#MC interlace

[nansmenagerie]

Hubris in the ancient city Paper clips and feeling pretty

[chuluoyi]

𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

as dawn breaks, a new chapter begins. now husband and wife in the truest sense, both of you embark on the path of happiness together. yet, bittersweet loose ends remain still. will they eventually stay in the past for good, or cast a permanent shadow over your lives?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy & sex, mentions of complications related to pregnancy, brief description of childbirth (c-section), hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here)

note: part 2 to nocturne of twilight. my god, i honestly didn't expect it'd turn out into another 8k fic but here we go :')

Lately, Zayne has come to realize just how much joy you bring to home when you’re happy.

Your smile and giggles simply light up the place.

And moreover, you get happy at the simplest of things—head pats, his snowmen... Even when he responds with jabs just to get a rise out of you, there's always a part of his heart that softens.

Today began just like one of those joyful days. He dropped you off at the Hunter Association base before heading to the hospital, and later, he planned to pick you up and perhaps stop for macarons on the way home—

Or so he thought, until...

"Hello, Dr. Zayne! Sorry for startling you. Can you come to my office? Your wife just collapsed and she is brought here."

. . .

Zayne raced to Dr. Munson's office on the third floor, panic gradually overtook his every step. His mind whirled with all the possible reasons you might end up at—

Ob-gyn office. Wait, what?

The realization struck him just as he flung open the door to his colleague’s office.

"Ah, the man of the hour has arrived!" Dr. Munson greeted him with an ear-to-ear grin.

Zayne gave a quick nod but bypassed him to head straight to the bed where you were.

You looked pale and sluggish, your eyes squeezed shut. He immediately took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers, and you opened your eyes in surprise to see him there.

"Zayne..." you murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and offering a faint smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he gently touched your cool cheek.

"A bit dizzy..."

Seeing you so meek made something inside him lurch. Just this morning, you had been full of life, pouting and playfully teasing him, and now you looked so exhausted.

"Well, maybe you already know this, Dr. Zayne, but still, congratulations!" Dr. Munson clapped his hands merrily. "Your wife is pregnant!"

Pregnant. Zayne stood frozen for a moment. In truth, while the very thought flitted in his mind from the moment he walked in, it didn't make it less surprising all the same. "I see..."

Then he turned to look at you, and to his surprise, you looked away, a shy smile played at your lips, as if you were trying to make yourself as small as possible.

A child. You were with child. His child.

"How far along?"

"Almost ten weeks, give or take. Well, aren't you the one who knows the most?"

"Is she alright? Anything I need to watch out for?"

"Ooh! How sweet!" Dr. Munson laughed crisply. "The cool-headed Dr. Zayne is worrying about his wife! The nurses are going to have a field day when they know this~"

Zayne shot him a look, but didn’t miss a beat as he retorted, "Of course I am."

You looked up at him silently, your heart fluttering at his earnest response. Zayne had always been resilient, but now he seemed more dashing than usual as he fired questions after questions at Dr. Munson about you and the baby.

Baby... both of you were going to become parents. It still felt surreal, but with Zayne’s warm grip on your hand, it began to feel real. You were almost giddy.

But then, it struck you— the baby was around ten weeks.

Then it meant the day of the conception was that night.

. . .

“Here, hold onto me.”

Zayne opened the door to his car and supported you as you carefully stepped out. You were still unsteady on your feet, so he returned you back home to rest rather than heading back to the Hunter Association’s base.

“Have you been feeling unwell these past few days?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you made your way inside. “Usually, the symptoms have been noticeable for a while.”

“Hmmm,” you pursed your lips, feigning coyness. “I... don’t think so?”

Zayne quirked an eyebrow, sending you a withering stare as he realized your ruse. “So you have.”

“Hehe...” you flashed him a sheepish grin, causing him to shake his head in exasperation and pinch your cheek. “Ow!” you squeaked, quickly bringing your hand to your face.

Zayne stifled a smile, then gently guided you to the sofa. He crouched down in front of you, meeting your gaze as he took both of your hands in his.

"You need to tell me these things from now on, alright?" he said, and his steadfast gaze made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"We..." you started, steeling yourself, "are going to have a baby," you gulped, feeling heat spreading to your cheeks.

He was unfazed. "Mm, we are."

You shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze. "Are you... happy?"

Your voice wavered at the end, and your hand felt clammy. Suddenly, your stomach too twisted with nausea. Who would've thought that you would conceive a baby from a night that he called a mistake?

However, Zayne tilted his head, seemingly taken aback. "I am."

"Huh?"

"I am happy," he repeated, blinking back at you. "Are you?"

You gaped, caught off guard by his candid response—but then again, when had your husband ever been anything but straightforward?

"But you don’t seem happy!" you accused, pursing your lips. "You’ve been frowning the whole way home."

He shot you a flat look, his expression unchanged. "This is just my face."

