxxv-vetted-donations

[tonycries]

Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what. 

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court. 

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.  

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching. 

Waiting. 

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you. 

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were. 

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue. 

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit. 

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped. 

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom. 

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you. 

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet. 

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed. 

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure. 

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again. 

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing. 

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family. 

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale. 

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond. 

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?” 

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature. 

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind. 

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him. 

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic. 

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals. 

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library. 

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. 

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it. 

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette. 

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never. 

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up. 

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off. 

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are. 

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck. 

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it. 

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe. 

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table. 

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating. 

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember. 

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in. 

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room. 

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.” 

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak. 

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice? 

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep? 

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway. 

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull. 

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for. 

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband. 

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction. 

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted. 

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again? 

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting. 

Satoru - blindfold and all.  

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep. 

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same. 

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.” 

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.” 

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless. 

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before. 

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes. 

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler. 

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye. 

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you. 

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul. 

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod. 

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well. 

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle. 

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either. 

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom. 

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life. 

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night. 

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes” 

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else. 

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic. 

Powerful. 

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question. 

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it. 

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all. 

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder. 

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange. 

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next. 

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding. 

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-” 

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was. 

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too. 

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still. 

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom. 

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that. 

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you. 

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers. 

One. 

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly. 

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king. 

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough. 

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over. 

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower. 

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet. 

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either. 

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either. 

Satoru. 

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.” 

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric. 

Blue. 

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later. 

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue. 

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body. 

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window. 

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind. 

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna. 

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready. 

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne. 

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step. 

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man. 

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow. 

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?” 

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially,  “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper. 

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra. 

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks. 

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall. 

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel. 

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could. 

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him. 

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging. 

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling. 

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy. 

And then, he opens his eyes. 

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue. 

That crystal blue. 

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life. 

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul. 

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. 

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew. 

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now. 

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.” 

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’” 

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library. 

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily.  “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years. 

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful. 

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was. 

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster. 

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers,  just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me. 

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized. 

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping. 

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark. 

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before. 

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you. 

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You. 

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown. 

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-” 

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?” 

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life. 

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words. 

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle. 

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song. 

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist. 

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to. 

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh. 

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length. 

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.” 

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you. 

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy. 

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.” 

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers. 

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted. 

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering. 

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft. 

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?” 

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white. 

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock. 

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.” 

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection. 

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off. 

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering. 

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt. 

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts. 

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart. 

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh. 

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily. 

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was. 

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve. 

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again. 

“Oh- oh.” 

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you. 

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is. 

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more. 

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you. 

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out. 

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need. 

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly. 

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same. 

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel. 

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much. 

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body. 

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth. 

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving. 

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips. 

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell. 

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[sn-613]

I really hope that meme is satire bc I will NOT stand for that

Seeing the talk about IDW Silver in Twitter, I'm convinced that the people who are, quote-on-quote 'fans' of 'Silver', doesn't really like the real him.

In which I mean, they don't really like how he's exactly like the rest of the male characters. Serious, tempered and cool. They want UWU cinnamon rolls.

Like, IDW is already filled with the writers' OCs, why not make one so that Silver doesn't have to suffer from his so called 'fans' fanfic perception of him.

Look no further.

[smileysuh]

bottle service

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Saying that… I was thinking… maybe tonight…” You can feel your skin heating in embarrassment, you’ve never had to ask a man for sex before, but it makes sense that with this man, this wonderful person who is leaving the ball in your court for all things decision-making, you have to be the one to speak up. “I was thinking maybe tonight we could go that one step further, if you want.” 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, body/breast worship, foreplay, pussy eating/oral, massaging, blindfold/sensory deprivation, multiple reader orgasms, praise, dirty talk, mention if toys/reader having a dry spell, Cheol’s got a big thick cock, masturbation, mention of proper aftercare, etc… I pet names: (hers) Doll.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 11.2k

🍭 aus.  Slice of life au, bottle service girl! y/n, bouncer!Cheol, friends/coworkers to lovers. 

☀️ mlist + an. As someone in the service industry, I kind of like doing this sort of au- I hope I was able to bring a bit of personal/lived experience to this fic :) 

Prologue:

It’s been a long shift, and you feel on top of the world as you finally head to the back of the club to do your tip-out. Your fanny pack is full of cash, and you’re already considering different places that would be open at this time of night where you can go and grab a quick post-shift meal. You’re hoping Wonwoo is up for something, as you’ve begun to enjoy yourself more and more when you hang out with the bartender.

You wouldn’t say he’s your boyfriend, not yet, but there’s a potential with him that makes you excited to come to work on nights when you’re both scheduled.

You’ve been in the business long enough to know that relationships with coworkers in the service industry can get… well, messy, but you’re hoping that the hot, quiet bartender will be worth your time.

There’s a late-night ramen place by your apartment, and as you push through the door to the back of house, you think Wonwoo might like a bowl of noodles now that your shifts are over.

You’re walking down the hallway, tired, head in the clouds- you’re hardly thinking as you make your way to the staff room- and then, you stop dead in your tracks.

Your brain hardly registers the sight in front of you, and before you can so much as take a breath, Wonwoo is pulling away from the coworker he was just kissing.

The two stare at you, and the girl has more of a conscience than him, immediately starting to explain herself. “Doll,” she says, using the name you give clients at work, “it’s not how it looks-”

Wonwoo, in contrast, stays dead silent, staring at you without a hint of emotion in his sleepy eyes.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, and you take a deep breath. “I’m going to cashout somewhere else,” you whisper, turning to leave the staff room.

You can deal with this later- right now, you just want to finish up and clock out.

It feels like the room is spinning as you head to the lockers, where a small table provides staff space to eat. You take out your cash slip, quickly slotting in your numbers from the night.

“Are you mad?” Wonwoo’s voice behind you makes you jump, heart leaping again.

“What?”

“Are you mad I was kissing someone else?” he clarifies.

You can’t help the scoff that escapes you. “Is that really a question?”

“We’re not official,” he states.

“You’re right, we’re not.” You sigh deeply, reaching into your fanny pack to pull out cash. “Here’s your tipout.”

You shove the money against his chest, and Wonwoo looks down at it, then up at you. “Are we good?”

“We’re not good,” you tell him firmly.

“Listen,” Wonwoo lets out a breath as you head to the lockers to gather your things. “It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just, bottle girls are bottle girls, and… things take forever with you.”

“What?” You turn to face him.

“You know, flirting for months, finally taking you out, getting you in bed…” he slowly breaks off.

“Is this about the fact that I can’t cum easily? Are you serious?” You can feel your voice beginning to raise, and you do your best to calm down, this is not the place to be discussing your sex life.

“You’re just… I thought you’d be more fun, you know? Like the other bottle girls I’ve been with.”

“And I thought you’d be less of a fucking asshole,” you tell him, grabbing your jacket.

Wonwoo is staring at you with a stunned expression, and you leave him like that, hurrying back the way you came. It’s end of the night at the club, patrons have gone, bartenders are closing up, bouncers are putting away chairs.

You stop at the bar to tip out a few more people, and as you’re heading to the door, you notice Seungcheol approaching. He’s a dark haired, beefy bouncer, and you’re friendly with him, although he’s generally quite serious when he’s at work.

