#I'm barely here for it/I have to life with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dawngyu · 2 days ago

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never have i ever reblogged any enhypen fics (not an engene and i want to keep my blog txt based), but this series was so interesting i couldn't resist. i'll admit it: @heesmiles might be the only one to make me break that rule.

i'm so so excited to read this (and scared) sooo here we go!

spoilers under the cut

as a writer myself, i’ve always believed that the beginning has to be perfect. if the reader doesn’t feel pulled in right away, what’s going to make them stay? with that in mind, i just have to say—you nailed it. the disdain for sports, the way the reader’s thrown right into the middle of the game… i had to pause just to write this, because i was so completely sucked in.

The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray.

girl, the imagery?? i swear i started out just reading, but your writing made me feel it—like i was right there. the way i’m vibing with the reader right now? it’s literally me. i hate afterparties, and the second i finish doing something, all i want is to go straight home. yunjin’s such a contrast to her, and honestly, the way she keeps bringing up heeseung? if i had a friend like that in real life, i’d definitely start thinking she’s into him. (sorry)

once again, your writing is unreal. AND WHY DO THEY KEEP MENTIONING HEESEUNG? i might’ve misjudged yunjin at first because… hello? even jake?

i LOVED this part. or maybe i’m just deeply biased because i’m absolutely in love with jay here. the way you write him huhu he’s just so good and mysterious in this, i can’t deal.

god, i just pictured him and—yeah, he must look ridiculously hot. like, he’s already the most attractive one in enha for me, no competition. and now you’re giving me drunk, messy heeseung? i'm not so okay.

A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess.

okay, i take it back. why is he pissing me off now?? i swear, i love how you’re doing him dirty, the way he talks, the word choices ugh. it’s so good. brain is braining and i’m a BIG fan.

The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible.

i love this sentence. it’s so well written. honestly, i’ve read so many beautifully crafted lines already, but every time, i have to stop myself gushing, otherwise this could easily turn into a full-on novel. so, in short, i just want you to know: you write beautifully. there’s something about the way you build your sentences and paragraphs that feels so you.

and now she has to fcking tutor him. great. i got so locked into the next parts because my blood was actually boiling.

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all.

AAAAAHHH

so… you're this type of writer? if your goal was to soften how i see heeseung… congrats, it’s working. adhshadg

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

I ACTUALLY SQUEALED

family talks or just family issues in fics, get memotional sometimes. they feel so real, and they add so much depth to a character. i absolutely loved their conversation. it honestly felt like… i was getting to know him better too.

“How do you even know my order?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.”

this!! it always gets me too!! whenever the mc is so deeply observed—ugh, i go soft every time.

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out.

OH MY GOD. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. thank you, this killed me.

That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke.

I ACTUALLY SCREAMED. OMAYGHOD

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that.

AAAAAAHHH THIS HAD ME SPEECHLESS I CANT ANYMORE

“I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest.

LEE HEESEUNG????

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before.

you know that saying—how some things just feel different because of someone? she didn’t like hockey. didn’t even like watching it. but because of him… :((((

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.”

IS THIS A MISCOMMUNICATION IM SEEING??? OH

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.”

OUCH. PAIN. STAB. KICK. PUNCH.

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless.

THIS WILL ACTUALLY MAKE ME CRY LIKE HELLO? im sorry

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.”

WHATS WRONG WITH HIM?

You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung.

YES THANK YOU I LOVE HER NOW SRRY BABY

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really.

:((((((((((((

i get the reader. trust is such a fragile, easily broken thing. i hate when people act one way around you and completely different with others. and yeah, i know heeseung probably has his reasons—but still, as a person, as an adult, he should know better. he messed up. big time.

i legit started tearing up over something so small. there’s just something so beautiful about looking at each other, wordless as it may be. it’s raw, it’s intimate, and it made me so soft.

“I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.”

it's not enough, but it'll have to be and maybe one day, it will be. right now, if i were the reader, i'd still have my guard up BUT i’m a big, big believer in second chances. i hope he finds a way to make it right. this reader deserves so much love, all of it. to stumble, to see the wreckage, to choose forgiveness—when all of that meets, when all of that comes together, when all of that collide, that’s love in its truest form. :((( ughhh

i sat down and devoured this fic in one breath. it’s my first from this series and what a way to begin. it’s emotional, it’s beautiful. you did something really special here, and now i get the hype.

and didn’t i say? sometimes all it takes is a single paragraph that makes a reader stay. whether it’s the first line or the whole fic, it has to feel like something and you did that. now i’m not just staying for the next one, i’m in it for the long haul, all the way to the last word.

i loved this. :>

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

crossing the line series.

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes.

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.”

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.”

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box.

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—”

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.”

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit.

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!”

You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this.

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here.

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink.

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing.

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?”

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here.

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well.

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains. Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies.

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth.

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess.

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?”

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?”

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more.

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to.

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?”

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.”

Your stomach sinks. “What?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect.

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again.

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.”

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.”

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it.

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard.

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence.

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it.

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you.

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement.

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out.

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath.

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?”

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—”

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.”

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.”

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.”

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.”

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.”

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.”

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting.

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,’ when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.”

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.”

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.”

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response.

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.”

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.”

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all.

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late."

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.”

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?”

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.”

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.”

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done.

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life.

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.”

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?”

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.”

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.”

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm.

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—”

“Hey”

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do.

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.”

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?”

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…"

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous.

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.”

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung.

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.”

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.”

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?”

“Five sharp.”

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.”

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much.

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice.

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.”

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues.

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.”

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.”

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?”

She nods, sitting up a little. “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?”

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.”

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.”

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.”

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine.

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.”

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.”

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently.

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him.

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.”

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp.

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them.

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—”

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table.

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own.

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?”

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back.

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—”

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable.

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens.

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it.

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin.

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.”

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung.

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it.

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable.

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?”

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.”

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.”

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse.

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you.

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired.

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.”

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care.

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape.

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it.

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going.

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling.

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?”

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.”

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens.

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now.

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same.

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different.

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps.

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table.

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?”

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup.

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.”

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.”

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things.

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library.

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.”

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.”

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood.

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.”

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type.

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat.

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?”

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too..

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same.

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until—

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?”

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?”

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?”

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.”

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.”

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice.

He looks up, amused. “What?”

“You read it?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.”

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?”

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you.

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger.

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not.

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break.

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.”

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—”

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses.

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes.

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down.

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there.

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.”

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him.

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.”

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him?

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him.

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.”

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur.

Heeseung blinks. “You do?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest.

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good.

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands.

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different.

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung.

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great.

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands.

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.”

You blink, startled. “What?”

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.”

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.”

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?”

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—”

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.”

Your stomach flips. “I do not.”

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise.

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back?

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?”

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face.

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.”

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..”

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation.

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..”

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found.

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really.

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she.

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.”

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself.

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases.

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed.

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?”

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.”

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening.

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him.

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens.

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?”

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself.

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them.

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin.

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene.

“Damn.”

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking.

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it.

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do.

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking?

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?”

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.”

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.”

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil.

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.”

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?”

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.”

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about?

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.” Oh. Oh.

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—”

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon.

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—”

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?”

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.”

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up.

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.”

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again.

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours.

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer.

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to.

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..”

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs.

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.”

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff.

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?”

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips.

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him.

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight.

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?”

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it.

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.”

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers.

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good.

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed.

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before.

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.”

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to.

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was.

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size.

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.”

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?”

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.”

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet.

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.”

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up.

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath.

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.”

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit.

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin.

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.”

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?”

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.”

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?”

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know!”

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know.

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.”

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?”

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?”

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.”

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.”

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks.

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with.

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner.

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened.

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy.

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.”

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach.

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.”

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung.

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.”

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see.

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?”

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts.

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for.

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together.

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung.

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.”

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled.

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.”

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?”

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door.

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred”

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.”

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—”

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it.”

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?”

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear?

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now.

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?”

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.”

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek.

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin.

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you.

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him.

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.”

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?”

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.”

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him.

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.”

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.”

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.”

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung.

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?”

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—”

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.”

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.”

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder.

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you.

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.”

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.”

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?”

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.”

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.”

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?”

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay”

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

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silens-oro · 2 days ago

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Well Enough Alone: Part IV

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Lines are crossed in more ways than one. Word Count: 6,849 (kill me) Content Warning: explicit smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), angst, comfort, typical Animal Kingdom warnings A/N: HERE WE ARE. IT'S JUST YOU, ME, AND THE POPE SHAPED WALL I'VE BUILT BETWEEN US. I screamed writing this entire chapter, so I genuinely hope you all enjoy it because I feel like I'm going to puke :) please comment & reblog

The front door had been shut for a millisecond before Hawk pushed Pope against it.

“You better be serious about this, Andrew.” Hawk panted against Pope’s lips, their foreheads pressed together, noses bumping intimately. Her hands were cradling both sides of his face, grounding him, and his were holding her against his body in a vice grip.

This was every fantasy Pope ever conjured in his teen years, every escape he dreamed of in prison. He was the proverbial dog who caught the car he’s chased his entire life and for the first time he could ever remember, there weren’t any thoughts racing through his head. It was Hawk, and purely Hawk that took residence there. The golden sun’s rays hit through the small windows that surrounded the door, illuminating Hawk’s eyes in such a way that it left Pope mesmerized.

Pope made sure her eyes were looking straight into his before he answered: “For you, always.” There was so much more he wanted to say, what he wanted Hawk to know, but the fear of rejection weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Pope didn’t want to come on too strong too quickly, not after he was given this opportunity that came with a lifetime of degradation about his self worth when it came to her. He’d never be worthy of breathing the same air that Hawk did, and he was even less deserving of what she was offering to him.

Pope would savor this, because in his mind it was only a matter of time before Hawk came to her senses. That’s how these things happened with him.

Pope picked Hawk up, her legs instantly wrapped around his sturdy, muscular waist and their lips joined once more as he carried her through the house. His hands were gripping her ass under the coverup and he couldn’t get enough of her hot, bare skin against his palms.

“Bedroom,” Hawk murmured against his lips. Her fingers twirled and gently tugged at the hair in the nape of his neck and he groaned, his eyes shutting. His jeans restrained his cock painfully, each step getting more agonizing as shock after shock zipped through his body with each kiss and caress she gave him.

Pope set her down on the California King sized bed and Hawk scooted back towards the plush pillows as he took his shirt off. Pope’s Dickies hung low on his hips as he kneeled on the edge of the mattress and crawled over to Hawk until he was hovering over her.

“You want this?” Pope needed to hear her say it and to also give her an out. That sliver of doubt still lingered in his mind, but it quickly diminished the second Hawk wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

“I want you.” She whispered into his ear. Pope trailed open mouthed kisses down her neck, to her collarbones. He pulled the tie to her cover-up and let the sides slide open to reveal the black bikini underneath. Pope continued peppering kisses down the center of Hawk’s chest, then further and further down.

Pope’s fingers slid under the strips of cloth at Hawk’s hips and gently pulled the bottoms off. He took in the view, his thumb teasing her slit ever so slightly and lifted her left thighs to rest over his shoulder.

It had been an embarrassingly long time since Hawk went on a date, much less allowed someone to grace her sheets, so when Pope’s hot, slick mouth engulfed her clit? She couldn’t help the ground out “fuck” that left her lips as her fingers clenched through Pope’s short hair.

Pope didn’t move the entire night. He didn’t lay awake. He didn’t wander. He didn’t leave the house. He didn’t leave the bed. He and Hawk spent hours entangled with each other last night and still, Pope couldn’t believe he was here in her bed, his head resting on her chest with his ear over her steadily beating heart as she slept beneath him. Pope’s arms were wrapped around Hawk’s waist and their legs were tangled together. One of Hawk’s limp hands was still carded through Pope’s hair, the other rested on his bicep, and Pope had never felt more at peace than he did in that moment.

He felt rested, refreshed in a way that was so completely foreign to him that fear began to trickle in, turning his stomach. Pope’s worst nightmare was waking up from this only to be back in that cell with Vic. He unintentionally squeezed his arms and Hawk groaned softly, her fingers continued their feather light ministrations over his scalp and arm. Pope nuzzled his face further into Hawk’s bare chest, kissing the soft skin that gave him unparalleled comfort through the night.

“Good morning,” Hawk whispered. She felt him mumble a greeting into her skin, his lips following after his words. Pope shifted to his back, pulling Hawk to his chest -making sure to keep contact with her. Her body felt like a lifeline that Pope wasn’t ready to disconnect from just yet. One of his hands hooked behind her knee, hiking her leg up over his hip so he could run his hand over her thigh.

The sun was just starting to reflect over the endless horizon of the Pacific Ocean from its rise in the east. The view from the sliding door in Hawk’s bedroom let the pink and golden hues filter in, draping her in an almost ethereal light. Time seemed to stand still and Pope wished it could stay that way -for the world to pass by outside and for the inside to remain tranquil.

“Talk to me,” Hawk whispered against Pope’s collar bone. “What’s going on up there?” Her fingers brushed against the curling hair near his temple and he naturally tilted his head to cradle against her palm. He chased her touch, she noticed, and allowed him to catch what he was after with any fuss from her.

“You don’t want to know.” He mumbled, breaking his eyes from hers to look out the door to the beach below.

“I do.” She gently grasped his jaw to turn his face back to her. “Don’t close yourself off to me. I think we’re well past that point, Andrew.” Hawk linked her fingers with his. His palm was callused and scars littered his knuckles from a lifetime of violence. Freckles lined the back of his hand and crawled up his arm like he had his own galaxy woven into his skin. Hawk had trailed her mouth over so many of them, over many parts of his body, the previous night.

“Are you sure about this? About me?” Pope didn’t trust many people in his life, but Hawk was someone who never wavered in his life. She took care of Julia when no one else did. She took care of J -a fact that Pope was slowly coming around on as the kid proved himself to the family. She took care of him while he was in prison without any expectations. She didn’t want money, flashy gifts, even credibility. She didn’t need it. She helped them because she could and most importantly, she wanted to. Hawk never shrank away from Pope’s lingering stares and never made him feel like a nuisance, a monster, a maniac. He felt like a person around Hawk and now…now she showed him what genuine intimacy felt like, and Pope honestly didn’t know if he was equipped enough to handle that kind of treatment after a lifetime of scrutiny. After a taste, he never wanted to be without it and processing that was going to take time and patience.

“Without a doubt in my mind, Pope. Are you having second thoughts? It’s okay if you are-”

“-No,” He was quick to answer. “No.”

“Then what’s going on? Something is clearly bothering you and I’d like to talk about it so we can go into this with some clarity, ya know?” Hawk looked up at him with a softness in her sleepy eyes and Pope nearly broke. Again, he couldn’t hold the contact with Hawk, but she let him look away so he could gather his thoughts. “Whatever it is, Pope, I’m not going to judge you for it. It stays in this bed, under these sheets, and will never see the light of day.” Acceptance was a hard pill to swallow for Pope. Feelings were never discussed without being reprimanded for showing weakness and so he kept them in -all of them until it turned into a nuclear warhead that took out everything and everyone in his wake.

“I don’t want you wrapped up in any of this shit.”

“Good,” She agreed. “because I don’t want to know anything about what you guys are up to. I do, however, maintain that nothing crosses the threshold of this house, Pope. And I mean nothing. That includes the cash and the guns. All of it stays out.” He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “What else?” Hawk felt him sigh, his chest slowly lowering under her with the exhale. He said her name, her real name, and his normal frown started to reappear, tugging at Hawk’s heartstrings.

“I destroy everything good that I touch.” Pope’s voice was so small and Hawk felt the rare vulnerability that he allowed her to see. He lifted the hand that hers held, bringing the scars up to shine in the morning light. “My entire life, I’ve destroyed everything. It’s all I know how to do. All I’ve been good at doing.” Hawk let him speak uninterrupted so he could get it out, all of the doubts she knew he was feeling about himself and his inadequacies. If he kept them bottled up, he would sabotage himself. She had seen it before and this was the only way she knew how to circumvent the situation. Pope continued,

“You’ve always deserved better than anything I could ever give you. I know that. You deserved better than Smurf. You deserved better than Julia. This family has weighed you down your whole life and now…I feel like I might be the final nail and I don’t want to be. I can’t be. That’s why I never entertained the idea that this could happen.” He glanced back down to Hawk, then back to the slider. “It still doesn’t make sense -what you see in me.”

“I see a lot of things, Andrew. Just because you don’t see them, doesn't mean they aren’t there.” Hawk replied softly. “I’ve always had some kind of affection for you, ever since we were kids. You were always so close, but just far enough away that I didn’t think you ever saw me as anything other than Julia’s friend. But I noticed you, Andy.” Hawk was the only person to call him that when they were kids -before she was Hawk and before he was Pope. The memory tugged at something inside of him and he pushed back the sting in his eyes with a couple of fast blinks. “You were kind and protective and you never treated me the same way your brothers did, or the way Baz did. You never teased me or made my life harder. And I guess the mystery of you not saying more than five words to me at a time had something to do with it.” Hawk smiled, teasing him. He was looking down at their intertwined hands, his thumb rubbing over her much smaller, unmarred knuckles.

“I would’ve done anything for you, and I still would.” He confessed in whisper. He thought about what his life could’ve been like had he pursued Hawk when they were teens before Julia left and everything that could’ve been completely fell apart. What would’ve changed? Would Hawk have taken J in? Would she have distanced herself from the family at all? Would Pope have helped her raise the kid? He shook his head to rid his mind of the hypotheticals because they were together right then in that very moment and that’s all that mattered to him. He spent too many years of his life thinking about what could’ve been’s to waste anymore time.

“What made you change your mind about this?” Pope let Hawk’s question linger between them for a moment.

“Selfishness.” He admitted, shame flitting over his features for the briefest of seconds.