You continued to pout, and Zayne sighed. His frown softened as he gently cupped your face, making you look up at him.

"You silly girl, what husband won't be thrilled when they hear that his wife is expecting?" he caressed your face, before poking it. "I'm just worried about you, you still look pale."

"You..." your eyes found his uneasily, at a loss of words. "But this baby is…" Your gaze dropped, anxiety swelling. "From… the night of—"

Your response stunned him, and you didn't dare to look him in the eye. It was still something that gnawed at you inside, because what if—

What if he thought this baby is a mistake?

In that moment, understanding dawned on him. His ashen eyes widened in surprise. You braced yourself for his reaction, but then—

His hand rested on your head, patting you gently. "You carrying our baby..." he faltered, gazed fixed on your averted eyes and then lips. His voice came almost in a whisper:

"This... is the best thing that has happened to me."

Thump! Your heart soared, warmth flooding through you in that very instant as you met his gaze. On the contrary, Zayne felt a crushing weight seeing the tears shining in your eyes. How deeply had he hurt you before that you’d doubt his feelings?

"I promised you that I’ll treasure you better," he said, pulling strands of your hair behind your ears. "This time, let me prove it to you."

Somehow you felt like crying at the sheer sincerity in his words. "You... like the baby?"

A gentle smile touched his lips as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "I do. Truly."

"I... am so happy too," you finally choked up, the first tear slipping down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, feeling a bit silly for tearing up. "I... have always wanted us to be a family..."

Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out an exasperated but fond sigh. "A certain someone really does like to cry... And now with a baby on the way, am I going to lose my mind worrying about both of you?"

"Hmph," you wrinkled your nose. "A certain dad-to-be better work on his skills to express himself better, then."

"I'm going to focus my energy on more important things, such as thinking of all ways I should do to keep you from getting into trouble."

"...? I don't get into trouble!"

"You stumble even on empty air, I've seen it myself."

Two years ago, you had envisioned your happily ever after with him, and then you weren't sure if you would get it at all. And now, as you walked towards a new beginning together, you were wholly certain.

At least, that was what you thought.

The days following the reveal of your pregnancy were filled with bliss.

Only that, sometimes... you ask for tall order—

"Zayne... I want that plushie..."

"We have tried it three times already. That machine is rigged."

"B-but! Look, that couple won some!"

Some weeks later, the two of you were at an arcade, and your eyes were literally shining as soon as you saw the Happy Snowman plushie in the claw machine.

And ever since, you had been tugging at his sleeve and dragging him to catch it for you... only to no avail so far.

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "With the way you’re acting, no one would believe you’re about to become a mom."

"Isn't that the whole point?" you fired back, puckering your lips, before mustering your best puppy eyes and bringing your hands together. "Please? Baby wants it so much."

He knew you were using the baby card just to get your way, but you looked so adorable doing it that it often worked—evident from how he lined up once more for the long queue at the claw machine.

"This is the last time," he decided, giving you a flat stare when you two reached your turn. "If we lose, we're buying the one in the souvenir shop."

"Teehee~" you giggled in delight. You'd get your plushie either way. Zayne was always listening to you even with his grumbles, and it made you inwardly kick your feet in joy.

Despite being cross, Zayne was better at this than you. He almost snagged some plushies several times, and this time, he skillfully maneuvered the claw, pressing the button with precision—

“Oh!” Your eyes sparkled as the claw secured your prized Happy Snowman. “Zayne! Just a little more!”

"Yeah, yeah..."

Just like that, the claw released the snowman into the hole. As soon Zayne handed it to you, you practically squealed. "Ahh! Finally I got you!"

You were so full of childlike excitement, even though you were just months away from bringing a child into the world yourself. Zayne watched you silently, and despite himself, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Do you want more?" he asked. "We still have three chances left."

"Yes!" You beamed at him. "I want the penguin and crow!"

Apparently, he was weak to your wishes. He then took the machine again, and maybe luck blessed him this time because soon enough, he got you two of them right after the chances ran out.

“Hehe! We’re bringing them home!” You patted each plushie with delight, your giggles drawing the attention of nearby kids.

"Mom, look! That uncle gets many plushies!"

Zayne felt his eyes twitch. Uncle...?

You tried and utterly failed to hold back your laugh.

And you heard another couple bickering nearby as they threw glances at you and your husband—

"I want that crow plushie..." the woman lamented, despondently eyeing the claw machine and the three plushies Zayne had managed to win for you.

Her boyfriend, a scary-looking tall man with red eyes and rider garbs, turned to her with a snort. "Why would you even need that ugly crow for? We have crow at home."

"...Mephisto doesn't count! You're just saying that because your luck and skill are trash!"

"Tch. I can open a whole arcade just so you can tear those plushies into shreds, sweetie... just so you know, there’s a price when dealing with a devil, hmm?"

Opening an arcade only to satisfy his girlfriend's wants? You thought in a passing. Crazy.

. . .

And then your emotions are practically a whirlwind of roller coaster...