“You heading home?” Seungcheol asks.

“Yup.”

“Is Wonwoo going with you?”

“Nope.”

Seungcheol’s steps falter before he follows you out the front door of the club. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he tells you.

“I’m good.”

“Shit can be dangerous after the club closes,” Seungcheol muses. “You girls carry a lot of cash in those fanny packs of yours, and scumbags know it.”

You sigh, not having the energy to fight the bouncer on this. Things are quiet as he takes you to your car, and you’re kind of glad he doesn’t push you for any details. You know you’re exuding negative energy, a stark contrast to the way you’d been when you’d settled up to head to the back of house just a few minutes ago.

Seungcheol can read people, it’s one of the reasons he’s such a good bouncer, but he respects you enough not to pry, and you appreciate that.

He watches you get into your car, nodding to himself. “Have a good night, Doll.” 

“You too, big guy,” you sigh.

Seungcheol closes your door gently for you, and as soon as he’s stepped away, you pull out of the staff parking lot. A few blocks away, you park, taking a deep breath and allowing your emotions to wash over you.

You feel stupid that you’d trusted Wonwoo, stupid that you’d thought maybe things would go somewhere with him.

From now on, you’re going to just focus on work. 

The service industry is no place to find a partner. 

One:

It’s been a year since you caught Wonwoo kissing someone else, and since then, you’ve really focused on your job. Wonwoo is no longer a bartender at your club, and the girl he’d made out with had left shortly after the altercation.

While the club still holds some negative feelings for you, you’ve been doing your best to push through. Money has been good, and with a fresh focus on service, you’ve become the top bottle service girl. VIP’s come just for you, and you’re used to being a little flirty to make cash.

Jeonghan and Joshua are businessmen who come in frequently, and they always ask to sit in your section. 

They’re a developer and real estate agent double team, although sometimes you get confused about which one does what. They’re celebrating a recent triumph, with Joshua drunkenly explaining to you how ‘the house went through escrow, no contingencies, and now we’re smooth sailing, Doll!’ 

They’ve been drinking a lot, racking up a tab, paying for other people’s alcohol- these men know how to party, and you know how to keep a smiling face with endless enthusiasm for their ability to spend money.

“Have you ever thought about getting into real estate?” Jeonghan asks you. “Businessmen love it when a pretty girl is showing them around a big house, it’s part of the dream of what they could really acquire if they buy a property.”

“Can’t say I’ve considered it,” you smile.

“You’d make a killing,” Joshua agrees, leaning forward. “I’d love to have you on my team.”

“I appreciate that,” you admit. “I’m very happy where I am right now.”

“What if,” Jeonghan grins broadly, “I give you this…” He pulls out his wallet, plucking out two hundred dollar bills before sneaking them into the band of your fanny pack, “and you tell us you’ll consider the offer.”

“I’ll consider it,” you laugh, playing into their drunkenness. Considering an offer for two hundred dollars never means you have to follow through. 

“That’s our girl,” Joshua chuckles.

“Our Doll,” Jeonghan agrees, his hand slipping down from your fanny pack to your thigh, exposed by your short black dress-

There’s a flash of movement, and suddenly, someone is gripping Jeonghan’s wrist. “No touching,” Seungcheol’s deep voice reminds the VIP.

Jeonghan is shocked for a moment, the emotion written all over his face. “Right, sorry, my bad.” He tears his hand away from the bouncer. “Sorry, Doll, I got carried away.”

“That’s alright,” you assure them, trying to save face with two of your biggest spenders. “I’ll be back with that round of drinks for you.”

As you turn to leave the table, you pull Seungcheol with you, taking him down to the bar before you’re able to have a discussion. “Cheol-”

“I’m sorry if I stepped in a little quickly,” he tells you immediately. “They’ve been eying you all night, like they do every night, and I just…”

“No, it’s fine, he shouldn’t have touched me, I’m glad you were there.”

“I hope this doesn’t affect your tip or anything,” Seungcheol sighs.

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “I appreciate you being there.”

He’s really stepped up in the past year. Not only is he protective of you, but he’s protective of every bottle girl. There’d been a time before him where things hadn’t felt so safe, but with Cheol in the room every night, there have been significantly less incidences of violence from when the bar had first opened, or so you’ve heard.

He’s a good man, and he hires others of a similar caliber. All the bottle girls feel safe with Seungcheol and Mingyu at the door, and that sense of safety helps you all feel more comfortable at tables, leading to bigger and better tips.

Two:

You’re done cashing out for the night, and you meet Seungcheol at the door of the club. Mingyu takes over for him while the head bouncer walks you to your car, a system that’s made everyone feel safer in the past year.

“How was your night?” Seungcheol asks.

“It was good, after you checked Jeonghan, he felt bad, so they ended up tipping me out fifty percent of their bill.”

“That’s good,” he nods.

“If it weren’t for the tips, I don’t know what I’d do,” you laugh.

“It’s not a bad way to make a living,” the bouncer agrees.

“Did you know, Crystal, the new girl, she has a complete doctorate in psychology, but she makes more here as a bottle girl than by being a therapist?” 

“Makes sense why the mental health in this country is trash, the government needs to pay therapists more or something.”

You laugh at Seungcheol’s words. It’s true, a lot of very important jobs are becoming less desirable due to shit pay. “I’m still shocked that I can come in for a night and make most of my rent in tips,” you admit. “With Christmas coming up, people are dropping the big bucks, feeling charitable.”

“Just be careful, people are more drunk these days too.”

“True, they are more drunk,” you admit thoughtfully, “but I don’t have to be very careful when I have you walking around making sure nothing bad will happen.”

Seungcheol laughs as he opens your car door for you, helping you into your vehicle. “I’m glad I can make you feel safe,” he tells you.

“Me too, Cheol.”

Three:

It’s New Year’s Eve and you’ve got numerous tables of big spenders. Woozi and Seokmin are regulars, with the latter of the two having somewhat of an obvious crush on you. Normally, they’re pretty respectable, with Seokmin even being known to be a huge blusher. The poor man stutters sometimes when he talks to you, and you’ve never had any trouble with them.

But tonight… well, they’ve been here for hours, and you’re realizing that tonight might be the night you have to cut someone off.

The two men order a round of shots just before midnight, and you head to talk to your manager about it.

“Vernon, may I?” you ask, coming to stand next to your newest manager.

“What’s up, Doll?” he asks, looking up from his iPad.

“My table seventy, Seokmin and Woozi. They’re regulars, usually pretty good, but they’ve ordered a lot of drinks in the past half hour or so. Seokmin in particular has been swaying for the past five minutes. They just ordered another round, and I know it’s about to be midnight on New Years, but I think we need to cut them off.”

Vernon nods, and you watch him look over toward your table. “How much have they had?”

You pull out your own iPad, showing your manager the tab that the two men have collected over the past two or so hours.

“I agree, I think we should cut Seokmin off. He’s had three or four more shots than Woozi, so I think we’ll just respectfully go talk to him.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” you sigh, hating to have to do this.

The two of you take deep breaths before walking over to the table where Seokmin and Woozi are seated.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Vernon starts, plastering on a fake smile. “I’m Vernon, I’m the manager here.” He reaches out a hand, introducing himself to the two men. “Unfortunately, based on how much the two of you have had to drink tonight, the bar has decided to cut you off.”

“What?!” Seokmin bellows, eyes going wide.