“It’s not selfish to want to be loved, Andrew.” Hawk brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles affectionately. “What’s happening between us now has been a long time coming. A very long time coming.” Hawk spoke softly, shifting so she could be at eye level with him. Both of her palms cupped his jaw, the overnight stubble tickled as she ghosted her thumbs over his cheekbones tenderly. His arms slowly snaked around her waist holding her bare torso to his. Where he was hard and rigid, Hawk was soft and yielding.

Everything inside of him desperately craved what she had.

“You deserve someone who cares about you, Pope. Someone who loves you unconditionally, who would do anything for you, and who reciprocates all of those things you give freely. You’ve sacrificed so much of yourself for everyone around you to the point where there will be nothing left if you don’t pull yourself back.” Hawk kissed him, letting her lips linger. “For once in your life, allow yourself to have something that is yours and yours alone.”

Pope pulled Hawk fully onto him. Her legs straddled his hips and she jumped forward when she felt his fingers rub her slit from behind, working her until she’s wet enough to enter one finger, then two. Hawk gasped against Pope’s mouth as he watched her come undone with hooded eyes. When Hawk was just about to push ascend into oblivion, Pope pulled out. Her walls fluttered around the empty space he left and she whined, hips canting to find his cock as a suitable replacement.

Pope taps his tip against her, slowly pushing in until her hips are once more flushed with his. His arms hold her in a bear hug as his hips slowly bounced Hawk’s up and down. The movements are lazy and more intimate than Pope had ever experienced before, but he didn’t want to rush. Knowing she truly wanted him here with her allowed him to relax and take care of her. This wasn’t fucking. This was pure intimacy at its core and if Pope died the second he walked out of this house, he’d die a happy man.

Hawk moaned into Pope’s neck when he shifted the angle of her hips ever so slightly. She brought one of her hands up to hold onto his shoulder and the other gently ran her fingers through his hair, paying very special attention to the curls that were growing out just behind his ear. The groan he let out nearly had her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he thrusted a little harder than he meant to in reaction.

“Please, Andrew.” Hawk didn’t know what she was begging Pope for -love, affection, intimacy, all the above, but he would give it to her tenfold and that’s exactly what he was doing. He hiked her thigh up even higher on his hip and held it there, deepening each shallow thrust into her. His lips found hers when she tilted her head up to look at him.

Hawk tried to impatiently speed things up, to catch the high she was chasing after, but Pope held her steady as he continued to work her into the most blissful wake-up call she’s ever experienced, one slow, shallow, meaningful thrust at a time. His breathy moans and grunts were deliciously erotic as he repeated her name like a prayer.

Hawk lifted herself up on a shaky arm to look down at him, then down to where Pope was sinking into her. Her breasts were tilted at the perfect angle for Pope to latch onto her right nipple and he took full advantage. Hawk’s hand cupped the back of his neck, supporting him while he continued doting on her. Her breaths were coming out more ragged, uneven, and every slow thrust from Pope felt like it was going to shatter her at any given moment. He released her nipple with a pop and dropped both of his hands to her hips so he could hold her in place.

A breathy scream left Hawk’s mouth when Pope began to piston his hips up into her, increasing his speed with each thrust. He could feel how close she was, and he wanted to get her over the edge before he came. That was non-negotiable to him. She gave him -someone so substandard who had no right to look, much less touch- her body and he would treat it with the care it deserved. The side of Hawk’s face was pressed against his chest, moaning into a near hysterical mess.

“Fuck, Andrew. Right there,” Hawk sobbed as she fell over the edge. Pope lifted her face to look at him as her pussy fluttered around his cock. It felt like the most welcomed squeeze and the blissed out twinkle in Hawk’s eyes as she stared up at him, completely lost in their bodies, is what got Pope to follow right after her. Pope’s head tilted back, baring his neck as Hawk felt spurt after spurt of his cum flood her.

Hawk kissed along his heaving, sweaty chest, then trailed them up his neck, to his jaw, and finally back to his lips. He held her to him, skin to skin flushed together as he stayed bottomed out inside of her, both of their hips moving ever so slightly to draw the feeling out.

“Could get used to being woken up like this.” Hawk chuckled, resting her cheek on the side of his neck, peppering lazy pecks whenever she felt like it. Pope’s hands rubbed up and down her damp back, pulling the comforter over both of them.

Hawk woke up alone in the bed later that morning. She didn’t expect Pope to stay rotting in bed all morning, so she wasn’t all that surprised when his side was meticulously made like he had never been there at all. She could still smell remnants of Pope on her sheets, on the pillowcases and comforter. It was a mix of his cologne and a scent that was very distinctly him. She chuckled into her pillow, then took a deep breath and stretched like a cat, her arms and legs stretched out before exhaling with a satisfied groan. Hawk laid there for a moment, a very welcomed soreness making itself known between her legs as the events of the previous night and that morning rushed through her mind.

“Come on,” Hawk listened with a grin when she heard Pope’s frustrated voice come from down the hall. The fact that he hadn’t left yet was enough to get her to roll out of bed and get her day started. She threw on a black, lacy bralette and boy short set, then grabbed her short, silk robe off of the hook behind her en-suite bathroom door. After quickly brushing her teeth and fixing her appearance in the mirror, she made her way out to assist Pope in whatever he was trying to do.

“Need help, birthday boy?” Pope looked over his shoulder at Hawk’s entrance. Their normal morning schedules were slightly off track thanks to their early morning activities, followed by a nap that even Pope wasn’t immune to when Hawk wrapped herself around him before she was out like a light. Pope slept more in the last twelve hours than he had in the past week and it was something he could desperately get used to.

Hawk sashayed into the kitchen, her open robe flowing around her as she padded up to Pope on bare feet. The racy attire revealed underneath made Pope’s mouth go dry. The memory of their morning sent all the blood in his brain south. He cleared his throat after swallowing thickly, and averted his eyes back down to the coffee machine in front of him.

Hawk placed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, her chosen spot Pope noticed, then met his lips with hers. She wrapped her arms around his shirtless waist and his hand slipped under the robe to rub her hip. Hawk let her hands linger over his warm, taut abdomen , letting them fall away as she went to the fridge to grab some eggs and a bowl of sliced fruit to make a quick breakfast.

“Just trying to make a cup of coffee, not fly to the goddamn moon.” Pope muttered as he returned his attention back to the very expensive looking coffee machine. He pressed around the machine unsuccessfully locating how to even turn the goddamn thing on. Hawk laughed quietly and bumped her hip with his to scooch him out of the way.

“I got it. Go sit,” Hawk directed with a chuckle, pointing to the bar stools where she usually sat. “Hungry?” Pope shook his head, his hand going to his stomach as he grimaced.

“My stomach’s been messed up since I got out. Probably just not used to real food yet.” Hawk’s mind went to the pills she saw Janine crush up -the same pills that were in her purse. The same pills that manifested as guilt that ate away at her the longer they lingered. She had to say something and she would, but Hawk had to be careful with how she went about it.

Smurf was her main concern. She knew Pope would be upset when he found out, astronomically so, but if he found out from Hawk…Smurf would put a target on her back and spin this in a way that would not only paint Hawk as the enemy, but would also effectively send Pope into a tailspin that she didn’t think he’d recover from, not after he bared his soul to her and showed her more vulnerability than he probably ever let anyone else see in his life.

Pope would see this as a betrayal, and no matter how good Hawk’s intentions were by not giving them to him, she still kept her mouth shut about it.

Any normal person could see that Pope probably needed to be medicated -as many people needed to be, but he definitely didn’t need to be drugged. He wasn’t out of control. He could make those decisions himself and Smurf didn’t have any right to make them for him, but that never stopped her before -especially when it came to Pope.

Hawk set a cup of black coffee in front of him and loaded a couple slices of bread into the toaster next to the stove.

“You uh…you’re not on any kind of medication, are you?” Hawk asked tentatively as she cracked a few eggs in a bowl to scramble. She tried not to be obvious, but she needed to know if he suspected anything at this point. “Sometimes they can mess up your stomach, especially if you’re not eating right to begin with.” Pope looked at her weird when she shrugged nonchalantly. He stared at Hawk like the question was so wildly out of the realm of possibility that she shouldn’t have even asked. Hawk brought the bowl to the stove and busied herself with finding a pan and flicking the burner on. “Maybe ibuprofen? Sometimes if I take it on an empty stomach I can’t eat anything for a day or two…” She looked over her shoulder to glance at Pope.

“No, I’m not.” He responded dryly as he took a sip of coffee, watching Hawk’s every move with his full attention over the rim of the cup.

“Then you’re probably still adjusting.” She said nonchalantly. It felt dirty and wrong, plain and simple. Her own stomach was starting to turn, twisting and flipping in the worst way as she plated the eggs, toast, and fruit before sliding a small plate over to him.

“So,” Hawk changed the subject as she sat on the stool next to Pope. “Any plans for today?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure the guys have some dumb shit planned.” He popped a grape in his mouth, still eyeing her odd behavior. “Skydiving, paintball,” He left out the usual birthday strip club appearance. “Adrenaline junky crap. I’ll let you know if Smurf has anything planned tonight though.” Hawk noticed he had trouble maintaining eye contact when they had conversations like this. He’d look at her for a moment, then his eyes would drop as if he shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.

Pope did the same thing that morning when they woke up together and it was so incredibly abnormal for him -at least to Hawk. Eye contact was his thing, but add on any kind of intimacy to it and he shrank back into himself. She rested her hand on his forearm that was sitting on the island in between their plates and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Well, I’d like to see you make it to another birthday, so please be careful.” Hawk joked as she took a bite of toast. His mouth twisted up on one side in the smallest grins that he seemed to save for her, then they quietly finished their breakfasts before splitting up for the day.

Weeks passed and what was supposed to be a “few days” arrangement, turned into an open ended arrangement that led into…some kind of relationship with Pope. Hawk didn’t push Pope to leave and he, conveniently, wasn’t in a rush to buy a house anymore. For nearly a month they cohabitated together, each juggling the shop, the jobs, Smurf, and anything else that seemed to get thrown their way respectively. At the end of each day, they met back home in a bubble that became alarmingly normal -dinner, a movie, cuddling on the sofa, frisky behavior befitting teenagers. All of it felt like things had always been this way.

Hawk’s home was a reprieve for Pope. It was an escape from everything else he was dealing with when it came to his family. It was like clocking out from a shift and leaving that life behind for a few hours of normalcy. The concept was new to Pope, and like any new experience, it gave him a rush. Hawk was an extension to that rush. She brought comfort, companionship, compassion and understanding. She wanted him around and that was something he still had trouble accepting. And on Hawk’s end, everything felt natural -in its right place.

The only glaring defect in all of this was J. Hawk noticed he was avoiding the house as of recent and whether that was because of Pope or something else entirely left her worried. She’d see him in passing at Smurf’s, but even the matriarch made a comment that he was rarely there too. Any time she tried to reach out, he’d brush her off under the guise of being with Nicky or just busy. Is this what parents felt like when their kids got too busy for them? Too old to hang out? Had J outgrown her? Hawk tried to not take it personally, but it still stung.

Things with Pope were good, steady. Living with another adult was a very new concept on her end. Dating wasn’t really in her cards when she was younger between J and opening the shop, and then keeping the shop running and juggling Julia and her brothers separately. Add on Smurf’s bullshit and by the time Hawk got home at the end of the day, her thoughts were between herself and whatever was leftover in the fridge before she crashed on the sofa. She wouldn’t say lonely was what she felt, but she did crave the idea of having someone to come home to. Little did she know that that hole in her heart was Pope shaped, and Pope shaped only.

In true fashion, things never stayed peaceful long enough to enjoy the silence -not while the Cody’s lived and breathed.

Hawk’s cell phone rang while she was helping Jane -now the manager of the shop- put an order together for a pick up later that afternoon. Unknown Caller scrolled on the screen and she signed as she swiped to answer it.

“Hello?” She held up a finger to Jane to let her know she’d only be gone a minute as she shifted to take the call in her office the second she heard the automated voice on the other end.

“This is a collect call from the South Bay Detention Facility on behalf of,” “Andrew Cody” “Do you accept the charges to connect the call?” Hawk’s heart dropped. She hoped to never hear another one of these automated calls so long as she lived, much less having Pope on the other end of it, but she didn’t hesitate to accept it -not then and not now.

“I accept.” It rang twice before it was connected. “Pope?”

“I’m at SBDF. Can you pick me up?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Hawk,” He breathed out and she could hear the agitation over the line and chose to bite back any lingering questions she had until she saw him. She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right down.”

“Listen, I know you probably hear this every time someone breaks parole, but there is no way Andrew didn’t pass that test. He’s got a stable living situation, a job, he hasn’t failed a piss test up until now. All things considered, he’s been doing really well since his release. This is abnormal.” His parole officer just raised an eyebrow at Hawk. “Could something like medication cause this?” That was the only thing she could think of.

“Is he back on his meds?” The PO asked.

“I’m not sure,” Hawk lied, “but I can figure it out and make sure he communicates it through the proper channels if that’s the case.” Pope’s PO sighed, saying Hawks name as he leaned against the elevated desk that took up the majority of the room. He had made visits to her home, had spoken with her before about Pope’s release, so he was familiar with Hawk. When he looked down at her, he couldn’t fathom why someone like her was involved with someone like Andrew Cody, in whatever capacity it was and she could read his expression as clear as day.

To the PO, people like Pope didn’t change because they didn’t want to. They learned from their mistakes so they could skirt around law enforcement long enough to not end up back behind bars, but they always did. Eventually. They always ended up back in prison. It was a never ending cycle and yet, these scumbags always had a nice woman on the outside waiting to bail them out.

“This is a warning lock up.” He warned her. “Andrew doesn’t get another shot after this. It’s straight to the judge, and then it’s a one year mandatory sentence.” Hawk nodded, the gravity of the situation well known.

“Understood. Thank you again for giving him an opportunity. We both appreciate it.” The PO nodded to the officer at the holding cell to open the door.

“Cody, you’re free to go.” Hawk could see Pope from where she stood. His eyes were on her and he looked furious as he took his time getting up and walking out of the jail with Hawk trailing behind him.

“You asked me something a few weeks back,” Pope started, “It stuck out to me then and I couldn’t put my finger on why, but now I get it.” It was about a forty-five minute drive back to Hawk’s house, and they spent the first fifteen minutes in silence until Pope spoke up. “When my stomach was messed up you asked me if I was on any medication.” His eyes cut through Hawk as she drove. He saw her freeze for a moment, then she blinked herself back to the present. “Why would you ask me that?” Hawk’s throat felt like it was constricting as she tried to swallow.

“It’s…complicated.” Her eyes flitted from the road, to Pope nervously, then back to the road.

“Uncomplicate it.” It was a demand, clear as day, and he gave her no room to talk her way out of it. Hawk weighed her options -she could deny knowing anything or come clean and hope he didn’t absolutely lose it. He deserved to know the truth and the longer she didn’t answer, the guiltier she became. She decided to bite the bullet. Pope deserved that much.

“…Smurf gave me a bottle of anti-psychotics to give to you.” The rising tension in the SUV was palpable. The air was thick and uncomfortable and it made Hawk want to crawl out of her skin.

“You? You?” Pope was at a loss for words. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving, and the absolute betrayal that washed over him was too much. Sensing this, Hawk took the next exit off of the highway, cutting off honking vehicles, and pulled over on the side of the off-ramp.

“No! Listen to me, Pope!” The passenger door was slammed shut before Hawk could put the vehicle in park. “Pope!” She shouted, grabbing the bottle from her purse, then jumped out of the car and ran after him as he stalked through the open field that lined the exit ramp.

“You of all fucking people, Hawk!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he turned and pointed at her. “All this time I thought-I thought you cared about me! But you’re just like them -you’re just like her!” His voice cracked. “None of you can stomach being around me unless I’m medicated because I’m too fucking crazy! Is that it?! I’m a monster without the fucking pills? Was this whole thing just a fucking ruse to keep me placated?!” He spat at her.

“No!” Hawk’s voice went hoarse. “Listen to me, Pope. The bottle is still fucking full! It’s still full!” She shook it desperately. “There isn’t a single pill missing because I haven’t given any of them to you! None of this, us, was to trick you. I genuinely, with everything that I have, care about you, Pope.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?! You knew and just let this happen! I could’ve gone back to prison, Hawk!” It never occurred to her that it would pop up on a drug test and the guilt she already felt tripled. Hawk felt like she was about to start hyperventilating.

“I thought that if I made it seem like I was giving them to you, Smurf wouldn’t, but that’s clearly not what’s happening! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, Pope! I would never do something like this to you!”

“But you did!” Hawk’s heart broke at the devastation that was clear as day on his normally hard to read face. He wanted her to see what this did to him, how this tore him apart on the inside. His hands were pulling at his growing hair as he paced the field, afraid that if he didn’t take this out on himself, he’d become the monster they all thought he was. “Once again, not a single fucking person thought about me in this! No one! Not you! Not Smurf! This has Baz’s scent all over it, so he’s probably also fucking involved! I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Pope expected this from Smurf, even from Baz, but never from Hawk.

“You have every right to be angry with me because I should’ve told you immediately, Pope, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t do it. I’m sorry for not saying anything. I should’ve said something. That’s on me.” Hawk was bordering on hysterics as the situation continued to spiral out of control. She took a few tentative steps towards Pope and when he didn’t walk away from her, she continued on.

“Andrew. Please,” Hawk forced the bottle into his hand and cupped his face to bring his forehead down to hers. Pope’s jaw was set, his teeth grinding and breaths heavy through his nose. His watering eyes were unyielding as they barred down at her. His hands were balled into tight fists that he let hang by his sides, one strangling the white bottle so hard the veins in his forearm popped.

Pope was angry, furious, but under that lay a hurt that he hadn’t felt in so long. It was a feeling that he shielded himself from due to self preservation, but as he opened himself to Hawk, he left himself vulnerable. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again any time soon.

“I want you as you are, Andrew, not how she makes you. I know you. I know the man underneath all of the shit she’s done to you. I want you -all of you. Everything that makes you -everything good and bad.” Pope stood there, breathing heavily through his nose and his frown only got deeper. He weighed the bottle of pills in his hand, before physically removing Hawk’s hands from his face. Without a word he brushed past her to make his way back to her SUV.