“You’re mean!” you sniffled, pointing a righteous finger at your husband and the kitty cards on the table. “You always reduce my kitties whenever you get the chance!”

Zayne exhaled, trying to explain himself. “I just make do with the cards I’m dealt with.”

“But you’re trying to take out my cats all the time!”

“That’s the gameplay. If I let you win, you’d say I’m underestimating you.”

“So, are you saying I’m bad at this?” You looked at the cards with heartbreak etched on your face, your lips quivering. “Am I?”

Uh-oh, he knew what it was. You were a stone throw away from bursting into tears and one wrong word could set you off altogether.

“No, you’re not bad...” he began, carefully choosing his words. “The kitties... they’re just not cooperating with you, that’s all.”

“So, they’re cooperating with you,” you pouted, cross. “Is that what you’re trying to say?!”

Sigh... this is going to take a while...

But ultimately... you’re also incredibly precious.

“I’m going to make an amigurumi for our baby,” you announced, smiling brightly as you settled between his legs with a crochet kit and a snowman pattern in hand. “I just know they’ll like it.”

“You know how to crochet?” Zayne asked, resting his chin on your shoulder and slipping an arm around your waist, gently touching your growing bump.

“Hmph!” You tilted your chin up with a smirk, turning to face him. “Of course, I can!”

“Oh…?”

“It’s a little side hobby,” you explained with a giggle. “I can’t resist having and making cute things~”

Zayne thought he’d laugh, but instead, it was a wave of bittersweetness that washed over him. Because apparently, even after being married to you for two years, there were some things about you he didn’t know.

He was fond of you. He knew you liked a fair amount of sweets, what your favorite food and color were, and that you couldn't sleep without turning off the lights. But then he realized...

"Does it have to be a snowman?" he asked, his eyes fixed on how skillfully you handled the hooks.

"Mm-hmm! It does."

"Why do you like it so much anyway?"

"Ah..." Your movements paused slightly, and you suddenly looked down, a hint of sheepishness in your expression. "Well..."

This way, you looked adorable somehow. Zayne squeezed you gently. "Hmm?"

"You might not remember it... but the first time we met..." you felt heat creeping up to your face but pressed on nonetheless. "I asked you to demonstrate your Evol and you showed me by creating a snowman out of thin air."

Right at that moment, Zayne could've sworn that his heart skipped a beat. That meeting... how many years ago was it? Five? Six?

He could barely remember it until you mentioned it, and yet you held that memory dear.

"Maybe it sounds stupid to you," you puffed out your cheeks. "But I think you’re similar to a snowman. You look cold on the outside, but you bring happiness to so many people. You save lives…"

The way you described him so highly made him flutter inside. Suddenly he felt soft. Soft for you. You were utterly precious, genuine and all this time, he hadn't even truly realized it.

"And to me, you..." you gulped, suddenly self-conscious. "You are... warm, just like the sun..."

The sincerity in your words touched him so deeply that it left him speechless. You had loved him and it was evident in all your actions.

Now the question is, has he done the same for you?

You brightened his life just by being yourself. Most of the time cheery, sometimes snarky, and often times decidedly spoiled... all those sides of you—

He adores them all. And he knows he'll treasure you until the end of time. And now, he's going to show you that.

Before he realized it, he had planted a kiss on the nape of your neck, and you sucked in a breath as you dropped the crochet hooks. "Zayne...?"

And then his lips pressed harder, trailing kisses along your neck, while his hands slipped inside your pajama top, caressing your skin ever so gently. The unexpected touch made you unwittingly moan.

"Can you... finish crocheting another day?" he breathed in your ear, cupping your breasts tenderly, and you almost jolted. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

It felt as if your face had caught fire, your whole body flushing with sudden excitement. Your heart raced wildly at his husky voice, and the very thought that your husband desired you was deeply thrilling.

"But you..." your voice hitched, trying not focus on his fingers. "...are never gentle."

Zayne blinked at you in surprise. "Am... I? That's not true."

"Should I jog your memory?" You pursed your lips. "One time, you threw me on the bed—"

"Well—"

"And that time you had me on all fours—"

"That's—"

"And the night we conceived this baby too—"

"Right. Alright." Zayne’s cheeks flushed with warmth as he released his grip on your mounds. "You might have a point, but this time, I assure you…"

He turned you to face him, and before you could even react, he leaned in close, his breath tickling your collarbone as he whispered:

"I will take good care of you tonight."

He made good on his promise.

This time, his hands moved with a gentleness that took your breath away. Zayne started with peppering your skin in soft, lingering kisses—starting at your jaw, then trailing down your neck, collarbone, and chest.

And when his lips finally reached the slightly visible but firm swell of your belly, he paused, pressing a kiss there that seemed to hold all the love he had for your baby.

The sight pulled at your heartstrings. The very fact that Zayne cherished this little life growing inside you filled you with a happiness so profound, it nearly overwhelmed you.