“We take our liquor license very seriously here,” Vernon says, his tone lowering to have a regretful edge. “I know you guys are regulars, and I’m sorry I have to do this, but we just have to cut you off.”

Seokmin is very pouty and after a minute, you realize Vernon’s forgetting something. You don’t want to have to remind him of policy in front of guests, but you also don’t want him to head off without finishing this interaction completely, so you step forward. “Seokmin? May I ask how you got here tonight?” You know very well that he drove his sportscar.

“The mustang,” he frowns.

Vernon picks up on your line of questioning immediately. “I’m afraid we’ll also have to ask for your keys.”

Seokmin looks like it’s the end of the world as he pulls out the keys from his suit pocket. “This is the worst,” he groans.

“I hate to be this person,” Vernon sighs again, “but we’ll also have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

“What?!” Seokmin bellows. “But midnight is in ten minutes! Can’t I just stay for ten more minutes!?”

“Seokmin,” Woozi’s voice interrupts his friends dramatics. “We know how licensing works, they’re just doing their jobs. I told you to pace yourself, and here we are. I think you should go home, make things easy on Doll and her manager.”

“We can call you a taxi,” you offer, trying to send a warm smile toward the drunken Seokmin.

“I’m being a burden,” Seokmin whines, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Doll, I’m sorry, Woozi-”

“It’s okay,” Woozi pats his friend’s back. “I’m sure me and Doll won’t hold it against you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you promise.

“I’ll take his tab,” Woozi tells you. “He should just get home.”

“Now you’re taking my tab?! I’m a burden and you’re a great friend!” Seokmin bellows, hugging the intense man next to him.

“Get out of here,” Woozi says, and there’s a fond smile on his face as he pats his friend’s back.

“Okay, I’m sorry for the trouble,” Seokmin apologizes again.

He stands up, and you notice immediately that he’s a little wobbly. “Let me help you outside,” you offer.

“We’ll both help,” Vernon says, and the two of you each grab one of Seokmin’s arms as he wobbles toward the front door.

It’s a packed club tonight, with many choosing your location as a spot to celebrate New Year's. The bouncers are quite busy with the door, but Seungcheol comes over the moment he notices you and Vernon struggling with a very drunken Seokmin.

“Vernon!” another bottle girl, Candy, has shown up too. “I need your help!”

“Shit,” your manager cusses. “Cheol, can you handle this?”

“I want to make sure he’s okay,” you step in. As much as your patrons are a way to make big tips, you do care about your regulars, and you know Seokmin would be happier having you there instead of some scary bouncer.

“Okay, I’ll make sure your section is covered for a few minutes,” Vernon nods before hurrying away with Crystal.

“I’m sorry,” Seokmin mumbles as Seungcheol takes over his right side, helping you drag the man out of the club.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Just take a few breaths.” 

The three of you stop by the curb, and Seungcheol looks around. “I’ll find a cab.”

Seokmin is standing for all of one minute before he collapses to the ground, slipping right from your grasp as he pukes onto the road in front of you.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You’re not sure what he ate today, maybe nothing, but if you’d had realized his tolerance tonight of all nights would be this bad, you would have cut him off ages ago. 

You lean down, rubbing Seokmin’s back. “It’s okay,” you tell him, “let it out.”

You take care of him while Seungcheol grabs him a ride, running inside to get a bag for him incase Seokmin pukes again. Then, the two of you help the poor man into the car, with Seungcheol talking Seokmin through his address.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Seokmin moans, pulling out his wallet. “Here.” He shoves a few hundred dollar bills at you and Seungcheol.

“Just get home safe,” you tell him, accepting the money.

Seokmin can only groan, rolling his window up as the cab pulls away from the curb.

You release a deep sigh, turning to Seungcheol. “Here,” you give him half the money, but Seungcheol holds up a hand.

“That’s yours, Doll,” he sighs. “I didn’t do much.”

You open your mouth to argue, and that’s when there’s a loud boom. You look up to see fireworks, and you realize, you’re next to Seungcheol, and the clock has just struck twelve on New Years Eve.

Your eyes shift to the bouncer, realizing how close you’re standing.

He looks so pretty tonight, all big and steady- the fireworks reflecting off his dark eyes.

You swallow the lump in your throat, wrapping your arms around yourself to counter the cold of the evening. 

There’s a connection between the two of you, and you’ve felt it for a few months, but now, in this exact situation, you know that every fiber of your being wants this man to kiss you.

“We should uh…” you notice Seungcheol’s gaze dip to your lips, his voice faltering, “we should head inside, you look cold.”

“Right, yeah.” You have to give your head a shake to focus again. “Thanks for the help.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

The two of you go back into the club and as you begin to serve the VIP tables again, you realize that despite the head shake, you can’t get Seungcheol out of your mind. 

Four:

“How’d your night go?” Seungcheol asks a few days later as he walks you to your car after a shift.

“Went alright,” you sigh. “Lots of people are doing the whole ‘Dry January’ thing, but my VIPs are pretty consistent with tips and orders.” 

“That’s good,” Seungcheol nods.

“Did you hear about the staff Christmas party in a few days?” you ask.

“Uh huh.”

“Are you going?”

“I’ll be there. You?”

“I’m going.”

The two of you reach your car and you turn to look at Seungcheol. 

The moment on New Years is fresh on your mind, in fact, it’s been practically all you’ve been thinking about these past few days.

There’s a new tension between the two of you, and you know from the way Seungcheol shifts his weight from one foot to the other, that you’re not the only one feeling it.

“Thanks for making sure I got to my car safe.”

Seungcheol only nods, and again, you catch him staring at your lips.

Is he going to do it? Is he finally going to kiss you?

“Have a good night,” Seungcheol says gruffly, stepping back.

“Thanks, you too,” you sigh, heart sinking in your chest.

He stays standing there until you’re in your car, and with one final nod farewell, you begin to drive home, the anticipation of a kiss dying in your chest. 

Five:

Staff Christmas parties can be hard in the service industry. With everyone booking their own parties and events at your place of work during the end of December, the only time to have them is early January, and then there’s the choice of doing a brunch before you open, or doing a late night thing after close.

A vote had been taken, and with many of you being night owls, you’d agreed to close an hour early on a Wednesday, so here you are, at 1 am, the first week of January, finally having your staff Christmas party.

Drinks are flowing, people are giggling, and overall, you’re enjoying yourself.

You’re not very close with many coworkers, especially after what had happened last year with Wonwoo. In fact, as you float around the room, holding your cocktail, you begin to realize that the person you might be the most connected to is - in fact - Seungcheol. 

But there’s still a tension between you, one that makes you nervous to approach the head bouncer as he chills in a booth with a few other beefy security men.

You bide your time, casting a glance his way every now and then. You don’t want to approach Seungcheol when he’s surrounded by others, but as his table widdles down to just him and Mingyu, you take a breath.

Mingyu is known as the softest bouncer, he’s tall, charming, and a hundred percent puppy dog. His eyes light up as you approach, and Mingyu moves over to provide room from you in the booth. “Hi, Doll!” Mingyu beams. 

“Hey, Mingyu,” you smile, taking a seat. “How are you two doing?”

“Open bar,” Mingyu responds, holding up his beer. You love how simple things are for this man, if there are cute girl and drinks, he’s happy- so, seeing as he’s a bouncer at a club, you’ve never seen Mingyu in a foul mood.

“What are you drinking, Cheol?” you ask, turning your attention to the person you really want to spend time with. “Vodka cran?”