Hawk slowly trailed after him once he closed the passenger door. She took a few deep breaths to center herself and stood as tall as she could while she finished her walk of genuine shame back to the car.

You’re just like her, Pope’s voice rang like an incessant bell in Hawk’s brain.

Her.

Smurf.

You’re just like her.

Pope’s words cut into her as they were intended to. Hawk’s hands shook as she opened the driver door and she didn’t have a single ounce of courage inside of herself to even look at Pope, but Hawk could feel the very purposeful daggers he was glaring towards her.

“When did she give them to you?” Pope’s voice was low and gravely. The truth was going to hurt, but she realized she was only protecting Smurf by keeping this from him and that was the absolute last thing Hawk wanted to do.

“The day before your birthday.” Still, Hawk couldn’t look at Pope. His birthday was nearly a month ago and that bottle had been festering like an open wound since. “They’ve been sitting in my purse, unopened.”

“And you’ve never thought about using them?” His tone was 100% accusatory, and he had every right to be.

“No,” Hawk breathed out, finally looking at him. Tears lined her eyes and she wiped them away before they had a chance to drop. “Not once.” His eyes searched for the lie, for the tell that would let him know Hawk wasn’t being honest. She had been a terrible liar when they were kids, and Pope noticed that the same tells were transferred over to J, a product of just how much of J’s life was spent with Hawk. Those tells weren’t present in the car as she spoke to him, but that didn’t ease the hackles that had risen.

“This was a horrible lapse in judgement,” She covered her face with her hands, then dragged them down. “I didn’t know Smurf was still giving you anything. You stopped complaining about your stomach, so I figured she stopped giving them to you after she gave them to me. None of that matters anymore though because the damage is done and I’m partially responsible for it, and there aren’t enough ‘sorry’s’ in the world to repair that.”

“Start the car.” Pope’s voice was devoid of any emotion. He had already retreated into himself, the self-preservation tactic that he developed as a kid to lock everyone out after he had been hurt over and over and over again.

Hawk bit her lip hard, blood pebbling to the surface. This was her fault. She hurt him in such a profound way and broke a lifetime of trust he built with her. She couldn’t expect Pope to forgive her when she couldn’t even forgive herself.

The remainder of the ride was silent, reminding Hawk of their last ride from Folsom. He had been angry at her then too, but nothing like this. The drive back to her house was only a fraction of what it had been from Folsom, but the minutes seemed to stretch endlessly and she couldn’t have been more grateful to turn into her winding driveway than she was in that moment. She needed to get out of that car, to escape the guilt and the anger and the disappointment that permeated the vehicle. And as quickly as she wanted to escape, Pope was five steps ahead of her.

He was out of the car before the wheels had fully stopped and Hawk could put it into park once she got up the driveway. He bypassed the entry to the house and went straight for his truck, key ring and pill bottle in hand with the darkest cloud hanging over his head.

please comment & reblog :)

#pope cody #pope cody x reader #shawn hatosy #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfiction #animal kingdom tnt #andrew pope cody #andrew pope cody x reader #smut #pope cody smut #lmao I listened to let down by radiohead on repeat as I wrote the second half of this so there's that #located on my Pope Spotify playlist

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realmcflurry1 · 24 hours ago

Text

Tinder mark

Pair: mark Grayson x F!reader

Warning & tags: corny words used?? Slow burn kinda, marks powers lwk cockblocking, nerdy flirtatious mark, fluff

Summary: your love life has been quite lonely awhile trying to look for the right man until you see him.. Mark, 19 on tinder swiping right on him at 2am.

Taglist: @augustsblossom

[A/N] first ever published written work, testing out the waters, nervous but constructive criticism will be accepted🥲. Tried my best into making mark seem like mark I hope you like and enjoy this, debating if I should continue this😭

It was late at night mindlessly swiping on tinder face on the side planted into the pillow one eye barely open until you see him. Photo of his big goofy smile and his brown dreamy eyes holding a mug of some sort of coffee maybe??

Feeling flustered at his appearance unlike other men on here trying to act tough or intimidating no, no, no he’s.. different..kinda nerdy in a absolute cute way

looking down at his name and introduction mark, 19 comic book lover especially seance dog🐶❤️. Without looking further into his introduction scrolling back up inhaling a deep breath smiling your heart absolutely fluttering into your stomach deciding to swipe right as you do dropping the phone to the side shrieking into a ball screaming into the pillow body heat rising as your tired self disappeared calming down minutes later.

Leaving the bedroom, phone on the covers walking downstairs grabbing a cup of water unbeknownst to you mark had messaged.

Mark: what’s a lovely girl like yourself up so late?

Sent 2 minutes ago.

As you finally reach the bedroom rubbing your eyes about to climb into bed sitting on the edge grabbing your phone as your heart skips a beat mark?!? oh god oh GODDD!! Unlocking your phone opening immediately to tinder opening marks message.

You: i can ask you the same thing handsome stranger, ya looking for an adventure? Because if you are you looked in the right place LOL

Smiling at your phone as you lay back in bed waiting for marks response suddenly time seems to be going by slowly when your waiting for something exciting.. thinking deep into thoughts suddenly hearing a commotion down in your apartment near the alley way getting up to check it out as you look scanning suddenly seeing I..invincible carrying the elephant by his..trunk?!?? Your eyes looking in utterly disbelief and confusion but letting out a little laugh then looking at invincible really looking at him in his goggles something about him makes you shudder like you know him but from where?

Finally laying back into bed as you sigh seeing the delivered 8 minutes ago.

Must have fallen asleep.. muttering to yourself placing the phone onto the nightstand closing my eyes drifting away slowly into the abyss until.. TING.. your eyes shooting wide open as you yawn grabbing your phone lazily starring at his message

Mark: I'm not usually one to seek out adventures at this hour but for you then.. yes.

your mouth opens as if you were gonna say something but no words came out a smirk filled your lips as you chuckled at his dummy idiotic response you quickly open your phone typing and responding back

You: well if it isn’t the comic book nerd making a move.. I like that.

Marks pov

Late at night in bed starring at the ceiling both arms behind his head thinking in the moment until he hears a BZZZ his hand immediately grabbing his phone unlocking it pressing the tinder notification starring at your profile his heart sinks at your beauty.. the way you pose in every selfie, breathtaking, stunning, mark feels the heat creeping into his cheeks as he smiles without even knowing.

As they were both a match in arts, mainly arts and crafts for mark some comics the two liked mark gulps hesitantly typing you a message.. as mark messaged you Cecil immediately called him in about the elephant in a sketchy alley.. mark putting on his suit and flying out immediately reaching the destination of the sketchy alley with the elephant.

After dealing with the elephant mark flys home as Cecil on the other line of the earpiece good job kid I’ll keep you updated. Mark finally taking off his suit putting back on boxers from before mumbling to himself good job kid.. I’m not a kid.. sighing as he rolls back into bed groaning grabbing his phone starring at your message his smile immediately pops up opening to tinder messaging you back seeing your response making his lips quiver in excitement

Mark: it’s not everyday you get to see a beauty like you with common interests haha

As you lay down in bed cuddled up in your warm blankets smiling at your screen seeing his message half asleep

You: well thank you it’s nice to know someone finally admires my beauty

Mark: your welcome [Y/N] I adore a girl who knows her beauty

Shrieking In excitement as you let out little giggles about to type back until you see

Typing…

Mark: how about a coffee date this friday by the one near dahlia ave? I’ll be free and we get to know each other more.

Your eyes widen at his message mouth fully smiling as you get startled by something clattering on your balcony deciding to not investigate it (must be a cat) as you thought to yourself

You: this Friday? Heck I can absolutely do it your lucky I’m free haha

Mark let’s out a chuckle as he stares at your message smiling hands hovering over the keyboard deciding what to type

Mark: great don’t be late! it’s nice to go out with a pretty girl comic lover at that to

You: that goes for you to you know mark? LOL

As the night wears on you and mark have talked about each other’s interest where he fully geeked out on seance dog, villains, and traveling as you geeked out on music, art, and paintings etc.

Suddenly looking up at your balcony through the curtains sunlight peeking out damn.. mumbling to yourself as you check the time on your nightstand

5:30

You: well it was fun talking mark but you know I gotta head to bed thank god I have work off..

Mark feels a pang in his chest as he stares at your message frowning but hiding it sighing as he relaxes in his bed his body sinking into his covers

Mark: of course [Y/N] pleasure was all mine honestly. Goodnight and as for work.. I have to work dreadfully if I say so myself..

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible show #mark graryson fanfic #mohawk invincible #sinister mark #viltrumeat #cockblock #fem reader #nerdy boy #fluff

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capri-ramblings · 2 days ago

Text

It is a Concept but;

Leona is a distant cousin, so much so you like to joke you're barely even related any more at this point.

"If I were to have cubs of my own, I bet they wouldn't even make it in the family scripture." Your laugh is loud and clear and without a hint of wariness as Leona frowns and sends an annoyed look your way from where he is sprawled on the raised platform of the King's—His brother's—waiting lounge.

"Ha? What was that? Couldn't really hear yer from all the way here."

"I said you look as majestic as ever,cousin. Almost like a King yourself."

The sneer you sent him is coy and confident. Despite your lower disposition in the family, as Leona would like to say, your stride has never once wavered and the way you carried yourself mirrored the striking white fur of your ears and tails. White lions were a rarity amongst your people, and you took great pride in that.

"Watch it,cotton ball." His canines are showing, ears twitching in irritation. The nickname is one from your childhood and it was made right on your first day of meeting Leona and his brother. The elders took your birth as a good omen and decided to let you grow up alongside the two princes as a symbol of good luck.

A younger, more expressive, Leona had padded up to you and immediately went; "She's like a cotton ball!" And laughed when you stared at him. He had been told off by his mother but then his older brother had agreed and said it would be a good nickname for you, and it's been there for years.

You found it amusing. You enjoyed the company of your cousins and since you spent more time with him, Leona was considered your closest companion. What most people overlooked easily as his mean spirited nature and so called laziness, you saw a highly capable hunter and leader.

Though he may believe you use the word 'King' as a taunt, you know you're genuine with it.

"Anyways, cousin," you ignore the glower he sent your way as you move closer to him and plopped down onto the amassed cushions near the platform he was on.

"Where's that hyena you keep around?"

The question makes him raise his brows.

"Ruggie?"

You nod your head. Lips set in a sly grin as your tail sways from one side to the other.

"What's that gotta do with you?" He asked in a dry, uninterested drawl.

"Well," You're beaming when you say this, the white of your fur practically bristling with excitement. "You won't mind if I borrow him for the day, won't you?"

Leona looks taken aback for a brief second before he lets out a barking sort of laugh.

"I knew it. You have a thing for him don't you?"

You don't deny this, but still, you purse your lips and petulantly sunk into the pillows.

"If you knew then why don't you bring him over more often? You're such a terrible wing man, cousin."

"What are you an idiot? What made yer think I was ever your wing man?"

"Yap,yap, yap. You're such a bore, cousin. It's the least you can do after I spent my years being your so-called token of luck."

Leona's growl is evident even in the way his nose scrunches and his green gaze darkens at your words. Most people would have found this a very dangerous predicament to be in, but you knew you'd be able to take him on easily if he decided to attack, which of course,he wouldn't do in the first place.

"No need to be so angry, you know I enjoyed my childhood. Being seen as some sort of good luck totem only to become a menace when I'm older is my greatest satisfaction in life,after all. And it's really all thanks to you."

Leona holds his glare a while longer before he clicks his tongue and tilts his head.

"What about him gets you kneading your paws anyways?" He asked and despite the gruffness, you sense the earnest curiosity.

"Hm,well, he's very appetizing to look at."

"Ha? We talkin' bout the same hyena here? The most meaty part he has is probably his thick head." Leona's canines are glistening again, the scrunched up lines on his nose as he looks down at you making you laugh and roll on your back as you flash him a sight of your sharp fangs.

"His tail isn't so bad."

"That's mostly fur, boar brain." His eyes narrow when he says this and you can tell he's searching for something to read from you. A trick or a lie. He doesn't trust you with his friend. You know that much already.

Leona could go on and on about not caring for the people under him, but it's all simply an act. If he didn't care he was probably not even Leona in the first place. Leona always cared. It's why he was so angry most of the time.

"If you keep looking at me like that, you're gonna make me feel like some kind of predator." You're pouting. Ears folded down and tail curling around your body but the glint in your eyes is of excitement.

You like him. You really do.

It's the nimble way he moves and his attentive eyes. The quick witted intelligence he has is also something you don't often see in other hyenas you've met and you wonder if conversations with him would be just as interesting as you always imagined it would be.

You grew up in the presence of Kings. Made to be a sentimental decorum for their well-being, and though you've never despised it, it had held you back from many things in your own life. It was a privileged life but also a rigid one.

When you first met Ruggie, there was barely any talk. He had been occupied with Leona but you found yourself drawn to his character and every little detail of his mannerisms. You simply couldn't look away, nor did you want to, really.

"Idiot." Comes Leona's voice as he snaps you back to the present moment. Your eyes are wide and wandering—So lost in the thought of the hyena boy, you almost forgot your cousin.

"Last time I checked, you are a predator."

And maybe that's why. Maybe that explains the rush of adrenaline running circuits in you while you search for him. Maybe it was pure instincts—One you've been deprived of for your whole life.

"I mean, he looks like he'd out run me fast enough,right?"

With those lithe muscles and lightweight frame, and the fact he's used to extreme living conditions would work well in his favour...A bit malnourished, true, but I bet his bones are stronger since he has depended on them more...sturdier despite his size. A treat to gnaw on—

"Tsk. I thought so." Leona has a dark, knowing look to him now as he sends you a sneering smile. There is no actual hostility for you were not an actual enemy to him, but you can feel the warning in his words as they leave his mouth.

"You're no better than a starving hyena yourself."

You sit there and stare up at him—And then, you smile back, canines revealed in a sign of beastly amusement.

No. You weren't. In fact, you were probably worst.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona kingscholar #twst ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi #ruggie x reader #twst savanaclaw #savanaclaw

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art-by-jas · 16 hours ago

Text

"You Deserve to Be Happy."

Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

WC: 3.5k

Tags: Established Relationship, Cunnilingus, PinV Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sub!Pope Cody, Dom-ish!You, Praise Kink, Riding, Sad Baby Boy!Pope

A/N: I want it to be known I have not seen a full episode of this show; I have been just skimming episodes for his scenes, so I hope this is sorta on point with his character. Also, this is different than my usual smut; this is more descriptive and less dialogue, and I don't know how I feel about it cause I usually don't like reading that, but I'm happy with it and hope you enjoy it.

Pope stands at your front door, a silent figure cast in the dim porch light. His hands are trembling slightly as he waits for you to greet him. His shoulders are tense, and his face is flushed with anxiety. Once the door opens, he refuses to meet your gaze, instead fixating on a spot on the floor.

"Pope, you okay?" you ask, eyebrows creasing with worry. Pope's eyes meet yours, wide and full of an odd mixture of emotions. It's like he's staring straight into your soul, trying to communicate something without words. He shakes his head "no," his gaze unblinking. You notice that Pope's whole body is trembling, his hands vibrating. Whatever has brought him here at this late hour has gotten under his skin.

He gives a slight nod, his grip on you relaxing somewhat. "Yeah," he mumbles, his voice unsteady. You lead him through the door and over to your couch, encouraging him to sit down. He does so, his eyes unfocused, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. Taking a seat beside him, you observe him. His hands are balled into tight fists, and you notice the visible tension in his jaw and the dirt on his clothes.

Taking a step closer, you try to calm him with a steady voice. "Just breathe," you say. You cautiously envelop Pope in a tight hug, and he appears to freeze at first. As he feels your touch, he melts into your embrace, hugging you back tightly. He rests his head on your shoulder, his grip on you becoming almost desperate, as if he is clinging to you for dear life.

With Pope still hanging on to you, you gently ask, "Do you want to come inside?"

"Are you okay?" you ask softly, trying to meet his eyes. He's silent, and you don't know if it's because he didn't hear you or because he doesn't want to answer. You lean in and ask, "Do you want to talk about what's wrong?" Pope shakes his head, but his silence isn't the nonchalant, dismissive sort.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and blurts out, voice barely above a whisper, "I hurt someone tonight." His words hang in the air. The guilt on his face is unmistakable, a mixture of shame and regret that seems permanently etched across his features. Whatever happened, it has carved a deep mark on him.

He looks up suddenly, desperation swimming in his gaze. "I just want to forget about it—about hurting someone," he says, and his voice cracks, filled with a raw, aching honesty. "I want to do good. I need to make you feel good." His words tumble out in a rush, a jumble of emotions barely held together. “That's why I came here," he continues, almost imploring now. "Because I know I can be better. I just need—" He pauses, searching for the right words, or maybe just the courage to say them. His pleading gaze in his eyes silently asks for your understanding and support.

There are so many questions swimming through your mind, but you push them aside. Right now, what Pope needs is reassurance, a lifeline.

The vulnerability in his eyes is almost painful.

You hold his gaze, speaking softly, "It's okay."

Your words are more than just a gentle whisper of understanding and acceptance. You want him to know that you don't judge him, that whatever he's done doesn't define him.

"I—" he starts, but the words fade into a heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do," he finally mutters.

You move in nearer, and your closeness is a calming comfort. "That's alright," you reassure him. "You don't have to figure it all out right now."

Pope's jaw clenches. "I messed up," he whispers, more to himself than to you. A part of you wants to ask what happened—what he did—but you restrain yourself. Now is not the time for questions. Now, he needs comfort.

You reach out tentatively, your hand hovering above his arm, undecided. "Can I touch you?" you ask, your voice soft. There's a moment of hesitation, then he nods. As you place your hand tenderly on his arm, you feel him tense, his muscles rigid under your touch. But he doesn't pull away.

"It's going to be okay," you murmur, "I'm here for you."

The tension in Pope's body relaxes ever so slightly, as if your words, your presence, are slowly unraveling the knots of anxiety within him.