And soon...

"Ahh... aah!" you writhed, arching your back, your lower body laid bare as his tongue lapped eagerly at your folds. It was, by far, the most erotic thing your husband had done to you— he usually didn’t spend this much time for your pleasure.

But as always, he was not much of a talker during sex. Only dangerous gleam in his eyes as he glanced up from between your trembling thighs that let you know he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

"Ngh!" You gasped when the tight ball of nerves inside you finally burst, mewling helplessly as you yanked on his hair, and he ate you out even more greedily in response. You had always known it, but moments like this made it undeniable—

Zayne turns completely into a different man while bedding you. Who would have guessed that the stoic, straight-laced head of cardiac surgery could be reduced to a man consumed by lust at the sight of his wife's body?

. . .

He had always liked having you on top. This time, Zayne made sure to prepare you exceptionally well before easing himself inside you, yet, just like every other time, you still felt impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, ah... I-I’m—!” you whimpered tearfully, your walls clenching around his girth, face overtaken by sheer pleasure. “’s full...”

It didn't take him long to bust, really. With a beautiful wife sitting on top of him, eliciting sounds like that... how could he resist?

But maybe he pushed you too hard. Lust won against all his senses as he relentlessly slammed his hips against yours, and he distinctly felt the moment you stifled a scream and came hard around him.

"Are you... alright?" Zayne asked in a groan as he reached his orgasm, his release flooding inside your womb in a rush as you clung into him tightly, shuddering and spasming.

You nodded and collapsed against him, savoring the feeling of how filled up you were. In return, he cradled you close as he slowly pulled out of you. "I-I... am..."

You curled into him, and he pressed a tender kiss on your head. In that moment, you truly felt that there were only two of you in this vast world.

Gently, he lifted you—one arm supporting your legs, the other around your back—and carried you to the bathroom to clean you up.

. . .

“Drink.” Zayne held the cool glass of water to your lips, and you obediently took a sip, your gaze lingering on the gap in his bathrobe where his chest peeked out.

He was so, so considerate. He carefully handled you as he washed your body and wrapped you in the bathrobe earlier, soothing you each time you let out a whine.

It was the most comforting aftercare you had experienced. After making sure you weren’t parched, he tucked you under the comforters, joining you soon after and pulling you close.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly, straightening your hair.

“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled closer with a smile, tracing a finger along his chest.

Somehow the way he cared for you now made you remember how your relationship was back then. He didn’t dote on you this much, he was good to you but you knew deep in your hearts that he wasn’t really there. But now…

He is yours. In every sense.

“You’re tickling me,” Zayne tutted gruffly, catching your hand and pressing it to his chest.

“So? What will you do?” you teased with a playful grin. “Will you eat me up again?”

“…” His narrowed eyes made you giggle, and you pressed yourself even closer, relishing the afterglow.

You had promised yourself not to bring it up again, but feeling vulnerable in this moment, you couldn’t help but whisper:

“You… have changed,” you muttered under your breath. “Thank you… for thinking of me.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but his arms tightened around you suddenly. Warmth spread through you, feeling as though he were shielding you from the world itself.

Weeks passed by, and soon enough, you reached the middle of your second trimester.

“We’re going to find out the gender today!” you excitedly noted in the passenger’s seat. Zayne glanced at you with a smile, silently looking forward to it too.

He was relieved that your first trimester had passed smoothly, with only a few bouts of sickness. Now, before he knew it, you were already halfway through the journey.

“If it’s a girl, I hope she won’t be a troublemaker like her mom,” he slyly retorted.

You shot him a glare. “And if it’s a boy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t spend all his time studying and turn into a robot like you.”

The journey to fatherhood still didn’t feel entirely real to him with your chirpy self, but as your belly swelled and rounded with each passing week, he began to realize that the day was quickly approaching.

It made him feel warm, and he wished he could show it to you better just how much happiness you brought to him now.

You rummaged through your bag and exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot the appointment card!"

Zayne sighed, turning the steering wheel with a small shake of his head. "See? The little mom can be so scatterbrained at times."

You slouched in your seat, crestfallen. "Sorry..."

"It’s alright," he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he noticed your expression drop. "I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?"

"In the first drawer of my vanity desk, I think…"

After arriving back at home, Zayne headed straight to your shared bedroom and searched through your drawers. The first drawer only had your perfumes, so he moved on to the second drawer, which apparently only had more makeup supplies.

And so, he pulled the third drawer, and there were a stack of envelopes there. Curious, he pulled one out, thinking it was the card he was looking for—

—but then, suddenly, he was in a state of shock. Never would have he expected to find what he had on his hand then.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur, his entire world reduced to those three stark words on the page. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as the realization hit him.

Petition of Divorce — and your signature... was there.

Something seemed a bit off about Zayne, you noticed later that day.