“Cran soda,” Mingyu corrects. “Big guy isn’t a huge drinker.”

“Really?” you ask, brows raising. “I’m shocked.”

Cheol simply shrugs. “I make it a rule not to drink at work.”

“We’re off the clock,” you remind him with a grin. “Are you sure you don’t want to let loose a little? You seem tense.”

“I’m just not a huge party guy,” Seungcheol sighs, leaning back and resting his palm on the table. You’re struck by his large hands, how pretty they look- 

“Speaking of partying,” Mingyu interjects, “I think they’re going to start karaoke soon, I’ve gotta go put my name down.”

You laugh, getting out of the booth to allow Mingyu to scurry away before taking your seat again. “Are you a karaoke fan?”

“Not really,” Seungcheol responds. “You?”

“I can be,” you say thoughtfully. “It depends.”

“You don’t look like you’re having a lot of fun tonight,” Seungcheol notes.

“Wow, big guy, have you been watching me?” you laugh.

“Old habits die hard,” Seungcheol says under his breath. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean by that?”

The large bouncer shrugs. “I guess, you’re our top bottle girl, you deal with regulars and VIPs who get a little more… I don’t know, bold, than others who are here. I always have my eye on you.”

You can feel your skin heat, a mix of embarrassment and pride. 

“Anyways,” Seungcheol swallows thickly and it’s clear he wants to shift the topic. “I’m also not drinking because I have to drive home soon.”

“You’re not staying for karaoke?”

“It’s not my scene.”

“Ah, I see.” Your heart sinks a little, you’d hoped to spend more time with him tonight.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks. 

“I was probably going to get a cab,” you admit.

“Listen, I think we both spend too much time in this club surrounded by people partying. I don’t know about you, but I’m more of a stay at home and have a quiet night in kind of guy. How would you feel about getting out of here, going to mine and actually relaxing now that we’ve shown our faces here and done our due diligence?”

“I would love that,” you tell him.

Seungcheol nods. “Let’s finish our drinks then.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you giggle, lifting your glass to gently clink against his own.

It’s crazy how you can be in a club full of coworkers and alcohol, music pumping through speakers and Crystal starting a horrible cover of ‘Defying Gravity’ on karaoke, but still, staring at Seungcheol in your booth, it feels like it’s just the two of you. 

You’re a little eager with your cocktail, and soon, the two of you are bringing your glasses over to the bar, grabbing your things, and heading out the door.

Seungcheol leads you to the staff parking lot, where he opens the passenger door to a massive black truck. “I’ll help you in,” he says, holding out a hand, “it’s a bit of a high step.”

You’re in cute heels, and you definitely need Seungcheol for stability as you climb into the large vehicle.

He shuts the door gently behind you before walking around the front of the truck to enter his own side.

“You cold?” he asks, putting the keys in the ignition so the truck can roar to life.

“Just a little, I’ll be fine,” you assure him.

The bouncer reaches forward, flicking a button. “I’m going to heat your seat for you.”

You can tell from his tone that he won’t take no for an answer. He wants to take care of you, wants to make sure you’re warm and comfortable. 

You admire the truck while the two of you begin to drive to his apartment, and you marvel at the view. Being so much higher than in your own car, it feels very different driving around.

“Are you sure you want to come to mine? I can take you back to yours and drop you off if you’d prefer,” Seungcheol offers.

“No, I want to spend some more time with you,” you admit, taking a leap and being vulnerable. 

You see Seungcheol crack a smile, but he doesn’t say anything, and the two of you just grin the whole way to his place. You look at the large building as he pulls into the underground, marveling at the modern location.

“Nice building,” you muse.

“It does the job,” Seungcheol says humbly as he parks. “Let me help you out of the truck.”

You wait patiently for him to come around to your side, opening the door and offering you his hand. You gently take his palm, allowing him to help you down. You love the princess treatment, and you think you could get used to this as the two of you head to the elevator.

The elevator ride up to his floor is quite, a giddiness exploding through your stomach. You’re excited about this, about what the night might have to offer you.

“So this is home,” Seungcheol says as he holds open his door for you, allowing you to step into his apartment first.

You can’t help the shock that floods over you at the entryway alone. The design choices are giving modern man, a man who is put together, a man with money, and this hadn’t necessarily been what you were expecting from Seungcheol.

“Wow, this place is nice,” you tell him, slipping off your high heels. “I didn’t know bouncers made this kind of money.”

Seungcheol laughs at your forward statement. “They don’t.” He puts his keys in the entryway decorative bowl. “I haven’t always been a bouncer, you know.”

“No? You didn’t come swinging right out of the womb?” you tease.

He releases another chuckle. “I uh, actually come from money. I own a few properties, make passive income off tenants and stuff. My dad actually owns the club we work at. I used to be a regular there when it first opened, and I saw how tough some of the bottle girls had it, dealing with VIPs and shit. Call it a quarter life crisis or something, but I figured I have enough money, enough assets, to do something that actually makes a difference, even in some small way… running businesses was always my dad’s thing anyway, not mine.” 

You stare at him in shock for a few moments, then you swallow thickly to find your voice. “I mean… I always thought Choi was just a common last name, I would have never guessed you were the owners son- I never expected this kind of origin story from you.”

“No? I don’t scream spoiled rich boy to you?” Seungcheol teases.

“I guess your truck probably should have tipped me off,” you admit with a giggle. “Look at you, closeted rich boy who comes to work in jeans and hoodies every day.”

“I like to be comfortable,” Seungcheol muses, leading you into his apartment. “My home is your home, take a seat, and I’ll grab us some drinks.”

You nod gratefully, making your way to the plush sectional couch in his livingroom. It’s an open floor plan, and you turn to watch him in the kitchen. The underlights littered around the cupboards provide just the right ambiance, and you take the time to appreciate the broadness of Seungcheol’s shoulders as he opens his fridge.

“What are you feeling?” he asks. “Beer or wine?”

“Wine sounds good,” you grin. “Although, I never took you as a wine drinker.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Seungcheol responds, pulling a bottle of white wine from the fridge. He retrieves two glasses and a corkscrew before coming to join you on the couch. He sets the glasses on the glass coffee table, and then you watch him expertly open the bottle, taking his time.

“You might be better at my job than I am,” you muse, smiling at the man who’s so focused on the wine in his hands.

“I’ve just got practice,” he retorts with a grin. Seungcheol pores you both a drink. “Cheers,” he says, and you clink your glasses. 

You take a sip, and Seugcheol watches you intently. “So, you know a little about my past,” he muses. “How about you? How’d you end up doing bottle service?”

You release a deep breath, leaning back against his couch. “That’s a good question.” You adjust a little, tucking your knees up so you can sit sideways, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “You know how I told you Crystal had a doctorate in psychology?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, sipping his wine.

“Well, I was in psychology too. Took the job to supplement my schooling, realized I was making a lot of money from tips. Crystal confirmed the salary difference and I guess I figured I’d put more energy into the club. I graduated a couple of months ago, I’m still considering going back for further schooling, but for now, I think I’m just trying to figure out what I want my life direction to be.”

“I guess having that background makes you better at bottle service,” Seungcheol points out. “You’re really good with clients, especially Seokmin on New Years eve.”

“People just want to be seen and heard,” you sigh. “In a drunk state, a lot of people can be guided with soft tones. You’re at the club to help us girls be safe, I guess I’m at the club to make people feel a little better about interacting with others… sure, there’s money involved too, but that’s capitalism for you.”