"I don't deserve your kindness," he finally mutters, the words barely audible, almost choked out. Your heart breaks for him. You don't reply immediately, simply allowing your hand to remain on his arm, silently showing your support. You reach out tentatively, gently cupping his face in your hands. His skin is warm, the rough stubble on his cheeks prickly against your palms. For a moment, Pope freezes, surprised by the intimacy of your touch. But as your fingers gently graze his jawline, he seems to melt into your touch and closes his eyes, the tension in his face softening just a fraction.

Your fingers trace the contours of his face, feeling the heat of his skin. With gentle certainty, you lean forward and press a soft, almost chaste kiss to his lips. Pope's eyes fly open, surprise mixing with a raw vulnerability. For a moment, he seems frozen in place, as if your kiss has caught him off guard. But then, slowly, unexpectedly, he responds, returning the kiss, tentative yet yearning. You can feel the tension in his body melting away as he relaxes into your touch, his lips moving against yours in a silent plea for more.

"It's okay," you whisper, your fingers still cradling his face, anchoring him to the moment. "It's okay to want this. It's okay to need comfort." His hands, which had previously hung limply by his sides, slowly rise to rest on your waist, his touch hesitant, as if he's afraid of breaking something.

With a determined yet tender grip, you take his hand in yours and guide him off the couch, leading him towards the bedroom. Your touch is gentle but firm, providing a steady anchor for him.

As you lead him into the bedroom, the room seems to shrink around you, becoming a bubble of intimacy. The outside world, with all its pain and guilt, feels far away, momentarily forgotten.

The room is softly lit, the ambiance intimate and soothing. You guide him towards the bed, your actions slow and measured, giving him plenty of time to back out if he wants to.

"Sit down," you instruct softly, your voice a comforting command. Pope obeys, sinking onto the mattress. His gaze remains fixed on you, waiting for your next move. You sit down next to him. There's a moment of tension, a hesitation in the air. But then, before you can say anything, Pope leans in.

His lips find yours, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, holding you in place as he kisses you, fiercely and tenderly all at once. You return the kiss, your mouth moving against his with a tender fervor. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He responds with a soft moan, his grip on you tightening, his body pressing against yours. The kiss grows more desperate, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

As the kiss continues, a hint of confidence returns to Pope. His hand, which had been trembling, now moves more assuredly, gently trailing down the side of your body. His fingers find the waistband of your shorts, and without hesitation, he undoes the button. There's a sense of urgency in his movements, as if he's desperate to please you, to distract himself from the pain that's eating at him. He ignores your shirt, focusing solely on the task at hand—getting closer to you, losing himself in the physical connection.

Pope pulls away from the kiss; with a rough, throaty voice, he gasps, "Can I—can I taste you? Please," he breathes, the words exhaling against your skin. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, his lips burning a trail towards your throat. "Let me worship you."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, his hot breath against your skin. "Yes," you murmur, your voice rough with desire. "Yes, please."

As his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, Pope lets out a low, guttural moan. He feels your wetness, his fingers gliding over your sensitive folds. His eyes darken, a new hunger sparking within him.

"Jesus," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "You're soaked." Pope withdraws his hand from your underwear, his fingers glistening with your arousal. His eyes lock onto yours as he brings his wet fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, a low groan escaping his throat at the taste. His gaze never leaves yours as he sucks his fingers. "You taste so damn good," he growls, his voice rough with need.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he withdraws his fingers from his mouth, a thin string of saliva still connecting them to his lips. "I need more," he breathes, his voice dropping an octave.

His hands move to your waist, gripping tightly as he positions himself between your thighs. The need in his eyes is almost feral, a hunger that threatens to consume him. His hands glide down your thighs, his fingertips following the same path, sending shivers up your spine. He pushes your shirt up but does not remove it as he moves lower, his mouth trailing behind, leaving a path of warm, gentle kisses on your stomach and your hips. He hesitates, his lips lingering near the edge of your underwear, his breath warm against your skin.

Without breaking eye contact, he dips his head lower, his mouth finding the damp fabric of your underwear. He presses a kiss to the thin barrier, his tongue flicking out to taste you through the cotton. The touch is light and teasing, and yet it sends a jolt of desire through you.

A moan escapes your lips, your body arching towards him, seeking more contact. "God, Pope," you breathe, your voice ragged with arousal. "That feels so good." His eyes darken at the sound of your voice, your pleasure fueling his need.

He pushes your underwear aside, and his mouth is on you, hot and demanding. His tongue slides against your folds, flicking over your clit briefly before moving down to taste you fully. He groans against you, the vibrations sending bolts of pleasure. He alternates between quick, intense strokes and unhurried, gentle circles, each movement drawing a new sound from your lips. Your fingers naturally weave into his curls.

"You taste amazing," he whispers, his eyes meeting yours. His hands find your hips, his fingers pressing firmly as he draws you back toward him.

"You're doing so good," you gasp, your fingers pulling at his curls. His tongue flickers over your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. "So good," you repeat, your voice breaking. "No one has ever made me feel like this," you whisper, your eyes locked on his. He responds to your praise with a moan, the sound muffled against your skin. He flattens his tongue against your clit, applying steady, firm pressure. You can feel him getting lost in the act, his focus entirely on your pleasure, his movements growing more intense. "Don't stop," you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Please, don’t stop."

Pope feels you trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He knows you're close, right on the edge, and he wants to push you further. He picks up the pace, his tongue working faster.

He pulls away just long enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze intense and needy. "Come for me," he growls, his voice low but commanding. "Come on my tongue."

Your body tenses at his words, the rough demand in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You're so close, right on the edge, and the combined assault of his mouth and those words is all it takes to push you over. You cry out, your body arching off the bed, your fingers digging into the sheets as you come undone.

As you come down from your climax, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, you look down at Pope, still between your legs. It's clear from the look on his face that he would gladly keep going all day, his need for you unquenchable. But you know that you both need a moment, and so you gently tug at his hair, signaling for him to stop. He obeys, his mouth leaving your sensitive flesh, but not before he gives one final, tender lick. He raises his head, his gaze roaming your face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

With a determined push, you roll him onto his back, straddling his hips. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he looks up at you, his gaze filled with an almost animalistic desire. His chest heaves with each ragged breath.

You run your fingers through his hair, your touch gentle and praising. "You look so pretty," you whisper. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then trailing down his cheek. Your words make him squirm slightly beneath you, a soft flush staining his cheeks. He reaches up to help you remove his shirt, the fabric skimming up his torso before being discarded, forgotten in a moment.

You pause, eyes roaming over his exposed chest, taking in the expanse of freckles that dot his skin like a spattering of paint. They're everywhere, and you find yourself entranced, the urge to trace each one of them nearly overwhelming. You reach to gently touch his chest, your fingers tracing over the freckles, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You have so many freckles," you murmur, your touch tender as you map out the constellations on his skin.

Your touch is gentle as you lean down to kiss him, your lips meeting in a soft, but heated, kiss. As you do so, you grind down, your body pressing against his hardness, the friction eliciting a soft gasp from his lips. Your fingers trail along his skin, tracing the line of his shoulders, the curve of his biceps, and the planes of his chest, leaving a trail of wildfire in your wake.

You pull away from the kiss, your breath fanning across his face as you look down at him, your gaze filled with a burning desire. "I want to ride you, is that okay?" your voice a low, breathy purr against his lips.

He groans at your words, the sound a mix of pleasure and need. "God, yes," he breathes, his grip on your hips tightening. His eyes lock on to yours, his gaze searing, almost feral in its intensity.

You lean down, your breath hot against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "Is that what you want, sweetheart? Do you want me to ride you?"

A rough gasp escapes his lips as he nods. His breaths are ragged, his body trembling with pent-up need. "Yes," he whispers, the word a desperate plea. "Yes. I want it."

"Good boy," you murmur, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you lean in even closer. "I'm going to make you feel so good." Your hands slide down his chest, nails raking lightly against his skin.

His reaction is immediate, his breath catching in his throat, a soft moan escaping his lips. As if those simple words carried a magnetic force, drawing out a response in him that was both raw and visceral.

"You like it when I call you that, don't you?" you ask, your voice a low purr.

He nods weakly, his words coming out in ragged gasps. "Yes," he manages to say, his voice thick with desire. "I love it."

You grin at his response, your gaze filled with a mix of lust and affection. You reach back, pushing his shorts down, revealing his leaking cock. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you guide it up and down your drenched pussy. With a moan of pleasure, he can hardly believe what's happening. He looks you in the eye, as if to make sure this is real, before his eyes roll back as you slowly sink down his length.

His body trembles beneath you, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Oh God," he mutters, his voice ragged. "You're so... perfect."

You moan, feeling the stretch of him until he is at the hilt. Your head vibrates as you get used to him. The feeling of you gripping him tight almost drives him crazy, and he has to fight from coming right then and there. He grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin, as he tries to keep himself in check.

He looks up at you with a mix of adoration and desperation, his head tossed back into the pillow. "You feel so good," he croaks. "So goddamn good.”

You start to move, lifting your hips up and down slowly, your pace unhurried.

You lean down, your face close to his, your breath fanning across his skin. "You're doing so good," you whisper, your voice soft. "Just relax. I've got you."

He nods, struggling to keep himself together, the sensations overwhelming him. "I'm trying," he mutters, his voice gravelly. "It's just... You feel so good. I don't know how long I can last like this."

Your hand reaches down, tracing the line of his jaw, the gesture one of comfort. "You don't have to hold back," you murmur. "I want you to feel good. Just let go."

His grip on you tightens again, this time as if to keep himself grounded, to prolong the moment for as long as possible. He manages a shaky nod, his breathing ragged as he forces himself to hold on just a bit longer. "I want to make you feel good too," he whispers, his voice a mix of need and desperation. "Please."

Your desire builds, fueled by his words and by the way he's holding you, as if his life depends on it. "You are," you rasp, "you are making me feel so damn good."

He groans, his eyes fluttering shut again, unable to keep them open as pleasure washes over him. "I won't last much longer," he manages to gasp out.

You lean down, your lips finding his neck, kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin. "Just let go," you whisper. "Let go and come in me. Need to feel you, Andrew." Your lips trail along his neck, teeth scraping against his skin, as you mark him as yours.

He lets out a desperate moan, the sound of pure need. "Say my name again," he whispers, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Say it again, please." The words are ragged, almost desperate, as if he needs to hear you say it to make it real.

"Andrew," you breathe against his skin, the word barely a whisper, but it echoes loudly in the room. "Andrew, let go. Come for me, baby."

That's all it takes, your words and the sound of his name on your tongue, for him to finally tip over the edge. He comes with a guttural moan, filling you with hot white stripes of his come. He gasps your name, the broken syllables falling from his lips like a prayer.

You rest your forehead against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart against your skin, the sweat on his skin mingling with yours. His grip on you tightens briefly before softening, his body starting to relax even as you lean against him. There are no words, not yet, just the quiet aftermath of pleasure, the sound of ragged breathing filling the room.

After a moment, his hand comes up to run through your hair, his touch tender and lingering. "You are so goddamn good to me," he mutters, his voice still hoarse. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You lift your head, looking at him with a soft smile, your touch gentle as you tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. "You deserve to be happy," you say firmly.

"You think so?" he asks, his voice quieter than usual.

"I know so," you respond.

You look him in the eye, your gaze steady and sincere, wanting him to understand that you mean every word. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened tonight?"

He leans up, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. It's a silent reassurance, a gesture of trust, before he pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. "Tomorrow," he says softly. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

You nod, accepting his word, your trust in him overriding your curiosity. "Tomorrow," you repeat, leaning into his touch.

He pulls you close, tucking you against him, your head resting on his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, the sound soothing, a lullaby that soothes your racing thoughts. He's silent for a while, his fingers tracing soft, lazy circles on your skin, the simple contact a quiet comfort. You start to doze off.

Just as you're hovering on the edge of sleep, you hear him speak, his words soft and murmured against your hair. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice carrying a weight of gratitude. "For staying."

MASTERLIST

#animal kingdom #andrew pope cody #andrew cody #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #pope animal kingdom #Andrew Cody x Reader #reader insert #fanfictioni #animal kingdom fanfiction #smut #andrew cody smut #pope cody smut #animal kingdom smut

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tateypots · 2 days ago

Text

Coraline

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Protective Frankie Morales x wife!reader

A/N: This is my entry for @itwasntimethatdidit40 Italian Music Challenge. I was given the song Coraline by Måneskin, I'll add the translated lyrics and a link to the song at the bottom. Its a great song.

I really loved this challenge so thank you to V for for organising but I'm not going to lie, this was hard to write. I'm usually soft and fluffy or filthy and depraved (and sometimes both) so this is my first real foray into anything angsty.

There are some very heavy themes in this so please heed the warnings before you continue and please forgive me for the timing. I know it's been a hard week and the last thing anyone needs is more sadness but I promise there is a happy ending. And I already promised @baronessvonglitter a lovely, happy, fluffy fic by way of an apology!

Story is written as a reader insert but in my head her name is Coraline. Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described.

Warnings: pregnancy, miscarriage, mentions of medical procedures following miscarriage (nothing in detail), violence, injury, child abuse, grief, ptsd, implied smut but it's very brief, Frankie being the best.

Word count: 4.1K

14 weeks. That’s how far along you were. Had been. Fuck!

The beeps and whirrs of the heartrate monitor strapped to you were the only noise. Your tears silently dripping down your battered and swollen face, your body aching and broken. And empty. Your perfect little bean taken from you. Scraped from your body as though it was nothing, inconsequential.

You’d barely had time to process the words, “I’m so sorry Mrs Morales, there’s no heartbeat,” before they were wheeling you to surgery. And you had to do it all alone, your husband locked away in a cell at the local police station. Not that you blamed Frankie at all. If you had been able, you would have beaten the shit out of your father too. If your leg and ribs weren’t broken, if your shoulder hadn’t been recently dislocated. If you didn’t have this awful aching sadness gnawing away at you like a black hole devouring any hint of light from your life.

Your father was lucky that someone was there to pull Frankie off him. If only there had been someone to pull your father off you. If they’d poked their heads out of their apartments when he started yelling at you in the hallway about how you were an ungrateful little bitch for running off and marrying a man he didn’t approve of. For getting knocked up like a stupid slut. If only they had intervened then instead of waiting until you were lying battered and bleeding at the bottom of a flight of stairs just in time for Frankie returning from the grocery store. Yes he was lucky indeed. Lucky that he was currently inhabiting a cell next to Frankie instead of the casket your husband had intended to put him in.

When you’d awoken from your anaesthesia the nurse had told you that someone had informed Frankie of what had happened and the guilt nearly ripped you in two. The thought of him finding out in a cold, unforgiving cell, all alone. How his grief would be battling with his guilt that he wasn’t there for you just as yours was now, mirror images reflecting and magnifying the horror of the day. You wished he was here. You needed his deep, baritone voice to wrap you in its soothing embrace as he told you you’d be ok, that you’d get through it together.

A gentle tap on the door to your room pulls you from your thoughts. You look up to see Pope, Will and Benny gathered at the door. You see their masks slip on, just a second too late as they enter the room, training kicking in, stay calm, don’t give anything away. You know just from that how bad you must look. You’ve never seen them turn those masks on for you and it almost breaks you, the sob that claws it’s way out of your chest is violent and raw. It rips at your throat as it escapes, intent on causing as much damage to your broken body as it does to the ears of all who hear it.

They rush for you, desperate to console you. Pope reaches you first. He wraps you in his arms, gently so as not to hurt you further. You vaguely wonder why he bothers. You feel nothing but the aching pit of blackness within you that seems to grow and consume every other thought and feeling.

“It’s ok honey, let it out, we got you,” he whispers to you, holding you closer. Will is at your other side now, holding your hand, Benny beside Pope takes your other one. You feel their tears spilling onto your skin, masks dropped. They never really stood a chance against the raw, unfettered pain in the room. You surrender to your grief. You sink into Pope’s embrace and squeeze the hands that hold yours, so grateful to no longer be alone.

You think back to all the times you’d had to swallow and hide your sadness growing up, careful not to trigger your father or overburden your mother. How Frankie had to coax that side out of you, had to teach you that it was ok to be sad and vulnerable with him. That it was safe. That he was safe. That they were safe. You’d gone from having no one to having a whole family, bound not by blood but by love. And you’d never been more thankful for them.

You don’t know how long you stay like that but eventually your tears run dry. You pull out of Pope’s embrace to lean back on your pillows.

“How did you know?” you ask.

“Frankie called,” Pope tells you as Will passes him a bottle of water, “he didn’t want you to be alone.”

Of course Frankie would use his one phone call to make sure you’re ok rather than calling a lawyer. That stupid, big hearted lug. Not that there was much a lawyer would be able to do you knew. There had been plenty of witnesses. But still, your heart swells and it’s enough to momentarily break through the numbness, your love for Frankie pulling you back from the abyss.

“Here honey, drink some of this, you must be dehydrated,” Pope instructs as he brings the bottle of water to your lips. He’s put a straw in it to help you, so you don’t have to navigate the hard bottle against your swollen lips.

“I called my friend, she’s a lawyer, she’s gona head to the station and see what can be done,” Will tells you. You know it won’t be much. That bail will be expensive, more than you can afford, and a criminal record will put his military career at risk. The guilt rears its ugly head again, threatening to drown you with its voracity. Frankie is going to lose everything he’s worked so hard for on top of the already agonising loss of your baby and it’s all your fault. If only he’d fallen in love with someone else. Someone better, someone without so much baggage and a violent father.

“Thanks Will, but there’s only one way out of this that doesn’t end with him losing his job.”

They all stop and look at you. “I need to speak to my mom.”

“Honey are you sure that’s a good idea?” Pope asks you. He’s worried, you can see. He knows Frankie won’t like it.

“I’m sure Pope. Right now all I need is Frankie and she is how I get him. I don’t care about anything else, I just need him,” you tell him, once more breaking down in tears.

“Ok, ok honey, I’ll get her for you. It’s ok,” he soothes you, “you remember her phone number?”