You were really looking forward to finding out the baby's gender, and you thought he was too. He stood by your side all the while, holding your hand as the ultrasound probe pressed against your skin and you waited with bated breath for Dr. Munson to announce—

“Well, it’s a girl!” he declared with a wide grin. “Whoa, Dr. Zayne is going to be a girl dad, huh?”

“Oh my…” Your eyes sparkled with joy at the news. You were fine with either, but you knew Zayne had secretly been hoping for a girl, and you turned to him with pure elation. However...

“That’s… good.” His response was brief, and although he was smiling, something felt off. You had been observing him for too long not to notice—you knew when your husband was distracted.

What is he thinking? Despite yourself, you began to worry.

“Zayne?” you asked later, holding his arm as you both exited Dr. Munson’s office. “Are you thinking about work?”

He turned to you almost immediately. “No.”

“Then why are you frowning?” you asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood by touching his face. He swiftly caught your hand.

“This is a public place,” he said in a strained voice, causing you to stiffen at his tone. “I’ll take you home first.”

Something was not right. Now you were convinced and it started to bother you.

“Actually… I need to go to the Hunter Association's base first to finish my deskwork,” you said.

His brows furrowed even deeper. “Can’t you just submit your leave?”

“Ah... I’m on half-day leave today. I need to wrap up as much as I can before I go on maternity leave later.”

“Next time,” he snapped, his gray eyes locked on you, “Whenever you have appointments, take a full-day leave. You’re in no condition to be working, especially as you get further along.”

"Zayne, are you... upset with me?" you fired the question then, because it seemed like he really did, and suddenly you felt a bit sick at the very thought.

He was certainly not expecting you to ask that, and for a moment, Zayne froze, before he exhaled and his frown softened a bit.

“…no,” he finally said, his tone gentler. “I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

But ever since that day, you knew something had happened to him that he suddenly he became a little distant towards you.

. . .

Zayne hadn’t meant to snap at you. If anything, knowing you were carrying a baby girl filled him with unbridled happiness.

But still, there was still a part of him that wanted to demand answers from you—that part of him that was deeply hurt by what he discovered.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t take it too hard. No matter how much he reflected on it, he knew he hadn’t been the husband you deserved. He knew his faults and understood how much he had hurt you. From the very beginning, you deserved someone who would see only you and no one else—and he hadn't been that person before.

Even with that understanding, he was left with an unresolved hollowness. You had doubted him enough that you were ready to file for a divorce once. It didn't mean that the same thing wouldn't happen in the future.

Does he have it in him to make you happy? He had promised you he would. While he wasn't the most affectionate, he tried his best, and he intended to keep trying.

But now, after learning this, he found that not only you, but even he too was able to doubt himself.

"Zayne...?"

You peeked your head inside his study one night, several weeks later, a hand resting on your bump. You really didn't want to bother him when he just arrived, but you figured you had to tell him.

For the past week, you’d been throwing up, and it didn’t feel right. He had been at a symposium in another city since the start of the week, and you tried to wait it out. But today, you almost blacked out, and now you were genuinely afraid.

"Y/N?" he turned to you just as he laid his briefcase and the moment he saw you, he frowned at how pale you looked.

Zayne immediately stalked towards you and pulled you closer, feeling your neck to check your body temperature. His eyes widened in realization. "You have a fever."

"I-I... feel lightheaded today," you sputtered, clutching his arm. "And... I’ve been vomiting too..."

"I'll get you checked in at Akso," he decided, grabbing the car keys and led you out of the room by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me in your calls?"

Very lame excuse, but you tried to defend yourself nonetheless. "It wasn't this severe before—"

"You should have told me." His response was curt, but his fury was evident. You almost shrank at his tone, but Zayne didn't reprimand you further as he helped you into the passenger seat.

The drive was tense and uncomfortable, making you feel even worse. The silence only amplified your anxiety, and it didn't help that you had noticed how distant he was lately.

"I'm sorry—" you blurted but then suddenly, you sucked in a breath, wincing and fisting your dress when you felt the start of a cramp just below your ribs. "Ahh..."

Zayne’s panic surged at your pained gasp. He gripped your hand reassuringly, all trace of anger vanishing instantly. "We’ll arrive soon. I promise you’ll be alright."

At that moment, despite all fears you had—for your baby, of his sudden shift of behavior—you held back your sob and squeezed his hand in return.

. . .

You would be staying at the hospital until all the test results came in.

Zayne sat on the chair beside you, gaze fixed on you as you lay connected to an IV drip in the private room. Though he tried to mask it, he was still shaken. He knew better than anyone that fever and cramps at more than 20 weeks often signaled something was wrong with either the mother or the baby.

The thought of ailments beyond his control affecting either of you made his chest tighten. He loosened his tie and let out a sigh, trying to ease the constriction. "How do you feel now?"

You looked at him, managing a smile as you replied, "I’m fine now."

Seeing you bedridden like this was something he hadn’t realized he dreaded until that moment, and yet, there you were, smiling. You... smiled.