“Yeah, capitalism,” Seungcheol releases a sigh, and then a chuckle. “I definitely didn’t think our conversation tonight would steer towards politics and ideologies, but here we are.”

“Where did you think our conversation tonight would lead us?” you ask, cocking your head to the side with interest.

“I guess I just figured maybe I’d invite you back here, open a bottle of wine-”

“So the bottle of wine is for me, you don’t just keep chardonnay in your fridge!”

“Caught me,” Seungcheol laughs. 

“What else were you thinking of doing to me once I came here?” you ask, leaning forward with a mischievous arch of your brow.

The bouncer laughs even harder, throwing his head back, but the chuckle turns into a deep sigh, and he meets your eyes again. “Slow down there, Doll, I’m a gentleman.”

“Sure you are,” you tease.

“Why psychology?”

“Hmm?”

“Psychology, you said you took it in school, what pushed you in that direction?”

It’s definitely a topic switcheroo, and you sit back in your seat to think about it for a few moments. “I guess… I just like people. I’m interested in them, and why they are the way that they are.”

“Do you find that working in the service industry gives you a good test group of people to watch?”

You laugh. “That sounds way too scientific for me. I think I’m just a people person.”

“But we both got bored at the party.”

“We just finished shifts. I can’t be surrounded by noise and problems and gossip all day every day,” you point out. “Besides, I wanted to get to know you better, and the club isn’t the best place for that. I think I’ve learned a lot more about you just by seeing where you live than anything else I’ve discovered this past year.”

“Do you like what you’ve learned?”

You smile, nodding. “Yeah.”

You chat for a while, then Seungcheol puts on a show in the background while the two of you take turns asking all sorts of questions. You realize, as Seungcheol drapes a blanket over you, that he truly has no intention of fucking you tonight. He’d brought you back here to get to know you better, not for some ulterior motive that involved getting his dick wet.

You feel safe with him, and as you cuddle up to his side, only half paying attention to the show on the screen, you release a breath. Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep, and you know you’re in good hands. 

Six:

You wake up slowly, then all at once, sitting up abruptly with your heart lurching. The room around you is unfamiliar, and when you turn, you notice Seungcheol passed out in bed next to you. He’s still wearing his hoodie, with the hood all the way up, his hair a tangle of dark curls.

When you adjust, he stirs, blinking groggily. “Doll?”

“Sorry, I just-” 

“Come here,” he grumbles, pulling you back down and to his chest. 

You feel like an extremely little spoon in his embrace, and your heart is racing like a sportscar still. “What happened last night?” you ask.

“You passed out on the couch, it’s more comfortable here. I thought about getting you out of your dress, but I figured that would be creepy so we’re still wearing out clothes from last night,” he sighs. “What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty,” you say, looking at the clock on his bedside table.

“Shit,” he groans.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” you laugh.

“No, I just… Usually I work out at nine am.”

“Guess it’s a skip day.”

“Guess so,” Seungcheol agrees, holding you tighter.

You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, and fuck, it feels good. 

You could get so used to this.

“Should we wake up?” he asks.

“If you want.”

“We probably should,” Seungcheol sighs deeply. “Five more minutes.”

You have no qualms with five more minutes of cuddling, and when the time is up, Seungcheol haphazardly gets out of bed. He’s stumbly, his eyes still half closed, and God, does he look adorable.

“I want to take you for brunch,” Seungcheol says. “I’ve gotta shower quickly, do you want to change into some of my clothes?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’d fit in your clothes, with your broad shoulders and stuff,” you laugh.

“At least take a jacket, closets right here,” he disappears into the walk in, returning with a bundle of clothes in his arms. “I’m gonna shower, feel free to take anything you like, I’ll be right back.”

You wait till he’s in the ensuite bathroom, the water running, before you sneak out of bed to investigate his closet.

Turns out he has more than just hoodies and jeans, and you try not to be super snoopy as you look at suits and other attire.

You find a duster jacket, and when you put it on over your dress, you like the oversized feel of it.

You go to wait on his bed, and soon, Seungcheol’s coming out of his bathroom in a new set of clothes. “Are you a brunch girl?” he asks, leading you through his apartment toward the front door.

“I can be, with the right person.”

“Now I see how you get tips, Doll, you’re a charmer.”

“Just being honest with you,” you grin.

Seungcheol chuckles, pulling on a hoodie to go with his jeans before he opens the front door for you to exit.

You’re both tired as you take the elevator down to his truck, and Seungcheol tells you he ‘knows a brunch place,’ so you leave the details in his capable hands. 

He takes you to a small Mom and Pop style restaurant, and by the way the hostess greets him, you can tell he comes here a lot. The two of you get a secluded booth in the corner of the restaurant by the window, and Seungcheol releases a deep breath as you sit down.

“I come here most days after the gym, I’m not much of a cook back home,” Seungcheol tells you. “They always let me bring a protein shake in here, and the eggs are good.”

“I’m excited to try the food then,” you admit, looking at the menu.

The waitress comes, and you notice the way she looks at Seungcheol, you suppose you can’t blame her, you look at him the same way. 

He’s cordial with her, the two of you getting drinks, and soon, you’re ordering food too. “Eggs any way, let’s do scrambled, make it four eggs, with cheese, rye toast, extra bacon and extra sausage,” Seungcheol tells her.

“Wow, only four eggs today?” The waitress cocks her brow.

“Didn’t come from the gym,” Seungcheol explains.

“You got it, boss,” the server teases.

She takes your order next, then scurries off, and Seungcheol’s gaze shifts to you. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“I like you, a lot.”

“I like you too, a lot,” you grin.

“How do you feel about dating coworkers?” he questions.

“I mean… we both know things didn’t end well with Wonwoo, so I’d sort of promised myself not to do that again, but… well, you’re not Wonwoo.”

“I’m definitely not,” Seungcheol agrees with a sad chuckle. “Do you mind if I ask you what happened with him? I mean… you strike me as someone a little more serious, someone looking for something more serious, I always kind of wondered why you tried with Wonwoo of all people.”

“That’s a good question,” you admit, leaning back in the booth. “Honestly, I think I liked the idea of him. I figured he was kind of quiet, which would mean he wasn’t a player, but I was wrong.”

Seungcheol nods, looking down at his hands. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“He thought that, since I do bottle service, I’d be willing to put out quickly, but, I’m not that kind of girl. I have to be comfortable with someone in order to have that sort of deep connection, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m not one for one-night stands either,” Seungcheol agrees.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page about this,” you grin gratefully. 

“Me too.” Seugcheol reaches over the table, grabbing your hand. It’s a delicate touch, but it speaks volumes. 

The two of you continue to chat, and food comes. You eat peacefully together, and brunch is ending much too quickly for your liking. The two of you get back into his truck, and Seungcheol drives you home, insisting on helping you out of his vehicle again.

You love the way he holds out his hand, helping you down onto the pavement. His free palm steadies you at the hip, and you look up at the bouncer expectantly.

He swallows thickly, his gaze shifting to your lips. “You have no idea how much I wanted to kiss you on New Years,” he admits, tone low.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wished you did.”

There’s a brief moment of eye contact, of Seungcheol being sure you’re okay with this, and then, he cups your cheek, leaning down to finally close the distance.