You give him a shaky nod and dictate your parent’s phone number and address. He gives you a kiss on the crown of your head and disappears out the door.

He returns a little later with your mom. He walks behind her, shepherding her into the room like he expects her to turn tail and run. You wouldn’t be surprised if she tried, so used to existing in the safety of your fathers shadow, spewing her hatred from behind the safety of his imposing body. But now there’s no one here to hide behind. Here the tables are turned in your favour for once.

“You want us to stay with you?” Will asks, not taking his eyes off her, all 3 of them eyeballing her like she’s a piece of trash.

“No it’s ok. Just. Don’t go far?” you ask, looking at them each in turn for reassurance.

“We’ll be right outside honey,” Pope promises, “you holler if you need anything and we’ll be in in a heartbeat.”

They file out, glaring at your mother the entire time. They don’t close the door, not taking any chances of you being hurt further tonight.

She turns back to you. You don’t say anything for a minute. Give her a chance to truly see you and absorb all the visible damage to your body.

“How are you?” she eventually asks and you huff a laugh.

“Don’t pretend you care about me now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re my daughter of course I care.”

“Oh yeah, that why you stood by my whole life watching as he beat me? That why you used to tell me I deserved it?”

“You were an unruly child,” she spits at you, getting agitated now, “you needed to be disciplined, your father was just trying to get you to behave.”

“Discipline, right. Like the time he hit me so hard he knocked 3 of my teeth out because I didn’t come over the first time he called?”

She rolls her eyes at you, “they were baby teeth, don’t be so dramatic.”

“I was 7 years old and he was a full grown adult!”

“You disrespected him in front of our friends.”

You want to scream at her. You want to climb out of your bed and beat her bloody, reciting every injury inflicted against every perceived failing, the rage momentarily filling the void within you. You desperately cling to it, feed off it, praying it gives you the energy to see you through this.

“Your father and I did the best we could, there’s no manual that comes with being a parent.”

“Well I won’t be finding that out anytime soon, seeing as your husband murdered your grandchild tonight!” you bellow back at her. It hits her like a punch. Not the fact that you’ve lost your baby. The wrath behind your words. You’ve never raised your voice to her, never displayed your emotions so shamelessly in front of her.

You see Pope in the doorway and you shake your head. He steps away again but you know he is stood right outside, waiting for your instruction. It bolsters you. She will hear what you have to say, no matter how little she likes it.

“You were terrible parents. And even now that I’m an adult you can’t let me be happy. Why are you so determined to ruin my life?”

“Ruin your life? We were trying to save you from that degenerate you married. He put your father in the hospital you know, he had to have stitches.”

“Boo, fucking, hoo,” you tell her, sweeping your arm across your body, not an inch of which is not marked in some way by that assault of your father. She flinches. You know it’s at the curse coming out of your mouth rather than the repulsion of seeing what her husband did to you.

“I’m sure your father never meant for you to fall down those stairs, he was just trying to get you to see sense. Yes, that’s it. Your father is an upstanding member of the community, I’m sure the police will see that this was an accident. What that Morales man did to him was deliberate. He’s violent, I could always sense it in him. He will go to jail where he belongs and you will come home. One day you will be thankful for what your father did for you tonight.”

You laugh. Actually laugh at her, pain shoots through your ribs but you embrace it. You’re not surprised that she’s still defending that man. You are a little surprised by how delusional she is.

“What’s so funny?”

The last few chuckles trickle out of you before you sigh and tell her. “there are cameras.”

“What?”

“There are cameras in the hallway,” you see her sag as the realisation hits her. “The police will already have seen them. They’ll know what he did wasn’t an accident. If my husband deserves jail for violence, then so does yours.”

“No, no. That’s not right. Your father doesn’t belong in jail.”

“Yes he does.”

She starts rambling and pacing, “no, no, no, not right, not right.”

“Everyone is going to know. Imagine what the neighbours will say. Especially when it comes time for the trial and I have to get on the stand and recount all the abuse I lived though in that house. My medical records will back it up. Everyone is going to know exactly what kind of people you are.”

“Stop it!” she screams at you.

“There is another way,” you offer. She looks at you with hope in her eyes. “You drop the charges against Frankie and I will drop the charges against your husband.” You refuse to acknowledge him as your father any more. You’re done with them both.

She glares at you for a moment. But you have her backed into a corner and you both know it.

“Fine,” she finally relents.

“Good. One of the boys will take you to the station to get everything settled. And then that’s it. We’re done. I don’t ever want to see either of you again.”

She opens her mouth to protest but you cut her off. “I mean it. I’ll get a restraining order if I have to, and I'll make sure all your friends know about it.”

She nods, clearly seething that after all this, they’re still losing the control over you they were so desperate to keep.

Before she can say anything else the boys are filing back into the room. Pope motions for her to leave with a sweep of his arm, “after you.” She marches out of the room without so much as glancing at you. Pope turns back and winks at you, “did so good honey, I’ll be back with Frankie as soon as I can,” and follows her out.

As soon as they’re out of earshot you collapse in on yourself, descending once more into tears as Will holds you this time. The rage is gone, used up and burnt out and all that is left in the ashes is grief and pain.

At some point one of the nurses comes in and gives you more pain relief and the exhaustion finally takes over as you fall into a restless sleep.

///

It’s the beeping and whirring that you register first as you start to come back round. And then it hits you all over again, a tidal wave of despair that threatens to wash you away. But there’s a heavy pressure on your hand keeping you tethered. Your eyes flutter open and you gaze down. Frankie is sleeping, sat in a chair pulled close to your bedside, his head resting on one of his arms on the bed, his other hand gripping yours tightly. Not enough to hurt. Just firm, reassuring.

You heave a sigh of relief that he’s here. His mere presence, even unconscious as he is, is enough to settle you. Your heart swells again, that feeling pushing at the edges of your sorrow. You don’t want to wake him. You’ve put him through hell tonight the least you can do is let him sleep. But you know that the position he’s in is not good for his neck and he’ll be sore in the morning if he stays as he is.

You take a moment to really look at him. You see the evidence of the night on him. His eyes and face are puffy from the tears he’s shed and there are bruises forming in the few places your dad managed to get a retaliatory hit in. You hate seeing him like this. You’re so ashamed that you’ve put him through this. Part of you wonders if he’ll still want you once it’s all calmed down. When he realises his life would have been easier had he picked someone else. You force that feeling down. You know Frankie wouldn’t do that to you. That voice in your head is the latent remnants of your parents teachings that love had to be earned and you always fell wide of the mark, never quite good enough. Frankie had always given his love and affection freely. He’d never treated you like they had, and you knew he wouldn’t start now.

Before you can decide whether you should wake him up, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Is there anything you need?” she asks in a whisper once she’s done.

“Just some water please,” you ask.

“M’I got it,” Frankie mumbles beside you, pushing up off the bed and reaching over to your nightstand to grab a bottle of water and a straw as the nurse retreats once more.

You whimper when he lets go of your hand to get the lid off the bottle.

“I know baby, I know, just be a second,” he placates you, but instead of waiting for his hand to take yours again you reach it up to cup his face as he holds the bottle steady for you to drink from. He turns his head to kiss your palm and you stoke his cheek with your thumb.

He looks at you while you sip your water, eyes roving over your face before finding yours once more. The tears start to drip from his eyes and you break once more, like a piece of pottery, smashed and patched back together, over and over again, getting more fragile with each attempt at repair.

“I’m so, so sorry Frankie, please forgive me!” you sob, clinging to him as though he may disappear at any moment. He’s your life raft in the storm, you know that if you let go you’ll be dragged to the depths, never to be recovered.

“No, no, no baby, what are you talking about, there’s nothing to forgive,” he tells you, pulling you close and kissing your head. “It’s me who should be apologising. I should have done a better job at protecting you from him. And you shouldn’t have had to go through this alone. I hate myself for that. Please say you forgive me, please!”

You shake your head at his words and pull away enough that you can see his face. You gently cup it with both your hands and make him look at you. He wears his grief all over his face, his emotions out in the open for all to see. You love him for that. For not making you feel like you need to swallow it, for standing with you and validating your heartache.

“There’s nothing to forgive for you either. There was no way you could have known this would happen. The only one to blame is him and I’m glad he got a taste of his own medicine tonight.” You lean in and give him a gentle kiss before wrapping your arms around him and burying your head in his neck.

“I love you so much Frankie.”

“I love you too.”

You stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other’s arms and each other’s sadness, weeping on to each other’s shoulders until he feels you start to shift to find relief from your aching body. He lies you back onto your pillows and sits back in his chair. He holds your hand in one of his and brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His other big hand comes to rest gently just below your belly, the place that had until just a few hours ago housed your greatest joy.

The pain feels sharper with him here, more acute. The overall aching brought into focus of a singular agony now that the other distractions of the night had resolved themselves. Your baby is gone. The last time you were in this hospital was only 2 weeks ago, getting your scan. You had left excited and hopeful with a blurry picture of your perfect little miracle. That’s the only picture you would ever get. But you feel stronger with him here too. Better able to carry the burden with him to help you share the load. You feel less despondent, you feel safe. He’s brought with him the memory of light. A flicker, a momentary spark. You feel hopeful that although you are suspended in darkness now, it might not last forever. You will find your way together.

///

“You’re staring Morales,” you playfully scold your husband as he stands leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

“Can’t help it, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You say that every time,” you laugh.

He walks over and cups your face in his big hand, titling your face so he can press his lips against yours, “and I mean it, every time,” he tells you as he kisses you once more and then crouches down to press another kiss against your daughters forehead as she huffs and coos round the teat of her bottle.

He looks up at you again, drinking in your smile. He’s catalogued every one since that night. He hadn’t realised how much he loved your smile until it had disappeared. For months after that night the pair of you soldiered on, one foot in front of the other, just trying to make it through each day. Through breakdowns and nightmares and therapy sessions. Battling through the pain and the financial fallout of your hefty medical bills.

And then one day in the fall you’d been out for a little walk when a gust of wind had blown his cap clean off his head. He’d dropped your hand to chase after it only for it to blow in the opposite direction whenever he got close. When he’d turned back after a kindly stranger had taken pity on him and rescued his hat from the ground as it blew past him, there was a little smile on your face, like you had very recently just stopped laughing. And it made his heart sing. He’d rushed back to you, taken your face in both his hands (one of which was still keeping tight hold of his cap) and kissed you deep and sweet.

That smile had saved him. Nourished him and gave him the strength to go on. They came infrequently to start with, the slow return of joy and light to your lives. But any time he saw you smile he took note of what had caused it. It wasn’t always the same thing. Something that made you smile one day wouldn’t draw the same reaction the next. Over time he realised the thing that made you smile the most was him. And if that didn’t just make him drown with pride. When he said something goofy, when he sang to you, when he brought you flowers from the gas station, or picked you up a certain candy bar, just because he knew you loved them, when he told you that he loved you. He cherished every single one. He was quite content to spend the rest of his life making you smile.

And when after almost 6 years, after many conversations and baring of doubts and fears you smiled at him and told him you wanted to try for another baby, his heart was fit to burst. That was his favourite smile of all the ones you’d gifted him.

There’d been a lot of smiling over the next few months. A lot of you moaning his name too. He liked that almost as much as the smiles.

But the pregnancy had been hard. You had both been prepared for it to be. But on the more difficult days he would hold you while you wept or when you woke from nightmares, or when you just couldn’t face the day. He would squeeze you tight, tell you how well you were doing, that he would always be there for you. He’d talk directly to your belly, telling your baby how lucky they were to have a momma as strong and beautiful and kind as you. Most days he could coax at least a small smile from you. And on the days he couldn’t, he’d think back to all the ones he’d filed away in his head and remind himself that the darkness doesn’t last forever.

And then she was here. A perfect kicking, screaming bundle who brought chaos in her wake and he knew the second she was placed in his arms that he’d fight tigers with his bare hands to keep you both safe. It made him hate your father even more for what he’d done. He could never imagine hurting his baby girl the way that man hurt you. He’d kill anyone who tried. He wanted to kill him even more than he had that night. For everything he’d done to you. For everything he’d stolen from you both.

But here you are now, the three of you together. Thriving. In spite of all that man had done. In spite of all the horrors you’d survived to get here. He’ll make sure you never have to again. And your smile is all the reward he’ll ever need.

///

Translated Lyrics:

Tell me your truths, Coraline, Coraline

Coraline beautiful as the sun

Warrior with a zealous heart

Hair like red roses

Those precious copper wires, love, bring them to me

If you hear bells singing

You'll see Coraline crying

Who takes the pain of others

And then carries it inside her

Coraline, Coraline

Tell me your truths, Coraline, Coraline

But she knows the truth

It's not for everyone to go on

With a heart that's split in two halves

It's cold already

She's a child but she feels like a weight

And sooner or later it will break

And people will say, ah, "It's worth nothing"

She can't even get out of a miserable door

But one day, one time, she will succeed

And I told Coraline that she can grow

Take her things and then leave

But she feels a monster that keeps her in a cage, that

That covers her road with mines

And I told Coraline that she can grow

Take her things and then leave

But Coraline doesn't want to eat, no

Yes, Coraline would like to disappear

And Coraline cries

Coraline is anxious

Coraline wants the sea but she's afraid of the water

And maybe the sea is inside her

And every word is an axe

A cut on the back

Like a raft that sails in a river in flood

And maybe the river is inside her, of her

I'll be the fire and the cold

Shelter in the winter

I'll be what you breathe

I'll understand what's inside you

And I'll be the water to drink

The meaning of good

I'll also be a soldier

Or the light in the evening

And in return I ask for nothing

Just a smile

Every little tear of yours is an ocean on my face

And in return I ask for nothing nothing

Just a little time

I'll be a banner, a shield

Or your silver sword and

And Coraline cries

Coraline is anxious

Coraline wants the sea but she's afraid of the water

And maybe the sea is inside her

And every word is an axe

A cut on her back

Like a raft sailing in a river in flood

And maybe the river is inside her, inside her

And tell me your truths, Coraline, Coraline

Tell me your truths, Coraline, Coraline

Coraline, beautiful as the sun

She lost the fruit of her womb

She hasn't known love

But a father who is nothing like a father

They told her there's a castle in the city

With walls so powerful

That if you go and live inside

Nothing can hit you anymore

///

Tagging some people who showed interest in the WIP and who might be interested, but absolutely no pressure to read, let me know if you want to be removed.

@baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @lamartell @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @thedilfdiaries @evolnoomym

#SoundCloud #IMC2025 #frankie morales #frankie x reader #tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw child abuse #angst #happy ending #triple frontier #catfish morales #pedro pascal

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leighsartworks216 · 3 days ago

Text

Wedding Jitters

Sylus x fem!Reader

I am not big on weddings but I just love this trope so goddamn much and who better than with the big bad bossman himself

Warnings: fluff, wedding fluff, wedding, anxiety, comfort, forehead kisses, soft Sylus

Word Count: 1,127

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

You're freaking out. You try not to - take deep breaths, drink some water. Your feet carry you in an anxious circle while you play with your dress's fabric. You can't cry, can't run your fingers through your hair; the stylists spent so much time on them, you'd hate to ruin it.

You glance at the time. In half an hour, you'll be walking down the aisle and getting married to the love of your life. In front of your friends and family and the twins and- God you can't breathe.

There's a gentle knock on the door. "Sweetie? Are you alright?"

Just hearing his voice soothes most of the nerves. You can't help letting out a strained laugh as you wander over to the door. You lean your shoulder against it. Rest your temple on the wood. You wonder if he's doing the same on the other side.

"Sy, you shouldn't be here."

He chuckles softly, like it's only meant for you to hear. "Mephisto said you were pacing. I was worried."

You smile privately to yourself. Of course that bird was keeping an eye on you.

"Are you alright?" Sylus asks again.

You sigh. "I'm nervous. I knew I would be, it's just..." you trail off. You force a laugh. "I know it's silly-"

"Don't belittle your emotions, sweetheart," he chastises gently. "You have every right to be nervous."

"I know... Are you nervous?"

"... A little," he admits honestly.

"You're handling it much better than me."

He chuckles. "Not much better. The stylists got onto me for messing with my hair too much."

You laugh. "I wish I could've seen it."

"I'm sure one of the twins recorded it."

"It's not every day they see the big boss man get chastened."

You try to imagine it. Sylus pacing around like you were. Running his hands through his hair, scratching the back of his neck, fiddling with his clothes in the mirror. And then being scolded by the stylist, getting onto him for messing up their work.

A silence lulls. The peace you built in his company starts rusting over with nerves once more. You trace and pick at the wood of the door, staring blankly at the knob's brassy gleam. You're scared to look at the clock. Scared to see just how quickly time is slipping away.

"Can I come in?" Sylus asks.

"It's bad luck," you warn with a grin.

You can imagine the smile on his face as he takes hold of the knob and gently opens the door, giving you time to step away. You position yourself against the wall, blocked by the door until it's closed again. He's haloed by the sunlight pouring in from the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Silver hair warmed with golden light. White suit shining. You can't help staring. He's so beautiful.

He's staring, too. Breath caught in his chest as his eyes soak in the vision you are. It's his first time seeing the dress. You feel bashful under his attention, but you don't want to hide from it. You reach out to him, and he answers like it's second nature, placing his hand in yours and crowding you against the wall.

His voice is breathless and reverent, awestruck by you. "You're beautiful," he whispers. He lightly brushes some of your hair behind your ear, fingertips barely brushing your skin. "You're glowing."

You scoff lightly, laughter choked in your chest for all the love filling it. "You look good in white," you whisper back.

He smiles that devastating smile. The smile that makes your heart race and your soul feel light. The smile that shows the true Sylus underneath his carefully crafted facade. The smile he reserves for you and you alone.

He cups your cheek in tender hand, like you're some precious thing only he has the honor of holding. His other hand holds yours, hovering just over the skirt of your dress, like touching it could mean even more bad luck. And that easily, your anxiety is pulled from you. It drifts from your mind, from the restless motions of your hands. You feel like you can breathe again. So you wrap an arm around his waist, palm running along soft satin, and pull him closer so you can breathe him in. Breathe in the warm scent that's long soaked into your pillows and blankets and home. He ducks his head down, shutting out more of the room, of the wedding, of time. His forehead nearly touching yours, noses almost brushing.