He couldn’t understand why the sight he usually adored suddenly stirred this swirling anger in him.

Your answer seemed to hit a nerve in him as his expression darkened, and anxiety struck you again, twisting something in your gut. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before..."

His lack of response only deepened your unease. "Before today, I didn’t feel faint at all, so I think it’s just something I ate."

He still didn't deign you with any answer. Zayne’s apparent disregard for your words frustrated you, bringing you close to tears. "Say something..." you urged, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. "I know you're upset, but now I'm scared too."

You really wanted him to comfort you. You knew the Zayne from several weeks ago would do just that, but now you had a feeling that the man before you now wasn't that same man any longer.

"We’ll see when the results are ready," he said then, facing you with a stoic, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were delivering a diagnosis to a patient rather than speaking to his wife. "Don’t fret too much. Have some rest."

Is that... all he has to say to you? A part of your heart withered at his detached response, the tears frozen in your eyes. What happened to him?

You were about to confront him for an answer when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.

"Hello? Yes, it's Zayne. Who is this?" he questioned flatly, eyes narrowed into a dissatisfied frown, before suddenly his expression lit up with understanding when the person on the other line introduced themselves.

You could hear the faint sound of a man's voice from his phone. And when Zayne addressed him, a sudden chill spread throughout your body.

"Caleb? It's... been a while."

You felt cold. Caleb. You never really knew him but you had certainly seen him. Once at a funeral, and once at your wedding. He too is Zayne's childhood friend, and more than that, he is the brother of—

Why? Why did all emotional suffering you had to go through, somehow or another, always come down to a dead woman who was once your husband's lover?

When he ended this call, you didn't even pretend to be considerate anymore. "What does he want from you?"

Zayne looked taken aback by your sudden hostility but answered calmly, "He’s in Linkon now and asked if we could meet."

"Must you really see him?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I don’t like it," you spat, venom clear in your voice, turning to him. "I don’t like it at all when you have to be involved with people related to her!"

Finally, you said it. You had never made it clear before, but this time, you felt like you were entitled enough to. You were having his daughter, and if he was still entangled in an illusion of his past girlfriend with you, then—

Zayne responded to your outburst with a suppressed sigh, visibly keeping his frustration in check. "He is an old friend, Y/N. You're too emotional right now that you jump into conclusions and stress yourself out."

He was right, your emotions were spiraling, but right now you were too heartbroken to care for it.

"Do you know what I fear the most?" you asked, tears shining in your eyes. At last, you voiced the dark, unspoken curse that had haunted you since the very beginning of it all:

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

Zayne barely got any rest that night.

In the end, faced with your tears, he didn't respond because he didn't want to prolong the argument. More strain for you could put both you and the baby at risk.

Later, he told himself. No matter how much he berated himself for not noticing the signs of your illness sooner, or wanted show you that you and his unborn child meant everything to him now— later. He wouldn't risk you, and it would be better if you talk later with cooler heads.

Little did he know, that "later" would never come.

Numerous missed phone calls from the nurses station after he stepped out of the operating room sealed your fate. And when Greyson burst into his office, out of breath and panic-stricken, it was like being doused in scalding water.

"Dr. Zayne! Miss Y/N! Sh-she has just been rushed to ER for severe bleeding!"

Just like that, his world crashed and shattered beyond return.

. . .

"Dr. Zayne, I'm not sure how I should break this news to you... As a medical professional, you already know how serious this condition is..."

Everything was his greatest nightmare realized. Dr. Munson’s diagnosis struck him with a searing force, paralyzing him on the spot.

"Your wife has preeclampsia."

The nurses said you had been screaming and bleeding heavily. He too had seen it himself—the blood splattered across the pristine floor when he arrived, just moments after you were rushed to the emergency room—and the sight made a chill run through his spine in horror.

"She just experienced a partial placental abruption because of it. This causes bleeding in the mother, and also increases the risk of premature labor."

Dr. Munson’s explanation was crystal clear, yet it sent Zayne into a daze. It felt as if his chest had been ripped open, leaving him hollow as he stared numbly at your figure, peacefully asleep after the emergency treatment you had been put through.

Zayne clasped your hand in his, feeling the invincible knife lodged in his heart twist painfully.

You aren't supposed to be this cold. He gently griped your hand, his face contorted with agony. How terrified must you have been? How much did it hurt? Despite trying to push the memories away, seeing you like this brought back the nightmare from three years ago.

Only that this time, it was you. And not just you, but his unborn child as well. Both of you... there was a chance that both of you wouldn't survive.

The sheer thought made him stagger, because no, if it was the devil’s way to punish him, then it was beyond cruel. He had failed you once already, and he knew what happiness was by being with you, and to lose all of that in one blow—

"Zayne! Can you make me one more snowman?" you pleaded, your eyes sparkling as you pointed to the little gap between snowmen already perched on the window. "Just one more! It’ll make the line perfect!"