His lips are soft, his palm warm against your skin, and you have to stifle a moan at first contact. You shift closer, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, pressing your chest to his own.

Seungcheol grabs the small of your back, keeping you tight to his body, the kiss deepening.

There’s a honk from nearby traffic and you jump a little, pulling away while the two of you double check your surroundings.

Your heart is racing in your chest. Once again, you’d been pulled so completely into the experience of being with Seungcheol, that you’d nearly forgotten everything else going around you. 

You’re still in a daze as you meet his gaze again, and Seungcheol slowly moves, pressing his forehead against your own in the most loving way possible. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises, gifting one last chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away.

You practically stumble away from him, overwhelmed as you use your key to get into your apartment lobby. You turn to wave goodbye to the bouncer who’s still watching you from his truck, intent on making sure you get home safe, as always.

Seven:

“So…” Candy grins as you both count up your money after a good night, “what’s going on with you and Seungcheol?”

“Huh?” 

“I saw you two leave the Christmas party together,” she muses, pausing what she’s doing to give you her full attention. “Something definitely happened.”

“You think so?” you laugh.

“You’re both hot, so, yeah.”

It’s been five days since that night, five days of you and Seungcheol spending every day together in some capacity or another. 

“I can see you grinning,” Candy teases before leaning in, her voice lowering. “How is he in bed?”

“Candy!” you laugh, shocked at her direct question.

“What?” She acts as if it’s the most normal inquiry in the world. “You guys have to have slept together by now, no?”

“For your information…” you lower your own tone, shifting closer. “We haven’t.”

“What? But you’re in the service industry! We’re all whores here!”

You can’t help but giggle at her words. “Not all of us, babes.”

“Okay, but… soon though?”

“Maybe…”

“You’re seeing him tonight, aren’t you, Doll?” Candy’s grin widens.

“Maybe…” you singsong.

“Bet you can’t help yourself anymore, huh? Tonight’s the night?” Candy pokes your arm. “That man is so big and tree-like that you could climb him, it must be hard holding out.”

You finish up your cash out with a sigh and a shake of your head. “It’s actually been nice just getting to know him.” 

“And when you get married, I’m invited,” Candy declares.

“Sure you are, goodnight, Candy.”

“Only one of us is having a good night, you fucking tree climber.” 

You’re still laughing as you get back into the main club area. Seungcheol is waiting for you by the doors, and together you walk to his car.

“Do you want me to take you back to yours tonight?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“I mean…” he rubs the back of his neck as he holds open the passenger door for you. “I don’t want to be presumptuous-”

“Well I like to be presumptuous,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “which is why I packed an overnight bag for your place.”

Seungcheol grins. “I love a woman who knows what she wants.”

Eight:

You feel like you’ve had a crash course in all things Seungcheol in the past five days, even so, you want to know more, so, you’ve resorted to finding cheesy lists of questions online to ask him.

He’s adorable when you suggest it, pouring you both a small glass of wine before joining you on the couch.

The two of you take turns asking questions, finding inquiries that you hadn’t thought to ask before.

“What was the first thing you noticed about me,” you grin, putting your phone down.

“Your work ethic,” Seungcheol answers. “Your smile, your… infectious personality.”

“Infectious? Okay, mister resting grumpy face,” you tease.

“I’m a bouncer, it’s part of the job,” he muses, reaching for your phone to find a question of his own. “What was your favourite part of our first date?”

“I mean, if you count coming back here after the Christmas party as our first date, it was the fact that I fell asleep so easily next to you. You just relax me, I even woke up in your bed fully clothed after which was nice-”

“Common decency,” Seungcheol interjects with a sigh.

“Still,” you insist. “If we’re talking about the brunch the next morning as our first date, I think I just sort of liked how natural it felt, as if we’d done it a thousand times. There wasn’t any food anxiety-”

“Food anxiety?”

“You know, worrying about getting food on my face or in my teeth, or you judging me on what I ordered- you just, accept me, and I knew it from the start.”

“That’s cute,” Seungcheol grins, passing you your phone back. 

You skim the screen for a few seconds. “Have you told your friends about me?”

“Yeah, my friends outside of work know about you.”

“They do?” you smile, heart softening.

“They’ve known about you for a while.”

“Been crushing on your coworker for how long, Cheol?” you tease.

“Like I said… a while.”

You’re satisfied with your answer, so you pass him your phone.

“I found a question,” he says after a moment, “but if it’s not something you want to dive into, we can skip it.”

“Just go for it.”

“So… we’ve talked a bit about this before, for example, I know you’re not a one-night stand person, but other than that, why didn’t things work out with Wonwoo, or, your ex?” he asks, adjusting the question on your list ever so slightly. 

“Oof.” You let out a deep breath, taking a sip of your wine.

“Like I said, we can skip it,” Seungcheol assures you.

“No, just give me some time,” you tell him, trying to center yourself. “You want the real answer? The TMI answer?”

“Always.” 

“I told you I’m not into one night stands, I told you I need a deeper connection with people- at the root of it, I can’t uh… I can’t cum unless I feel safe with someone.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment. “So safety, and probably a lot of foreplay.”

“Exactly.”

“And most men haven’t given you that in the past?” he enquires.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Then they didn’t deserve you.”

“And… how would you be different?” you ask, heart beginning to thump faster in your chest.

“Well, I’d take my time with you, for one,” Seungcheol responds, putting your phone down and shifting so he can face you. “I’d find out what you like, what you don’t like… I’d reassure you verbally, I wouldn’t pressure you, and I’d give you space to be yourself.”

“You’re already doing all of those things, which I appreciate,” you admit. “I like how slow we’ve been going.”

“Yeah, me too.” He licks his lips, and your eyes are drawn to the motion.

“Saying that… I was thinking… maybe tonight…” You can feel your skin heating in embarrassment, you’ve never had to ask a man for sex before, but it makes sense that with this man, this wonderful person who is leaving the ball in your court for all things decision-making, you have to be the one to speak up. “I was thinking maybe tonight we could go that one step further, if you want.” 

“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Seungcheol asks, cocking his head to the side to assess you.

“Yes.” You nod, forcing yourself to exude assertiveness. “I feel safe with you, and I’m ready to break my dry spell.”

“Dry spell, huh?” The bouncer grins. “I’ll make the wait worth it.”

“You promise?” you ask, moving closer to him.

“I promise.” His strong hands pull you into his lap and you straddle his waist on the couch, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck loosely. 

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment, and then Seungcheol leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

You love how gentle he is with you, but tonight, you want more, and you quickly change the pace of the kiss when you lick at his lower lip, shyly asking for entry.

Seungcheol releases a groan, opening up to you, and you return the sound with a whimper of your own, shifting in his lap. Your chests are pressed together now, and Seungcheol’s hands move from your hips to the small of your back, massaging your body gently as you kiss.

He feels so good, and your mind goes blank as the two of you enjoy each other.

You can’t help it when you begin to move though, wiggling gently against him. You can already feel something pressing up between your legs, and it makes you more confident knowing you’ve had this sort of affect on him.

You’re both breathing heavily when Seungcheol moves his mouth to your neck, searching until he finds your sweet spot. You let out a loud moan, tilting your head back, grabbing at his shoulders tightly. He licks at your skin, gently circling the spot that has your entire body reacting.

Seungcheol releases a deep groan, his hands moving to grip your ass, and then he stands up suddenly,  making you clutch onto him in shock. 