You close your eyes. The thought of going out there, being seen by all those people, watched by friends and family, is bearable. It's a weight you can carry. So long as he's there, standing at the end of the long carpet, standing tall and smiling brightly under the altar - you can do it.

You laugh quietly, suddenly. Open eyes starting to water as you look up into his. They're starting to water, too. "If my mother knows you've snuck in here, she'll kill you before we can exchange rings."

He chuckles deeply, but he doesn't move to leave yet. You hold on tighter. His thumb strokes your cheek, careful not to mess up your makeup. A cool spring breeze brushes past the gauzy curtains in the windows. He presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

"I'll be waiting for you," he whispers, lips ghosting your hairline. "Just keep your eyes on me. I won't let you fall."

You smile. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

He steps away, almost reluctantly. Your hand slips from around his waist. His hand falls from your cheek. The last connecting thread between you is broken when your hands separate. It's only temporary, you remind yourself.

His smile turns to a devilish smirk as he puts his ear to the door, listening for footsteps or commotion, eyes still watching you. It's quiet in the hall. Still, he turns the knob slowly and peeks out through a crack, just to make sure. You have to keep from laughing; it feels like you have a secret boyfriend over and now he has to sneak back out without alerting your parents. You suppose it's not completely off the mark.

He glances at you one last time. Squeezes his huge frame out of the door and shuts it behind him with a soft click and a playful wink.

You stay pressed up against the wall a while longer. Watch the curtains swish in the breeze and breathe in the floral air. Smooth out the skirt of your dress. Listen to the starting notes of an all too familiar melody and the knock of the person set to walk you down the aisle.

You take a deep breath.

And open the door.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @moon-inthe-sea @perla-drg @leiakitty

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #fem reader #x fem reader #female reader #x female reader

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thevoidstaredback · 15 hours ago

Text

Part 3

Danny realized, just as dawn was lighting up the world around him, that he knew almost nothing about the world outside of the USA. Even Canada and Mexico were barely footnotes outside of a chapter or two throughout all of his schooling! So, he landed just as a city came into view, let himself warmup with the release of his ghostly transformation, and pulled out his phone to figure out where the hell he was.

With barely any reception, Danny found himself to be just outside Monterrey, Mexico.

"Monterrey, Mexico, the capitol city of Nuevo León, boasts a sprawling business and industrial center. Spanning 125.3 square miles (324.8 squared kilometers), the city is home to ~5,341,177 people. The city is just over 428 years old, having been founded in the 16th century. Notable places to visit, such as Palacio del Obispado (1787-88), Museo de Arte Contemporáneo (2001), Faro de Comercio (1984) are recommended visits for people new to the city."

Sometimes Google was useful.

It was early morning, but the streets were already coming to life with music and voices. Suddenly, the tiny little world Danny'd been trapped in his whole life seemed so dim.

Everything was more beautiful than he'd ever noticed before. Brighter, more colorful, more musical.

Was this what Dani saw every time she left Amity? Was this how she always saw the world? He could see the appeal.

The brand new sights and smells and sounds overwhelmed him as the sun rose higher in the sky, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. It was almost the same kind of overwhelming feeling he got when he thought about space; good and begging for him to feed it.

He walked on, passing hundreds of people all speaking a language he didn't know-

Ah. He'd better pick up on it fast. It'd be rude to demand they speak his language in their home, right?

He pulled out his phone and took a quick selfie to send to Jazz, unable to stop his grin.

"It's so colorful," he told her, "I can see why Dani likes it so much out here."

She didn't respond, but he didn't expect her to. Not for a while, at least.

He texted Dani next. The same picture, though all he said was "Monterrey, Mexico."

Dani answered before he could even put his phone back in his bag. She, too, had send a selfie captioned, "Cobán, Guatemala, bitch!"

He laughed.

There was a chuckle behind him. "Un turista, ¿no?"

He turned around, suddenly re-kicking himself for not taking Spanish in school. Putting on his most apologetic expression, he said, "I'm sorry, I don't-"

The person laughed, wiping a fake tear from their eye. "Don't worry about it," they said in heavily accented English, "You're a long way from home."

He nodded. "A bit, yeah."

"You're not from a big city, are you?" It wasn't a question.

"How'd you know?"

"Stopping in the middle of the street is a good way to get jumped in any city, mi amigo." Danny shifted into a defensive stance, wary of the stranger. They laughed again. "Don't worry about me, I won't hurt you." He didn't believe them. they stuck their hand out. "Me llamo Alejandro."

He relaxed minutely. "Danny."

"Short for Daniel?"

"Just Danny."

They backed up some, their hands up. "I get it, man. What brings you to mi hermosa ciudad?"

"My reasons are my own."

"A fugitivo, got it."

"I'm not-"

"Relax! I'm not gonna turn you in. That's too much work. Besides, I know lots 'a guys like you. Not many stay in the city, but a lot of 'em start out here."

"Really?"

"More than you'd think."

Danny hummed. Then, he had an idea. "Could you teach me Spanish?"

Alejandro raised an eyebrow. "What happened to not trusting me?"

He blushed just a little and looked away, "Well, I don't want to not be able to understand anyone while I'm here, and you seem pretty friendly."

Alejandro shook their head with a smirk. "Way too trusting. Sure, I'll teach you, come on."

Danny followed after them, weaving between people and not running into a single person. Alejandro was all skill while Danny used a bit of intangibility.

Instead of taking him somewhere they could teach and learn in peace, as Danny had expected, Alejandro lead him through the city, giving a detailed tour of everything in the way only a local who loved their city more than anything could do. They knew every part of the city, every person seemed to know them, though they didn't so much as exchange a wave. A few kids stopped them and they played basketball in a park for a while before moving on.

Eventually, the day had to come to an end. As the sun was setting over the mountains, Alejandro lead Danny to a group of houses just on the playground, a bit more rundown with use.

"It's refreshing to see someone so full of childlike wonder when I show them mi hogar for the first time," they said, "Don't ever lose that, okay? Don't let anyone ever take that away from you, okay?"

There was a desperation in their tone, hidden, but loud enough to speak volumes of something that Danny wasn't privileged to know about. "Okay."

They sighed like something heavy had been lifted off their shoulders. "Good, good." They straightened up. "Now, for your Spanish lesson. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be speaking like it's your first language!"

The gleam in their eye reminded Danny of Sam when she was gearing up to explain the current activist page she was deep-diving; of Tucker when he was explaining the newest upgrade to his PDA; of Jazz when she was psychoanalyzing everyone in sight. It made him homesick.

He promised to have the language perfected before he left this city.

Part 5

Translation 1 - Spanish: A tourist, aye? Translation 2 - Spanish: my friend. Translation 3 - Spanish: My name's Alejandro Translation 4 - Spanish: my beautiful city? Translation 5 - Spanish: runaway, Translation 6 - Spanish: my home

#Everywhere But Home #part 4 #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc universe #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp #not entirely on prompt #but close enough #original character #most of my research is surface level wiki searches #please share more stuff in the notes!#i would love to learn more about the places Danny's taking us to!#DeepL Translate is the translator i'm using for the spanish #if it's wrong please correct me in the comments #as always i'll have the translations at the end

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 10 hours ago

Text

Curse Your Name

𖤐❝Halazia❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers

✫彡wordcount: 10k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: talk of virginity and sex, kissing, drinking wine, manipulative hwa and joong take advantage of drunk reader (ONLY by drinking from her), a few mentions of death of a family member

➯a/n: wwwah im scared to let you guys down, i hope you enjoy !!

✫bleeding hearts✫@spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @kllerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango @purple-bell @peachyscenes @emilysecresy @ninjakitty15 @imeverycliche

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝I promise.❞𖤐

𖤐 It was late fall. You were twelve years old.

The water was cold between your fingers. The grass was soft as you laid on your stomach.

You were all alone.

The rest of the village was gathered together, celebrating the life of your recently departed mother.

But you did not feel like celebrating. You only felt like dunking your head in the water and screaming until you ran out of air.

When you sat up to do so, a familiar presence had stopped you before you could.

"Go away, Mingi..." You already knew it was the invisible man. You didn't have to look or ask.

The grass beside you sunk as his unperceivable form took a seat next to you.

"You're in pain. Has someone harmed you-"

"I said go aw-"

"I will do no such thing." You were shocked at his sudden stern tone. In the years that he's haunted both your dreams and your waking hours, he's always been soft spoken towards you. "I will do no such thing," he repeated a bit softer when he sensed your unease, "I will not leave your side when you are in such pain. Pray tell me, what has hurt you?"

You looked towards the water. The river where he had first came to you, that day you were learning how to fish from your mother. "I cannot speak it aloud... it's too horrible."

You felt his cold hand on your back, you felt him looking at you. You pulled your knees up and hugged them to your chest.

"Your mother?" He asked gently, getting his answer when you began to sob immediately. "Oh, sweet child," his ghostly embrace was more comforting than you felt it should have been; but you took what you could get. "I wish I was here with you. One day I will hug you and make all of your pain go away. I promise." 𖤐

"Did you hear me?" Wooyoung reaches across the gap between his horse and your and Hongjoong's, flicking your arm.

"Owwww," you draw on dramatically, "what was that for?"

You had been journeying with the Vampires for twelve days. Despite your initial efforts to distance yourself, to build a metaphorical wall between you and the trio, you started opening up to them around the eight day mark.

You no longer flinched from every touch, but you certainly didn't search them out. You didn't keep your answers to their questions to one or two words anymore, but you didn't offer them anything unprompted.

"I said we have about another three hours before we reach the castle," he repeats what you missed while you were stuck in your own memories, "do you need to stop for a little bit?"

"Oh," you shake your head, "no, I'm okay. Thank you, My Lord."

Hongjoong hums from behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Your hips must be aching by now, you are still not used to being on horseback."

"I can bare it," you sigh, fidgeting with the bandage on your hand. "My Lords, might I ask a question?"

"Didn't you just?" Yunho, from his own horse in front of you, smiles over his shoulder, "of course, speak freely amongst us."

"Well," you take a breath. You don't know if you really want the answer. Because you're afraid. But going in blind is worse. "What will happen when we arrive to the castle?"

"No need to be frightened." Yunho speaks softly — and you don't have to ask how he knows you're scared. After almost two weeks with the councilmen and their subordinates, you know they can hear your heartbeat quickening no matter how steady you try to keep it with deep breaths. "We will call upon the rest of our soulmates, if they don't greet us when we arrive."

"That's very well but..."

"But...?" Wooyoung mimics you, tilting his head.

"Will... uhm, forgive me for being so crass, My Lords, but will they drink from me like you did?" You really don't want them to. Even though you were beginning to form a sort of trust with the trio, the times they fed from you over the past days always left you feeling queasy.

It was nowhere near as bad as the first time, when you had nearly passed out from the blood loss, but it still leaves you feeling dizzy and oddly warm.

You don't want that feeling from anyone, really. It feels sinful. The warmth in your body feels like it taints your soul. At least with the three of them, you have some sort of idea what to expect. Again, you have the beginnings of trust with them. They always ask for permission after the first day in the church. And you always grant it because something deep inside of you feels... sad at the thought of denying them.

Yunho is the gentlest, but he has the biggest thirst. Perhaps he's careful with you on purpose because he knows that you'll be losing a lot of blood. After you offer up your wrist to him, he kisses your forehead before taking as little as possible — which for him is still... a fair amount.

Hongjoong falls somewhere in the middle. He prefers your neck, which you had found always makes you dizzy the fastest, and left you feeling the warmest. He likes to feed at night; he climbs on top of you when everyone besides the designated guard is asleep and the only thing you see when awakening at the feeling of his lips on your throat is his glowing eyes.

Wooyoung... well, for a lack of better words; Wooyoung is feral. He's only fed from you twice since the day in the church because he knows that he can't handle it — he knows he can't stop himself. Maybe going hand in hand with that, feeding into it, is the fact that he waits until his hands are shaking and his throat is bone dry to feed from you because he's so afraid to harm you. When he finally does ask, and you remove your cloak; he doesn't have any preference or favorite. He tackles you and holds you tightly as he feeds from you, moaning and growling all the while.

If Yunho's soft kiss of gratitude leaves you warm, if Hongjoong's preference for your neck makes you hot — Wooyoung's begging eyes and bestial noises throw a match into your very being and set you ablaze.

But it's been two days since any of them last sunk their fangs into you, and you've connected the reasoning as to why. Wooyoung said the High King has a "large appetite" and Manon was making sure you were very hydrated.

You aren't an idiot.

They're preparing you to be sucked dry.

"Not all at once, no," Hongjoong reassures you with a soft squeeze to your hip. "Since we're already more used to your scent, we will make sure they stay in line. Though..." You can tell he doesn't want to tell you this next part, but he does anyway, "I will tell you that I have never known the High King to wait for anything he wants, and he will want you immediately."

He can hear you gulp. Your heartbeat rattling your rib cage. "I will make sure he's gentle, little one. No harm will come to you. I promise."

𖤐❝It is you.❞𖤐

To say that the castle is imposing would be an understatement. You can almost feel all of the darkness wafting off of the expansive building as you grow ever closer.

When you came up the large hill it was situated upon, a bell had started ringing. You didn't have to be told that the sound was to tell others of the return of the councilmen. Others that include the High King and the rest of his council.

Hongjoong squeezes your hip gently as he hears your heartbeat speeding up.

There's a parade of servants that are lined up by the main doors, all bowing as your entourage finally arrives right in front of the castle.

"Rise." Is all that Hongjoong says, and they all snap into action; running to help the others in tending to the horses or carrying bags.

He jumps down and points to one of them, beckoning him forward. The servant bows, "thank Th-"

"No time for formalities. Yes, 'thank The Goddess, My Lords have returned safely', blah blah blah. Listen closely. Gather the others. Gather the King. Tell them we have found her."

Hongjoong watches the boys eyes widen, and follows his gaze. Wooyoung is helping you down, holding you upright as you stumble.

The Lieutenant looks back to the boy, "did I say stare at her?"

"Apologies, Lord Kim-"

"No. I didn't. Hurry now, they have waited long enough."

The boy disappears before his eyes, nothing but a blur as he hurries to inform the rest of the royals.

"I told you we should have stopped," he hears Yunho chastise you as he approaches, grabbing the bag of your possessions. They made it painfully clear when someone else tried to carry your things at an early stop in a city — don't do that.

"I'm fine, really, Lord Jeong," your rebuttal is dulled by the way you cling to Wooyoung for support.

"Mhm," Hongjoong manages to make his hum the most sarcastic noise on the face of the planet, and smirks as you throw a measly glare his way.

"You should have a warm bath to soothe your hips-"

"They're ready for you, My Lords," the boy Hongjoong had sent was already back, panting as he bows.

"You're fast," Hongjoong smiles, patting his shoulder as he passes, "good job, kid."

As Wooyoung helps you towards the open doors, the now smiling boy bows once again. When you bow back weakly; the healer yanks you back up. Before you have the chance to question him, the sounds of the castle overwhelm you.

It's bustling with life, or rather with undeath, at the return of the councilmen and the quick spreading information that they have come back with their soulmate.

People are running around, bowing and reuniting and talking amongst themselves. While you feel a lot of eyes on you, wherever you look the person is always quickly looking down and bending at their waist as you pass with Wooyoung on one side of you and Yunho on the other.

You try to take in everything going on around you, you glance at all of the grandeur with awe in your eyes that makes the Vampires smile. They know you've never left your village before they arrived and effectively stole you away; and they've taken great pleasure in showing you all kinds of things at every opportunity, every city that you passed through.

"-had better be important." Someone's sleepy grumble breaks your inspection of the walls and their decorations as Hongjoong throws open a door.

"Family!" He smiles brightly, earning another groan.

"How can you possibly be so energetic after such a journey?"

Wooyoung helps you up the small step into the room, and the idle chatter stops. When Yunho closes the door to the room behind you, it cuts off the lively noise of the castle.

The room must be a meeting area. Almost all of the space is taken up by an enormous table, nine chairs around it.

"Dear Goddess..." Your eyes flick to the man who spoke. He has hair that matches Yunho, a light blue. He feels... familiar. He's looking at you like he's looking past your skin, into your soul.

Because he is.

He barely even registers that you've grown up, that you look almost entirely different. Because your soul looks exactly the same even as the years have worn down the edges of it. "(Y/n)?"

The others look between you.

You hold onto Wooyoung's sleeve as your gut fills with unease, not enjoying their eyes on you one bit.

"This is her." Hongjoong pulls back a chair and sits back with a wide smirk. "This is our soulmate."

The room explodes with action.

You're yanked from Wooyoung's side, into the arms of a buff man. "I knew it! I knew we would find you! Oh, you're so soft," he's nearly purring in your ear, holding you tightly as your feet hover above the ground.

Two of them are asking a million questions at once, directed towards you and towards the trio that is responsible for finding you.

The familiar man slaps his hands together and starts praying, thanking The Goddess in jumbled and hurried words.

At the head of the table, the Vampire with pink hair lets his jaw drop. "...What?"

The chaos continues, questions flying and making your head hurt even though you don't even try to answer them.

"Quiet!" The pink haired man bellows, and everyone stills effectively immediately. The man with his arms around you tightens his grip.

You've already made a guess, and it's proven right. This is the High King. You don't dare look at him after all of the rumors you've heard. It was frightening enough when some of the ones you've heard about the Lieutenant were proven right.

Those about Lord Kim were almost harmless. Those about High King Park Seonghwa are anything but.

"Let the girl down," he orders, and the man does so carefully. Yunho is there to steady you, leading your cowering form to the only empty seat beside his own.

Across the table from Seonghwa, at the other end of the giant table. The distance doesn't provide much comfort when you know just how fast they can move.

As you sit, Wooyoung speaks with a grin, "isn't she precious?" Hongjoong swears that there's stars in the younger man's eyes, and he can't blame him at all.