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

It was so, so painful. His chest constricted at the contrasting memories and it took everything he had not to give in to his spiraling fears.

With everything I have, I love you. None of it mattered anymore. The divorce papers, whether he could make you happy— what was important was that It was unthinkable to lose you now. He would trade his life if it meant sparing you, because the pain of losing you would destroy him.

You had always loved that little thing he made on a whim. He opened your palm and shaped the ice through his manipulation, placing the palm-sized snowman in your grasp, hoping it would protect you throughout the night.

You remembered the excruciating pain, the primal dread of losing your baby, and the horrifying sight of crimson streaming endlessly between your legs, also how you screamed for anyone for help.

When you regained consciousness, the scent of fresh linen and alcohol was the first thing that greeted you. Dawn had already arrived, but the sky outside remained dark.

Your right palm felt cold, and that’s when you realized you were holding something. At the same time, you noticed the weight in your other hand—

Zayne. Your husband slept on the edge of your bed in such an uncomfortable position while holding your hand, his brows taut into a frown, only with a coat to cover himself.

He is here. You quietly watched him, and despite everything, you realized once again how much you loved him—even more that he was here for you.

Snowman… you stared at the little toy in your other hand, and overwhelming warmth washed over you at the thought of him creating it for you just before he slept.

The baby… what did you go through? Is she fine? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that something grave had happened to you.

You had to know. You pulled your left hand out of his grasp and caressed his face. He has to shave soon, you noted, feeling the stubble that had started to grow there. Still, you couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he was.

Your gentle touch soon caused his eyes to flutter open, and Zayne jerked awake, instinctively catching your hand. "You're awake..." he rasped, his voice rough with exhaustion.

He looked at you as if he was in disbelief, and immediately rose and squeezed your hand. You looked up to him, feebly asking, "What... happened to me?"

His face fell right that moment but you pressed on, "Tell me. I have to know..."

Zayne's reluctance was obvious, but the plea in your voice made him waver. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed.

"The test results have come back," he began, his voice adopting the clinical tone you recognized from when he spoke to his patients. "Your blood pressure is abnormally high, and there was protein found in your urine sample... These are signs of a condition called preeclampsia."

Shock marred your features in that moment, because you had heard what it was and what it meant for your baby.

"The only cure for preeclampsia is delivery. And at the same time the placenta has detached from the wall of your womb. This way, our baby—"

You had watched Zayne deliver devastating diagnoses to his patients before, and he was always steadfast. But this time, even his voice wavered.

His gray eyes seemed to glisten under the light as they held your gaze. "She's being deprived of oxygen and nutrients because the placenta can no longer supply them. You may also experience heavier bleeding, more cramps, and fetal distress. The best course of action now is to deliver the baby as soon as possible."

It felt like receiving death sentence. No matter how you looked at it, the conclusion was the same. "B-but..." you stammered, your whole body trembling, shaken by the enormity of it all. "S-she's just... barely twenty-six weeks..."

The way devastation bled in your voice pierced him. Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out a long, drawn-out breath as he held you close.

"I'm here," he assured, trying to console you. "You don't have to be scared. We'll monitor you closely until it's possible for you to give birth to the baby in around thirty weeks. I'll make sure of that."

The first of your sobs began. "...i-is it me?" you clutched at his coat mournfully. "Did I… p-put the baby into distress somehow— that it causes the placenta to fall away?"

"No," he firmly shushed you. "It's a condition that can flare up anytime. Don't blame yourself for it."

Still, how could you not? More than yourself, you feared for your unborn child. You sobbed harder, and Zayne held you even as his coat had started to dampen from your tears.

Your predicament broke his heart too, but at the same time, he found the perfect moment to finally show you the entirety of his heart.

"You told me you were afraid I'd come to see both of you as a mistake," he murmured, gently running his hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. "But how can our daughter be a mistake when—" his voice caught, choking on the words, "—when I've loved her so much already?"

The strain in his voice made you look up, and you were taken aback by the intensity of his gray eyes that bored into you.

“Both of you... are so precious to me.” Zayne locked his eyes with yours, sincerely meaning everything he said as he cradled the side of your face. “The thought that anything might happen to either of you... is unbearable.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice hoarse, “What if… you continue to bleed and it leads to seizures? What if— you and the baby won’t make it? These are so unbearable for me.”

His words went straight into you, and for a moment, your tears receded as they sank in.

"I can’t give you my past." His voice tinged with melancholy, the expression on his face was torn. "But I promise you, at least in this lifetime..."

He gazed at you with the unwavering look you had fallen in love with, the same gaze you once admired from afar, long ago.

And then, his next declaration took your breath away and made your heart soar like never before. A wave of love surged within you, almost overwhelming you—

"Right this moment and my future—it's for you. For both of you, always."

From that moment on, you knew you would trust him completely. From that moment on, you finally let go of your doubts, knowing that you had nothing to fear with him by your side.

Zayne was by your side whenever he was able to.