“Moving to the bedroom,” he tells you, carrying you the short distance. 

Seungcheol sets you gently onto his bed, looking down at you. He lets out a breath, running a hand through his unruly curls. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

“I was thinking maybe you’d be into a blindfold.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve heard that some girls who have anxiety in bed relax more when there’s no need for eye contact, when they can just focus on what’s feeling good.”

“Do you have a blindfold?”

“I have a sleeping mask,” Seungcheol responds, reaching into his bedside table to retrieve one. “Are you up for it?”

“We could give it a try,” you tell him, heart leaping in your chest.

“I think this needs to come off first though,” Seungcheol muses, pulling at your hoodie.

“Do what you need to do,” you say, giving him permission to take care of you in the way he sees fit.

Seungcheol joins you on the bed, and he prompts you to sit up. His hands slip under your hoodie, gently lifting it, but leaving your shirt on beneath.

He kisses you then, taking his time with you, his hands exploring your body. For the first time, his large palm grazes your breast, and you whimper against his lips, arching your back, a nonverbal communication that you want him to continue.

Seungcheol’s mouth moves to your throat again, zoning in on your sweet spot. He begins to slowly slide your shirt up, and soon, he’s discarding that too. All that’s left on your upper half is your bra, and Seungcheol grips your breasts through the padding. His lips kiss the swell of your chest, his hair teasing your jaw even as you throw your head back, breathing heavily.

“Can I take this off too?” he asks, voice low, lust-filled.

“Please.” 

His fingers expertly unclasp your bra and he gently takes it off of you, tossing it onto your ever-growing pile of clothes next to the bed. 

Seungcheol lays you down softly, pressing his lips against your own. He kisses you deeply and you wrap your arms around him, teasing your fingers along his strong shoulders. You tug at the fabric of his shirt and you can feel him smirk against your lips.

He sits up, reaching behind himself to grab the nape of the neck of the fabric, and then he tugs it off, revealing a chiseled body of muscle. But he’s not lean-muscled, he’s clearly got some beef to him too, and it makes Seungcheol all the more attractive. 

His own eyes take in your bare torso, and then he reaches for your breast, softly cupping it. His thumb strokes past your nipple and you groan, writhing against his bed sheets. 

Seungcheol leans down, kissing your throat. He takes his time as he begins to descend, and your heart is thundering with anticipation by the time he makes it to your nipple. He licks it gently, circling the pebbled bud.

You groan loudly, threading your fingers in his hair.

He grins as he continues sucking on your nipple, his free hand moving up to cup the neglected breast. You love how he’s taking his time with you, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

“Can I take your sweatpants off?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” You lift your hips to make things easier for Seungcheol, and soon, your pants are discarded, leaving you only in your panties. 

“I think it’s time for the blindfold if you want,” he suggests, sitting up and reaching for it.

He passes the silky fabric to you, and you take a breath. “Let’s do it.”

“If you want to take it off for any reason, just take it off, okay?” He’s looking at you very seriously, and you know in your heart that he values your own comfort more than anything else.

“Okay.” 

You slowly slip the blindfold on before relaxing back against the bed and releasing another deep breath.

Seungcheol grabs your calf gently, massaging it. His hand is warm and big, working it’s way up to your knee, then you’re thigh.

He shifts on the bed, and a moment later you feel breath against your clothed core.

You grip the bed sheets in anticipation.

Seungcheol presses a kiss to your panty-covered clit and your toes curl involuntarily. You half expect him to continue to focus on your pussy, but his lips quickly move to your inner thigh. 

One of his hands is still massaging your thigh, and everything feels heightened with the blindfold on. You’re entirely focused on Seungcheol and his gentle movements, your skin electrified with sensitivity. 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner knee. 

You can only moan in response, mind pleasantly blank except for the slow build of pleasure that the bouncer is providing for you.

His breath ghosts past your core again and you shiver, clutching harder at the sheets. 

“You look a little impatient too,” Seungcheol muses, and you can imagine his grin as he looks up at you.

“I am,” you admit, “impatient.”

“You’re being good for me so far,” he points out. “Maybe… I should finally reward you.”

“Please,” you practically beg. 

“Gonna take these off of you now,” Seungcheol says, curling his fingers in the waistband of your panties.

You lift your hips again, and just like that, you’re completely bare for him.

It kind of helps that your own eyes are covered, that you’re not anxiously gaging his reaction to you-

“Still so pretty,” Seungcheol groans, and that’s all the confirmation of attraction that you need. Your pussy throbs at his words, and your skin tingles as he massages your thighs again. “Can you spread these for me, Doll?” 

You’re quick to follow through with his request, his large palms helping to spread you open for him. 

“Something tells me no one’s eaten you out properly in a very long time,” he muses.

“Try never.”

“You’ve never been eaten out?”

“I have, just… not properly.”

“Men these days,” Seungcheol sighs, and you giggle at his defeated tone. 

Your laugh quickly turns into a whimper when Seungcheol licks a stripe of your pussy. He starts at the bottom, and makes his way to the top, circling your clit gently. 

“Shit,” you groan, reaching down for him with one hand, trying to grab at his hair.

“Do you like it rough, or gentle?” he asks, guiding you by your wrist so you can take hold of his head.

“A bit of both- surprise me,” you breathe.

“You got it, Doll.”

His attention quickly returns to your core, where he begins to suck and lick. Every time you start to feel close from him playing with your clit, his tongue slips down to press into your hole. It’s a push-pull of pleasure, a teasing control of your body.

Your stomach muscles begin to clench, and you start to feel desperate. 

“Seungcheol,” you whine, “I want to cum.”

“Yeah?” He’s panting against your pussy now and it feels so fucking good. 

“Please?”

“I thought you said it’s hard to make you cum, I figured I’d be down here for a while.”

You pause, realizing that this might be the fastest you’ve ever come to an orgasm with a man. 

“I-” You can’t find words, and you swallow thickly. 

“I don’t think you have a problem cumming,” Seungcheol muses, stroking your thigh. “I think no man has put an effort into foreplay or eating you out, which is a shame.”

“You really… you don’t think anything is wrong with me?”

“There was never anything wrong with you, Doll, you should know by now that most things in this world are a man’s own fault, they just push it onto the women who are around them because they lack the emotional maturity to take accountability for their own failings.”

You let out a sad chuckle, shocked at the words that have just come out of his mouth. “You’re deeper than I ever imagined you would be, Cheol.”

“Baby, you have no clue how deep I can be, but you’re about to find out… you can cum, by the way, you don’t need my permission.”

Your heart skips a beat as his mouth returns to your pussy, and this time, he doesn’t tease around, it’s clear to him that your clit is ready to be properly stimulated, and you get the sense that Seungcheol would never deny you anything, least of all an orgasm. 

He’s being rougher with your clit now, but he’s built you up to the point where you can take it. Your thighs are beginning to shake, your muscles tensing in preparation for the high that you know you’re about to hit. 

You can’t help the moans slipping out of you, and there’s something so erotic about being blindfolded still- you can fully enjoy yourself, fully enjoy the masterful way Seungcheol’s mouth is working your most sensitive spot-

He sucks harshly and that’s all you need to cum, your orgasm exploding through you like fireworks. Your grip intensifies on his hair, keeping his face buried between your thighs while your entire body begins to shake with pleasure. It’s all-consuming, all-encompassing- and without a doubt, the best orgasm you’ve ever had with a man. Sure- your vibrators have been pretty amazing in the past, but fuck, there’s something about Seungcheol, something about someone else doing this to you- it gives you goosebumps as the waves of pleasure surge through you.