"Your name is (Y/n)?" Seonghwa ignores his words, looking at you closely and listening to your racing heartbeat.

"Yes, My King." You whisper, digging your nails into the wooden armrests. You had imagined a thousand different ways this would go if the High King didn't approve of having you as a soulmate. It didn't matter how attached his loyal councilmen were to you if he didn't want you around.

"It's her. It's her, I have no doubt-" Mingi's voice is cut off by the rushing wind as Seonghwa all but teleports to the other side of the table.

You yelp as his face is suddenly in the crook of your neck. He sniffs deeply, and grabs onto the armrests next to your hands. You slam your eyes shut, forcing yourself to tilt your head back in submission. He lets out a pleased groan, inching closer.

The rest watch on, the trio who's already experienced it sharing a smirk as they watch the eldest Vampires skin come in contact with yours.

The tip of his nose touches your neck and his lips widen in a cheshire grin. A million sparks travel through your body from the contact point. "It is you."

He leans back, licking his lips. They can all tell he wants to have a taste. The glint in his eyes is undeniable.

But, much to their surprise, he doesn't. He's holding back. He never holds back.

He's back in his seat, breathing deeply and swallowing before he speaks. "Might you explain what happened, Hongjoong?"

As he does, you take a sneaking glance at each of the council. Every time, you're caught — but it doesn't stop you. Especially because they meet your gaze with bright smiles. The only one you don't look at is Seonghwa.

"You've already been feeding on her?" Yeosang, you've learned, has a small pout as Wooyoung lets slip a comment about how good you taste; and the other two agree with breakneck speed.

"Have you no self control?" San, ironically the one who grabbed you, slaps Wooyoung's arm.

"No, no," Hongjoong shakes his hands, "the myths are true. A soulmates blood is... it's a drug. She's a drug. None of you would be able to resist either."

Seonghwa tuts his tongue, "I find that hard to believe." No, he doesn't. Even just smelling your blood through your skin had his fingers itching to grab you and never let go.

He looks to you. You don't meet his gaze even though he knows you can feel it. "Did they hurt you in their haste?"

"No, My King."

Yunho holds back a chuckle at your formality with the man. You were like that with him not too long ago.

"I don't believe it, either. No body can make a Vampire lose control by their smell alone. Especially not any of us," Jongho takes a deep inhalation, trying to get a whiff.

Mingi hasn't taken his eyes off of you the entire time. He's afraid that if he even blinks that he will wake up from this dream.

"She can." Wooyoung stands quickly, turning and rummaging in a drawer. "Here." He's next to you, a needle in between his fingers.

You take it slowly, looking up at him with your brows pinched together in confusion. Then, it dawns on you. "Lord Jung, no-"

"Yes. Prove to them that The Goddess has crafted you just for us. Even the blood that pumps from your heart is created with our souls in mind."

You look to Hongjoong. He promised no harm would come to you, and this seemed like a surefire way to get yourself bitten. But he nods.

You feel like you've never been so exposed in your life.

There's eight pairs of eyes on you, each of which belonging to a Vampire more frightening than the last one you look at.

As you scan the royals slowly, your hand starts trembling. "Do- do I have to, My Lords?"

"Yes," Yunho meets your gaze as you come back to him quickly after taking a peek at the High King. "It's okay ba." He's taken up your dialect in your two weeks together. It makes you slightly less nervous. "We won't let them get out of control."

You take a deep breath and look down at your hands. You pinch the needle tighter and bite your tongue as you prick your finger.

You know realistically that this is a horrid idea. But you seem to trust the three men enough to purposely make yourself bleed in a room full of bloodthirsty strangers.

The reaction is instant and intense, just as it was in the church. San is held back from literally climbing over the table by his belt. Yeosang is sucking in shaking breaths through his mouth, forcing himself to look away. Jongho, the youngest, is slammed back into his chair as he growls and fights against the Lieutenant. Mingi slaps a hand over his mouth, but his eyes still never leave you even as they morph into a crimson color that shows his desires. Wooyoung is smirking as he holds back Seonghwa by his shoulders.

"Please, please," Jongho pleads, meeting your shock widened eyes.

Is he... pleading with you?

"Just a lick," he pants, his red eyes filled with hunger and primal want, "just one?"

"We told you," Hongjoong giggles at the youngests pout, "she's nearly irresistible. Yunho," he nods to the taller man; and he gets the message.

"No!" San whines, a legitimate sorrow in his voice as Yunho leans over and licks the blood from the tip of your finger. He groans as he falls back into his chair defeated, Seonghwa and Jongho following suit.

The lot of them are breathing heavily, purposely to get the remaining scent of your blood or unintentionally from the ton of bloodlust they were just smacked with that was unlike anything they've ever experienced.

You cower in the chair, gulping past the lump in your throat. You were certain that something would go horribly wrong, but the trio held true to their promises to keep you fairly safe.

"I-" The King stutters, gripping the edge of the table with a vengeance. "I should... we should..."

"Take your time, Hwa," Hongjoong chuckles, reaching over and rubbing your arm gently —

"Welcome home, little one."

𖤐❝She is delicate compared to us.❞𖤐

Seonghwa sits back on his throne slowly, grabbing the sides with trembling hands. He's deeply regretting not sinking his teeth into you, but he knows that this is a... delicate situation.

When he had found the rest of his soulmates, they were already turned. And while their blood tasted good, it wasn't nearly as tempting as whatever divine curse you are.

He's been waiting since the day he was born to finally be complete. Now he has all eight of his soulmates under the same roof and he let you be lead away to rest — to rest! He should be worshipping you right now!

"Ymanya!" He yells loudly, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

"Yes, My King?" The elderly looking woman bows as she quickly runs to the throne.

"I have a new job for you."

"A job, King?"

"Yes, a promotion. You are no longer the manager of the staff," he leans back and crosses his legs as he looks down at her. "This job is much more important, so I need you to listen closely, yes?"

"Of course."

"You will be the keeper of the Lady of Halazia."

"The Lady?! You finally found her?" She clasps her hands together, tilting her head back in a short prayer.

"Indeed, and she is a human," he thinks back to you, your image is haunting him, "she... she is delicate compared to us. I am placing her under your care. If harm is to befall her in any way when we are not present — any manner at all, I will hold you personally responsible. If she trips and falls, I will push you down the stairs. If she gets a cold, I will make you sleep outside. Should she go hungry, you will not even see a drop of blood for weeks. Do you understand where I am going with this?"

"Yes, My King," she nods, "you needn't worry. I will take the utmost care of the Lady."

"Good. You are my most capable servant, have I told you that before?" He half-smiles, watching her return the favor.

"Many times, King."

"Make sure that it keeps true. We have waited a long time for her, make her feel welcome. Have Gele accompany you, as well. She is good with humans."

When she bows and turns to leave, he calls out before she can —

"One more thing, Ymanya."

"Yes, My King?"

"Report back to me with what you learn about her. I want to know everything about our Lady."

𖤐❝Why else would The Goddess give you such a fate?❞𖤐

Clang!

"Gele, be careful."

You stir at the sound of footsteps around you; groaning as you nuzzle deeper into the pillow.

"Shh, don't wake the Lady." The soft voice whispers, "Lord Jeong will have our heads."

You sit up quickly as you realize where you are.

The chambers they provided you with are bigger than your entire home back in Caethnor.

After being led to them by a servant, who was (very threateningly) told to treat you with the utmost respect, you were left alone for a while.

You did not mind one single bit. It was the first time you had been alone for more than fifteen minutes in days.

You had sat down on edge the large bed and hummed. It was... very comfortable. Just to feel it, you thought as you laid back — and then you were promptly asleep.

By the look of the sun casting the startled strangers in the golden hour light, that had to have been a few hours ago.

The two women jump back, one of them clutching an empty bucket to her chest tightly, "ah!"

"What are you doing?" You scramble to your knife, gripping the handle when the older looking woman speaks.

"Oh, My Lady please! Please, don't fret! Lord Jeong sent us to fill you a bath," she explains quickly, raising her hands to show you that she means no harm.

You eye them frantically, the bucket and the fact that they seem dressed like the other servants you had seen corroborate with her words. You let go of the dagger on your boot and bow to them, "sorry, you startled me."

When you come back up, they look completely in shock. "...Is something the matter?"

"My Lady, you needn't bow to us," the younger girl with red hair shakes her head, "you are our superior."

You rub your eye as you slide to the edge of the bed, "what?" You must still be foggy with sleep.

"Oh, Gele," the older woman turns to the redhead, "she was a common villager, she does not know these things! My apologies," she turns back to you, smiling sweetly, "this all must be very drastically different for you."

"Uhm," you clear your throat. It's the first time someone has acknowledged that. "I suppose it is."

"Here, come with me, child," she approaches slowly and waits for you to grasp her hand. "My name is Ymanya, this here is Gele." She explains softly as you take her wrinkled hand, standing to follow her. "We will be your maids."

"I do not think I will need any maids..."

"Then our jobs should be easy," Gele giggles lightly as she sets the bucket down, testing the temperature of the water in the tub that they had managed to fill without waking you.

It was only separated from the rest of the chamber by a folding screen, and you almost wonder how they managed such a task before you remember how little sleep you had gotten on the journey.

"Forgive my bluntness," Ymanya hums before going on, "but the Lords have hand picked us to care for you, and we must do our very best to please them. They have told us they will have nothing but perfection when it comes to your wellbeing." She can sense your hesitation about having someone doing things for you, and she places a hand on your shoulder, "you can think of us as your assistants. We are here to make your life easier, My Lady."

You can't think of anything that you can't do on your own — but you know that it's probably a useless task to argue with the council. "Must you call me that if we will be so close?"

"What else would we call you?" Gele asks as she settles on the stool in the area.

"My name, I would think," you laugh a bit, watching Ymanya reach into a cabinet and retrieve a towel.

"The Lords have told us to only refer-"

"Well, what they don't know won't kill them." You sigh, "please, when it is just us; don't use that ridiculous title. I'm not a Lady."

It's their turn to be hesitant, thinking over whether or not this is a test. "You are," Ymanya nods, "you are The Lady of Halazia now. You're fated to the most powerful men in the realm, we should address you with respect."

You shake your head, having a hard time grasping the concept. You are no Lady, you're just a nun from Caethnor. "Respect should be earned-"

"My Lady (Y/n)," Gele perks up, gesturing towards you, "that might please both you and our Lords. Is that okay?"

"I... well, I suppose that's better." You give her a smile, "I am okay with that. Should the Lords have a problem with it, I will try to tell them such."

You jump when Ymanya's hand comes in contact with the back of your dress. "Actually!" You turn around quickly, "this is one task I would much rather do on my own." You ramble out quickly, shaking your head.

"Of course, Lady (Y/n)," the grey haired woman smiles apologetically, bowing as she ushers the younger girl out, "but I bid you not tell the Lords. We promised Lord Jeong that we would help you. But, I know that it would probably be most uncomfortable for you."

"It would," you gulp, making the woman chuckle. You're so tremendously different from her Lords. You were born a commoner but you were fated for royalty... it might be nice to have someone like you in the castle. "I will not tell if you don't."

"A deal, then." She steps forward again and takes your hands, looking at you sincerely, "I hope to help you adjust to life here, Lady (Y/n). I know it is all a lot of change... but you seem like a strong girl. Why else would The Goddess give you such a fate?"

"Thank you, Ymanya," you squeeze her hands gently. She has an aura of nurture around her, you don't even care that her hands are freezing cold. She's a warm person.

"We have all waited a long time for you," she looks down, squeezing your hands back, "I am glad to have you join us, My Lady (Y/n)."

𖤐❝I should educate you quickly.❞𖤐

"Lady (Y/n)?" Gele knocks on the wall next to the screen divider, hovering just outside of it.

"Yes?" You hum from the water. You should thank them for working so fast to get the hot water in the tub, it feels wonderful on your sore muscles. It's a pleasant feeling to truly wash yourself, not just clean up in whatever body of water you could find.

"The Lords Choi have requested your presence in the dining hall after you are finished, should I tell them you accept?"

"Uhm..." You sit up in the water, pushing back your hair, "which ones is that, Gele?"

"The Lords? The Choi brothers, San and Jongho."

They were both having to be held back, if you recall correctly — and you do. You aren't entirely sure if you want to be alone with them-

"My Lady, if I may..."

"Yes, what it is?"

"Lord Kim will also be in attendance, if that eases your anxieties. I know you traveled with him."

It peeves you that it does, in fact, ease some of your worries. With a sigh of trepidation, you go against your want to just crawl back into the bed and tell her, "yes, tell them I will join them, please."

"Right away, Lady (Y/n)."

You hear the click-clack of her shoes and the soft closing of the door, waiting for it to clunk into place before you stand and carefully pull yourself out of the tub.

This place compared to everything you've ever known is like comparing night and day.

You've never known anything besides your little home, and here you are in chambers big enough to put your house inside of; with people calling you 'Lady' and luxuries that you didn't even think of when you thought of how royals might live.

As you dry yourself with the ridiculously soft fabric, you hear the door open again. Ymanya's voice follows, "yes, place them just over there on the bed. The Lady will go through them."

"Shall I take her measureme-"

"Not tonight, she has had rough travels. We will-"

"Ymanya?" You call softly, wrapping the fabric around you tightly at the sound of an unfamiliar man's voice.

"Yes, My Lady?" She responds quickly, shooing the man out of the room and closing the door behind him.

"Who was that?"

"The royal tailor, he has brought some gowns for you. Might I help you get dressed?" She stops just outside of the divider, remembering that you aren't just any Lady or Lord she's served. You aren't used to having people wait on you.

"Gowns? What about my clothes, where are they?" You peek your head out the side of the screen, jumping back when you come face to face with the elderly woman.

"Apologies," she bows a bit as she backs up, "they are being cleaned. And the Lords have had these dresses prepared for a long time, it would greatly please them if you wore one." She looks at you in a way that tells you it's probably a smart idea to start pleasing them; eyes flicking between you and the pile of clothing. "Would you like me to help you pick one?"

Begrudgingly, you step out from behind the privacy barrier and hold the fabric around you tightly. "I suppose so."

She goes through them as she hangs them up in the large wooden closet in the room. They all look like they'll fit you, maybe a few adjustments needed to be perfect — but that isn't what makes you hesitate to pick.

What gives you pause, is the fact that they are all so clearly made for a proper Lady. Supported bodices and flared sleeves and frills and lace corsets in the backs of most of them. Even the basic white shift and stockings you now had on were made of what feels like heaven against your skin.

"Please, My Lady," she sighs, "I know that you probably have never worn such gowns, but I fear the Lords will grow impatient."

You trill your lips as you look over them again. You certainly don't want to make them wait even longer, so you force yourself to choose. "This one."

You can't lie and say it isn't beautiful, because it is. The deep purple fabric has swirling flowers embroidered on the skirt, and the black bodice is meant to be tightened with the matching ribbon that weaves in the back of the torso. But it's meant to be worn by royalty, and you feel far from worthy.

She helps you slip the fabric over your head and smoothes out the skirt with a small smile, "have you ever had your hair done, Lady (Y/n)?" She asks as she comes behind you and begins tightening the built in corset.

"Not since I was a child, no..."

"Allow me to do it, come," she leads you quickly to the short chair by the vanity and sits you down. "A Lady should always have her hair done, that is one thing I must insist on." She jokes lightly, carefully combing through your hair.

"Only because you insist." And only because it reminds you of a simpler time, when your mother would sit you in her lap and put intricate traditional braids in your hair. "May I ask you a question, Ymanya?"

"Of course, My Lady. I will answer any questions you have."

"Is there any traditions in Halazia that I should be aware of? I didn't have the best education on those kinds of things."

"Oh, there is many. Too many to tell you them all now, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can ask the Lords to provide you a tutor — if you want, of course."

You hum in response, fingers tracing the frill of lace on your sleeve. "Well, any that I should know tonight?"

She thinks for a moment, her hands pausing as something comes to mind. "Well... perhaps one that I should warn you of."

"Warn?" You look up to her, eyebrows raised.

"It's not so much of a tradition as it is... as it is just something that happens. Just something the K-" The smell of your fear is growing as she speaks, and she figures she should stop lest the King have her head if he smells it as well. But you look so pure and... you remind her of someone. She wants you to have a fighting chance; not be smacked in the face with what the night has in store for you. "I'm sorry, My Lady, might I ask you somewhat of an improper question?"

"Improper how...?"

"Lady, forgive me, but are you a virgin?"

"What?!" You squeal, eyes widened at such a sudden and personal question. "I- What kind-"

"Lady (Y/n), please answer the question."

You turn back around in the chair quickly. "I... I am."

That changes just about everything. She needs to tell them, and fast. "Do you know... do you know how those things happen?"

"Ymanya, please! This is much too scandalous to speak so freely of..."

She sighs, going back to fixing your hair as she speaks, "in your village, perhaps. But in Halazia, we speak rather plainly about sex. The Lords are often seen kissing and," she clears her throat, "kissing among other things around the castle. It is not taboo here."

"Why are you telling me this?" You ask shortly. You want this conversation to be over. Because you had just imagined Wooyoung and Yunho kissing each other, and it gave you the same heat in your body that you felt after they drank from you. You need to pray after conjuring such a sinful scene.

"I would like to warn you, because I can tell you are pure of soul and of body... the Lords do not only have a strong craving for blood."

You hesitate to ask, but you feel you must.

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning; perhaps if you do not know what to expect, I should educate you quickly."

𖤐❝What else am I to do when your heart smells so fearful?❞𖤐

Your heart is pounding wildly, despite the fact that you have now been sitting down for a few minutes.

The large dining hall was empty, and that somehow made the situation worse. Now you had to sit in silence as you thought over everything that Ymanya told you as she finished your hair and led you to the room.

Wooyoung conveniently left out the fact that the Kings large appetite was not limited to blood when you spoke all those nights ago. Ymanya filled in that missing information with the fact that he had ravaged each of his soulmates the night he found them, and their sounds traveled through the whole castle.

And she was regretful to tell you that she expected no different in his treatment of you. She did, however, tell you that she would try to speak with the King and get him to be gentle. She had been serving the castle since before he was crowned, you had learned along with the barrage of information. He trusted her word and took her advice on things to do with staff and care of the estate.

"Your heart is about to beat out of your chest." Hongjoong's voice spooks you into jumping up from the chair. He's entered along with San and Jongho... and Seonghwa. If the King is here, Ymanya hasn't gotten to speak to him.

If it wasn't before, it certainly is now.

"Hey, what's the matter with you, little one?" He asks softly as he joins your side, carefully lowering you back into the seat. "Has something happened?"

"Uh," you shake your head, trembling, "no. No, My Lord, my apologies. I don't mean to worry you."

"What else am I to do when your heart smells so fearful?"

"Are you frightened of us?" San asks quietly as he takes a seat across from you. "Because you needn't be."

"I'm sorry, My Lords, I am just anxious..."

"Hmm," Hongjoong pouts as he eyes you, "what for? Didn't I say I would take care of you?"

"Yes, Lord, but-"

"Then don't fret." He leans and pulls you forward gently, kissing your forehead. "You have no reason to be anxious. Let's enjoy a meal with our soulmates."

𖤐❝I promise myself to you.❞𖤐

You had blissfully forgotten all of your worries as you spoke with the men, as you ate together.

You had forgotten most of your fear of the man with pink hair who sat at the head of the table. He's still undeniably intimidating, even as he watches you and the brothers exchange stories with a small smile.

You had, that is, until the sound of hurried footsteps and a voice rang out. "High King!"

Ymanya is bowing repeatedly as she hurries into the room, and seeing her suddenly reminds you why you were freaking out when you sat down.

He doesn't even look away from you as he addresses her. "Is this important, Ymanya?"

"Yes, My King. It is most urgent. I deeply apologize for disturbing you, but I have-"

He looks towards her with a glare, and she stops her rambling. "Then, what is so important that you must barge in here?"

"I'm sorry, My King. Might I speak with you in the-"

"Speak here."

All of your eyes are on her now, and she meets your gaze. Yours isn't annoyed or curious like theirs. Yours is wide and nervous. You shake your head quickly.

Having your maid tell one man that you were a virgin so that he didn't hurt you was one thing. Having her speak it in front of four of them would make you want to disappear from embarrassment.

"Out with it, Ymanya."

"Don't," you manage to squeak as she opens your mouth. "Ymanya, don't."

She looks between the two of you. His gaze demanding and dark, yours scared and embarrassed.

San tilts his head as he leans forward, "Ymanya, you know better than to keep secrets from us."

"O-of course, my Lord, I-"

"Ymanya, please!" You grab Hongjoong's arm as you stand, gripping his sleeve as you look to him, "tell her to stop, Lord Kim. I beg."

"Enough of this!" Seonghwa shouts; slamming his hands on the table, sending you flying into Hongjoongs lap to cower. "Enough. There will be no more of this. If Ymanya knows something important enough to interrupt us, I will know what."

Hongjoong wraps his arms around your trembling figure, "Seonghwa, you are frightening her." He whispers in the tense silence.

"Perhaps you should just speak, Ymanya," Jongho says slowly, placing a hand on Seonghwa's shoulder to ground him.

"I-" She bows deeply, "I'm very sorry My Lady (Y/n). I must tell him. I do not wish for you to be harmed. Your embarrassment will pass."

"Why would I harm her?" He snarls, approaching her slowly. He towers over her, glaring down.

"My King," she looks away from you and towards the floor. "The Lady is a virgin. I bid you, please do be gentle with her... I know how you are with your soulmates, My King. I only wish for her soul to remain unharmed — for you not to taint your relationship. This is why I tell you."

It's silence for a long moment. Sill. Everyone unmoving. Your ears are ringing and hot as you feel the brothers looking at you.

"You may leave." Seonghwa says, his voice tense as he makes his way back to his seat. "Thank you, Ymanya."

"Of course, My King. Apologies for interrupting you, My Lords." She pauses at you, you look like you want to bolt; but Hongjoongs arms around you stop you from doing so. "Forgive me, My Lady."

"Leave now," Hongjoong nods to the doorway, pulling you closer to his chest.

Her footsteps hurry away just as fast as they came.

Silence. Stillness. The air charged with tension.

"Is this true?" Seonghwa speaks up, eyes back on you and unmoving once more. "You are a virgin?"

You nod, just barely.

"Speak, girl."

"Seonghwa, she's embarrassed, leave her be-" Jongho is cut off your yelp as you're suddenly pulled from Hongjoong's lap.

The King has you pressed to the wall by your shoulders, holding you against it as he looks into your very soul; his eyes red. "Speak."

"Yes." You whimper, looking away quickly.

"How is that possible?"

"Because she hasn't had sex yet, dumbass," Hongjoong joins his side, looking down at you with a small smirk.

"But you're so beautiful." He whispers, his eyebrows pushed together as he inspects you. "How did nobody take you yet?"

"It... it is not done in my village, My King. We wait for our soulmates..."

He bites his lip, taking a few deep breaths.

"Not at all?" San asks as he and Jongho join the elder Vampires in crowding you.

"Not even hand stuff?" Jongho looks, arguably, a little too eager — his previous ideal of letting you have space is gone.

"H-hand stuff?" You gulp, flinching when Seonghwa all but falls onto you. His head on your shoulder and his body pressed against you as he lets out a groan.

"You've never..." Hongjoong trails off, moving his head side to side as he thinks of the words, "touched anyone? A cock? A pussy, maybe?"

"Lord Kim!" You gasp, scandalized, "don't say such things! Of course I haven't touched-" You clear your throat, fidgeting against Seonghwa's weight. "No, I haven't. What is the great big deal? I'm already embarrassed, you needn't tease me."

"Oh, this isn't even close to teasing," San smirks, leaning against the wall next to you. "Wait until Wooyoung finds out, that will be teasing."

"You're going to tell everyone?" You pout, already knowing that, if they're making a big deal of this, the others certainly will as well.

"We have to, little one. Otherwise they might jump your bones before we can do the ceremony."

"Ceremony? What ceremony? I don't want to-"

"You must," Seonghwa growls from your neck, startling you, "we must. When a Vampire takes a virgin, it is different. It is not just simply sex. Because the veil of our souls is thinner, our souls will touch when I... when..." He pants, his hands grabbing your hips. "Oh, Goddess, give me strength..."

"We will wait until you are ready," Jongho quickly soothes any fear of being forced into a literal soul shaking ceremony, "otherwise, the bond between your souls will be tainted. And — we don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

That's a little bit of hypocrisy when you're still pinned to the wall.

"It's that powerful?" You ask with wide eyes, fiddling with your sleeves. Talk about pressure. You had a friend who told you losing your virginity was scary, and your fear has been multiplied.

"Indeed, it is," Hongjoong reaches and strokes the back of Seonghwa's head from where it's still buried in your neck. "It's the greatest honor for a Vampire to take someone's virginity. That's why people always sacrifice virgins to us, but really we never care. We don't touch them, it's too intimate."

"Please," Seonghwa whispers mumbled, his lips electrifying your skin, "promise yourself to me. I can make you feel so good when the day comes. I can show you pleasure that you never even dreamt of."

Hongjoong and San share a smirk as they hear your heartbeat thudding faster and faster and faster.

None of them were able to resist Seonghwa when they first came to the castle. Wooyoung was the fastest to cave; he let the older Vampire take him on the stairs, he was so fired up. Yeosang held out the longest, he was the shyest, but still he only held out a measly month and a half.

Nobody can resist Seonghwa.

Not even you. It's a mix of anticipation and fear which makes you speak —

"I promise myself to you."

𖤐❝It aches in my bones.❞𖤐

"This place truly never ends, does it?"

You follow Gele the next morning, taking in every little detail as she slowly shows you around.

"It is... expansive," she giggles, opening up yet another door that leads to yet another never ending hall. "This is the- oh, Lord Song." She bows quickly, drawing your attention towards the man.

"My Lord." You bow as well, greeting the blue haired man.

"Ah, what good timing! I was on my way to your chambers," he smiles at you as you rise, his eyes bright in the morning sun that filters through the large windows.

"Really? What for, Lord?"

"I feel as if we have much to discuss. Gele, if you'll leave us." The woman pauses, taking a look towards you. When he clears his throat, she's quick to disappear.

"Come," he takes your hand and leads you back the way you came. The tingles make your fingers twitch, but you don't let go. "How are you finding your way so far, (Y/n)?"

"Good, I suppose. Thank you, My Lor-"

"You needn't be so formal with me. We know each other!" He throws another smile your way. "Wooyoung told me that you remember me. I'm glad."

"Oh, yes," you nod lightly, "I remember... some. Mostly from my early teenage years."

"I have always been there," he admits quickly as you enter the hall in which your chambers reside, "I tried to check on you at least once a day, even if I didn't show myself."

"Seriously?" You ask jaw-dropped as he opens the door.

"Indeed. How do you find your chambers?"

His quick change of subject catches you off guard, "uhm... good! Very good, My Lor-"

"Mingi." He corrects you quickly, hesitating to let go of your hand.

He looks around the room as if to inspect it. "I haven't been here in some years... not since I lost contact with you. I couldn't bare it."

"Has this-" You hesitate, watching him closely as he takes a seat on the vanity stool.

"Oh, go ahead! I'm sure you have many questions, and I will give you many answers."

You lower yourself onto the end of the bed, looking around the large chambers. "Has this room always been for me?"

"For a very long time." He nods, somewhat of a nostalgic look overcoming him. "After the first time you heard me, we had it renovated. We were sure that you could be joining us any day. We had no idea we would have to wait so long."

"Oh..." You nod, not knowing exactly what to say to him. You feel a bit guilty for whatever reason.

"I used to come here everyday and pray that The Goddess would keep you safe. But, after I could no longer find you, I must admit... I lost my faith for a while."

"Might I ask," you start softly, "how did you manage to lose me? Lord Jung told me that you were veil walking, and I'm afraid I don't know much about that, but... it seems odd for it to just stop."

"Oh, well, I am no walker. I'm just a seer, The Goddess blesses me with visions. After you were born, I felt it — well, we all felt it but I felt it. I felt your soul come into creation. And I begged The Goddess to show you to me, but... all I ever got was blurry images. I learned how to veil walk so that I could find you. Yunho tried, but his soul isn't strong enough for such powers."

You listen to him closely as he continues. "Veil walking is always easier when you are presenting to a child. Their souls are more- more uhm... susceptible. I thought it would be different for us, because we're soulmates. But I think I lost you when you reached womanhood."

You think back to the time. It was around your first blood that he no longer appeared to you. "Oh, yes. That must have been it. I was no longer a child..."

"Must have been." He hums, tilting his head, "why do you ask? Seems an odd thing to be curious about with so much more going on."

Why did you ask? You wonder to yourself for a moment before it suddenly dawns on you. "I do believe I missed you."

His eyes widen ever so slightly, his heart starts beating a little faster. "You did?"

"It's odd but-" you swallow, looking away, "you came to be a sort of comfort to me. Especially after my mother passed. I felt terribly alone... but you were always there. I could feel you even when you didn't speak. I started to think you were my guardian angel."

There's a pause between you, and you look up to see tears forming in his eyes. "Did I say some-"

"Might I give you that hug now?" His eyes are begging. His entire being wants to embrace you. To hold your body and not just hover over your soul like he was forced to do as he watched you grow up.

"Yes." You say before you can think.

"I have missed you, too." He tackles you onto the bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly and your arms quickly giving him the same treatment; albeit weaker.

"My soul craves you in a way that aches. It aches in my bones. When I could no longer see you, I was a mess — I could not sleep, I would not eat, I-" You lean your head onto his shoulder and he sighs softly, holding you closer.

It feels so... right. Like you were made to embrace one another.

"I am happy to see you again, Mingi."

𖤐❝You can handle one more glass, can't you?❞𖤐

"Are you not eating, My King?" You ask as you note his lack of a plate. The others are all eating along side you.

"Not yet," he grins lightly, standing to pour you some more wine. You've already had three glasses.

"Oh, My King, I don't usually drink so much-"

"Well, this is a celebration, isn't it?" He hums while filling your cup, "our first meal together as a completed soul. It's an occasion to drink." He sits back down, holding his cup to yours, "cheers."

You take a breath as you clink your glass to his, "cheers." If they keep up this pace of refilling your wine every time you take a sip, you'll have to be carried back to your chambers. You would already have to be shown the way, no chance you could find your way back through all the twists and turns while your head was so light.

So light, in fact, that you fail to notice that the King doesn't even drink from his glass. You fail to notice his ever present gaze on you.

He said he would wait for you to be ready for intimacy — he said no such thing about waiting to feed on you. He's a patient man, yes. But also one with an insatiable hunger.

He has to have at least a sip of blood a day. Usually he doesn't care from who. But since he had smelled your blood, everything else tasted... off.

He doesn't indulge much in food like the others, only things he liked when he was living. But even his favorite food made him sick. His body only wants you.

"You'll have to teach me sometime," you bow to Yeosang with a slight slur in your voice, "archery is one thing I never did pick up."

"But she can fish like nobodies business!" Wooyoung chuckles, leaning his head on your shoulder; similarly inebriated. For every glass you had drunk, he drunk about three. Vampires have fast metabolism, you suppose. "She spears them with a stick! How badass is that?"

You laugh as you lean your head on his, and the sound of your joy has hearts beating all around the table. "I can teach you someday, if you like. I know something that My Lord doesn't," you giggle drunkenly.

"I would like to learn," San pipes up with a smile, "I can teach you something in return! Woodworking, forgery, armory, sewing, you name it."

"You do all of those?" You ask in awe, usually a worker might know one or two; but then, he has been around a long time. He has had time to master multiple skills.

"Oh, yeah," Hongjoong throws his arm around the man, "Sannie is our jack of all trades." He smiles brightly, kissing his cheek.

You've quickly gotten used to their public displays of affection, it was clear that they had no qualms in showing their love for one another.

And it didn't bother you. You had thought that it might, being that even married couples didn't show much affection where you are from.

"Yunho mi," you call to the man, "I have a question."

"Ask away, (Y/n) mi," he smiles, leaning his head onto his hand.

"How do you make the fire?"

"The fire?" He smirks as he conjures a small flame at his finger tip.

The look of your shock earns you a few laughs. "Yes! How?"

"Magic," he shrugs nonchalantly, "I can do all sorts of things. I can show you, but I'm afraid it can't be taught. You'll have to stick to San and Yeosang for learning new things."

"Oh, I would love to see," you smile, a sparkle in your eyes that has the man just about ready to show you every trick he knows right here and now.

You lean back in your chair as a servant reaches for your plate, giving her the room to gather it. "Thank you." She pauses at your words, looking to the closest Lord; who happens to be Wooyoung because he's attached to your hip. He nods, giving her a stern look.

"Of course, My Lady. You needn't thank me, 'tis my job." She says just above a whisper as she gathers the nearby plates.

"You're so cute," Wooyoung grins as he pulls you over to him and kisses your cheek.

Seonghwa stops the girl when she goes to collect your glass, "let her finish it."

"Of course, My King," she nods, gathering what else she can before leaving with one more glance spared towards you.

Hongjoong leans forward, topping of your drink even as you gesture for him not to, "you don't need to bow to anyone besides us, you're the Lady of the castle."

You hold back a groan as you look at the glass. You don't want to be rude. "Lord Kim, I'm should not drink anymore, perhaps someone else-"

"Drink, little one," he's next to you in a second, picking up your cup. "You can handle one more glass, can't you? For me~?"

Oh. Oh, that pesky heat in your skin is back.

"O-okay," you blink up at him, suddenly very still in your seat as he lifts the cup to your lips.

"Chug," he smirks as you take the glass to your lips, never leaving his gaze as you begin to drink.

"Chug, chug, chug," San and Wooyoung chant as you do just that. The others smile as they watch, Mingi whistling in an impressed manner as you keep up with the way Hongjoong tilts the glass.

A drop leaves the corner of your mouth and travels down your neck. Yeosang watches with wide eyes. "Excuse me." Is all he says before he disappears, a suspicious blush on his face.

You swallow the sweet wine quickly as he all but pours it down your throat, keeping your dazed eyes on his; taking in the way the corner of his lips curl up and expose his fangs.

As he moves the empty glass, you go to take a breath — only to be met with his lips on yours.

You squeal in surprise, your hands hesitating before finding purchase on his wrists as he cups your cheeks.

"Oh, he's going to eat her alive," Wooyoung's joke from beside you never reaches your ears.

Hongjoong rests his forehead on yours, taking in your heavy breaths. When you open your eyes, you find that his have turned red. "Let the King and I drink from you." He hums, cradling your heated cheek, "won't you, little one?"

"Yes..." You slur softly, holding his wrists tightly. "Please."

The others are beyond jealous now, but they let it go. Their time will come. They should have pieced together that they were making you drink so much so that you wouldn't feel as much effects of the blood loss that's to come. Sneaky bastards, taking advantage of your naive nature— why didn't they think of that?

"Come, then," he giggles as he helps up your stumbling figure.

His plan worked like a charm. After hearing how Seonghwa hadn't fed, he came up with it. He's very observant of you, he knows that even the littlest praise or affection leaves you dazed. That, paired with the ever flowing wine that would also help you start pumping more blood, made you putty in his hands.

He felt a little bad, but what was he to do?

You were afraid of Seonghwa, but he had to drink lest he wither away.

And it's been days since he tasted you, he was starting to get restless.

It's not their fault your blood is a drug to them.

𖤐❝HALAZIA❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

"I want you to teach me." You whisper as you look up to him. His eyes are still on the pages, but he isn't registering a single word — and you know it. "Please, My Lord. You said that you would teach me anything I wanted to know."

His nails are digging into the hard cover of the book, leaving crescent indentations. "And that-" He gulps, "that is something you want to learn?"

"Yes." You lean forward, tilting your head, "I trust you to teach me well."

Oh, you probably shouldn't. He's only one bat of your eyelashes away from ripping your dress off and saying 'fuck the ceremony.'

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

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