You’re gasping by the time you let up on his hair, and Seungcheol finally pulls away from your shaking body.

You can feel his eyes taking you in, and you slip the blindfold off, blinking up at him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pushing a piece of hair out of your face.

“So good,” you whimper, still trying to catch your breath.

“Do you want to stop now, or…”

Your gaze shifts down to the tent in his sweatpants- you can’t believe he’s willingly volunteering for blue balls- completely okay with having pleasured you and not getting a release for himself.

“No, I want to go all the way, clearly,” you retort. “Take your sweatpants off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teases, getting off the bed so he can push the black fabric down. His hard cock slaps up against his lower abdomen, and you can feel yourself practically drooling. “So… condoms?”

“I’m clean, and I’m on birth control.”

“I’m clean too, but if you don’t take my word for it, I’ve got protection-”

“Cheol,” you laugh, cutting him off, “I trust you.” 

“I trust you too,” he says, getting back onto the bed with you.

He slips between your legs, his lips meeting yours desperately. Your thighs wrap around his hips, pulling him close until his cock is dragging against your pussy with each movement.

Your hands grab at his shoulders, chests pressed together now- it’s as if you’re breathing each other in. Nothing feels awkward or forced, and it definitely doesn’t feel like your first time with him. He knows you, knows what you like, what pace suits you best-

God, you’re at a very real risk of falling head over heels for this man, but you decide that’s something to worry about later.

“Cheol,” you whimper against his lips, and that’s all you need to say to him as a cue, he reaches between your bodies, grabs the base of his cock, and guides the tip to your wet hole.

“If it hurts-” he begins to say, but you draw him closer with your legs wrapped around his hips, forcing an inch of his length inside of your aching hole before he can finish his sentence. “Shit-” He cusses, breathing heavily.

He dips his head, eyes glued to the spot where he’s sinking inside of you.

An actual, honest-to-God, non-man-made material cock hasn’t been inside of you in ages, and it feels so good to have something real dragging against your sensitive inner walls. You moan immediately, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes.

Seungcheol takes the opportunity to kiss your sweet spot, teasing you as he sheaths himself all the way to the hilt. You both gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“You good?” he pants.

“So good,” you retort with another loud moan.

Seungcheol begins to move, slowly at first, allowing you to fully adjust to the size of his cock. You can feel your body relaxing, and as it gets less tense, Seungcheol’s pace begins to increase. 

His lips move from your throat to your own mouth again, and the two of you kiss desperately as he fucks you.

Nothing has ever felt this right. 

“Fuck, I’m close already,” Seungcheol muses.

“Then cum?”

“No, I want to enjoy this more,” he argues. “Here, can we switch positions?”

“Yeah, how do you want me?”

“Mmm… Maybe doggy? Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod quickly, pressing one last kiss to his lips before he pulls out of you. 

You quickly roll onto your knees, arching your back and presenting yourself to him.

“Fuck, you look good in every angle, don’t you, Doll?” he groans, massaging your ass.

“I live to please,” you tease, wiggling your bum gently.

“Shit.” Seungcheol pushes his cock into you again and you both groan. “Want you to rub your clit for me. I don’t want to cum until you cum again, want you squeezing my cock and gripping the bed sheets when we both tip over the edge.”

“Yes, Cheol,” you whimper, slipping your hand between your thighs to rub your sensitive bud while Seungcheol begins to fuck you.

His pace is slow, careful- and you’d bet your wages that he’s still close to the edge, that he’s actively trying to calm down to give you time to get there too.

One of his hands continues to massage your ass, a constant reminder of his gentle and caring nature. He’s not gripping hard or slapping- just massaging, and it feels amazing.

Each thrust has him hitting a spot deep inside of you, doggy is a great position for that kind of penetration, and once again, you close your eyes to focus on the sensation.

You rub your clit harder, and the two of you groan as your pussy squeezes around his cock in response.

“Shit, you feel so good,” Seungcheol murmurs, both hands finding your hips as he begins to fuck you faster. 

“You too,” you whimper, focusing entirely on the feeling of pleasure building in your pussy. “Can you slow down for a second?”

“Yeah.” You hear him swallow thickly, his pace decreasing. “Better?”

“Yeah, I just have to- fuck, focus on my clit for a sec.”

“Take your time,” he assures you. 

You relax your body, breathing deeply as you rub your clit in hard circles. Your pussy begins to clench again and Seungcheol groans-

“Almost, almost,” you whisper- you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge- “okay, fuck, I’m going to cum!”

“Should I fuck you?” he asks, and you can hear the frazzled tone in his voice.

“Yeah, fuck me, shit, fuck me, please!” you cry out desperately, so close to the edge that you can taste it-

“You got it, Doll.” 

And just like that, he’s pistoning into you. The feeling of his cock filling you up is the cherry on top of your pleasure, and you release a strangled whimper- “Cumming!”

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans behind you as your pussy clamps down hard on him, squeezing him like a vice.

His thrusts momentarily falter as your core throbs around him, and then his fingers are digging into your hips. “I’m cumming too-” he tells you, and you can feel his cum beginning to fill you up.

It feels so fucking good to be filled like this again, and you gasp as you both cum together. Your hands ball up in the fabric of his bed like an anchor, your entire body consumed by pleasure for the second time tonight.

The groans leaving Seungcheol’s lips are a whole different kind of sexy, and you focus on him as you both begin to come down from your highs.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol moans, stopping behind you, his hands smoothing up and down your back again. “You good?”

“So good,” you whimper.

“I’m going to go get you a cloth, and then we should have a shower together.”

“I’m so tired though-” you begin to argue.

“Doll, you might not be used to men taking care of you, but I want to be the person who makes you feel good, and part of that, is having a nice shower after sex, then cuddling up in bed. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Seungcheol,” you smile, “I trust you.”  

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! we love feminist!Seungcheol in this house!

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🔮 preview. You’ve realized in the couple of months you’ve been dating Seungcheol that with the right person, cumming can happen. It’s not that it’s necessarily easy yet, but it’s not some all-consuming, anxiety-inducing hurdle to jump over with a man who isn’t supporting you at all.

cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, body worship, blow job/oral, hand job, multiple positions, Cheol is impatient and needy when reader is giving, praise, dirty talk, teasing, masturbation,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) Doll.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 160

🌙 starring. Seungcheol x afab!Reader

bonus

“You look upset,” Vernon muses as you take a breather at the bar while waiting for cocktails to be made.

“Do I?” you sigh, closing your eyes to center yourself.

“Did uh… did something happen with Seungcheol?”

“What? God, no.” An awkward laugh tumbles from your lips. “Do I seriously look that upset?”

“You definitely look off,” Vernon points out.

“It’s just…” you exhale deeply, “you know, being in bottle service, getting hit on is part of my job, being a little flirty is how I make the most tips-”

“But you feel like that’s not being nice to Seungcheol,” your manager finishes for you, hitting the nail on the head.

“Exactly.” 

“I mean…” Vernon’s gaze shifts to the bouncer by the door. “He doesn’t strike me as a jealous person.”

“And he’s not,” you’re quick to assure him, “that’s not the problem.”

“So… if he doesn’t care, then… what do the kids say these days? Make that bag? Make that money to buy that bag?” 

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