You were on bedrest at the hospital ever since, but he always stayed the night here to accompany you, barely going back to home for a change of clothes.

"You’re really making a snowman..." he remarked, observing your fingers and the crochet hooks he’d brought from home so you could keep yourself entertained. "I think you need to add a bit more fluff there..."

Your face brightened with a grin as you cut the yarn. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it extra round."

The weeks in the hospital dragged on, but they also gave you more time to work on your amigurumi. When you finished putting the final touches on it, you proudly presented it to Zayne—the snowman with a blue shawl and black hat, two little round eyes, and a beaming line of smile. "Ta-da! Look, it’s even cuter than the ones you made!"

A happy you was always the sight he loved to see above all. "Yeah..."

"Do you think she'll love it?" you suddenly asked, poking the snowman doll you just made, feeling warm at the thought that your cherished baby will soon play with it too.

You looked so endearing that Zayne felt an overwhelming urge to pull you closer. “She will,” he chuckled, giving you a reassuring pat on the head. “Didn’t you say before she will?”

And soon, you reached the thirtieth-week mark. The time had come to finally deliver your baby.

. . .

"I can't feel anything..." Your voice came out as a soft whine while you lay on the operating table, your lower body numb and obscured by the surgical curtain shielding you from view.

Zayne, standing beside you in a mask and headcap, grasped your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. "If you could feel it, you’d be screaming."

The C-section was the only way to ensure both you and your daughter would survive. It felt surreal to know they were basically cutting you open, yet you were unable to feel anything.

"Will... she come out healthy?" you asked your husband hesitantly, worried about your soon-to-be born baby. "I'm worried..."

Zayne glanced at you and gave your hand a light squeeze. "Don’t worry too much. You should be more concerned about yourself. Think of all the food you want to have when you get home, and I’ll get it for you."

You shot him a glare. "You make me sound like a foodie."

"You are a foodie."

Despite the ongoing surgery, Zayne’s lighthearted jabs were his way of easing your anxiety. Even though they irked you, you appreciated his attempts to lift your spirits.

And soon—

You heard a feeble cry, though quickly drowned out by the cheers of the surgical team beyond the curtain. You gasped and turned to Zayne, who was fixated on the tiny baby in Dr. Munson's hands.

He didn't even blink. It was almost as if he was spellbound by the sight. Nothing mattered because his daughter was here. Really here.

"Zayne…" your voice then broke the spell. He turned to you, who weakly smiled at him with tears in your eyes.

For the first time in your life, you saw tears of happiness glistening in his eyes as he stared at you— the woman who had just given him a daughter to love and dote on.

He immediately leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. Your heart felt so full, even though he wasn’t able to fully express it in words. In that moment, you could feel his profound love for you and the new life you would embark on together.

"She is so small..."

You pressed yourself as close as you could to the see-through glass of the neonatal unit, straining to get a glimpse of your baby daughter. Though you weren't well enough to walk three days after the surgery, you insisted on Zayne wheeling you over in a wheelchair just so you could have a peek.

"She’ll grow big soon," Zayne said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he noticed your sadness. "She’ll stay there for a few more weeks, and then we can bring her home."

However, your expression twisted into a worried frown as you watched the gentle rise and fall of your baby’s tiny chest inside the incubator. Even when he had reassured you that it was by all means just an unfortunate condition, you couldn't help feeling that it was your fault somehow that she ended up there.

She had his tufts of black hair, but you weren’t able to get close enough to remember her face clearly. The fact that you hadn’t held her in your arms yet made your heart ache.

"Mommy is sorry that she can't carry you to full-term..." you croaked out, lips wobbling, a hand tracing the glass separating you from your new baby, and Zayne inhaled sharply at the sight.

It hadn’t been easy, but you had made it through. Both of you had. And to him, that was more than enough. So, you needed to hear it too.

He crouched down in front of you, catching your attention instantly. You tilted your head as his hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“Thank you for delivering our daughter safely,” he said with the softest of smiles, ever so genuine just as you were in all times of the two of you together.

Your eyes widened a bit at his sudden gratitude, and when he took both of your hands together in his, gazed at you with such earnestness in his clear ash-grey eyes, and traced his thumbs over your knuckles, your heart skipped a beat.

“And most of all, thank you... for being safe too.”

Those words brought immense warmth to you, and the prettiest of smile lit up your face then at the way he looked at you as if you were his most prized treasure. Just like that, once again, he cast all your fears and doubts aside.

And deep down, you knew that with him by your side, everything was going to be alright.

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[peanutpinet]

You Are Loved - Sylus x Insecure Fem Reader

Prompt: “I’m going to prove everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise.”

Prompt is from: @dumplingsjinson

Blurb: When you thought that you were not worthy of love and are always worried that you would get hurt in the process, Sylus proves you wrong

Trope: I don't really believe in love girl x let me show you what love is guy

Warnings: Light angst, insecurity, soft and loving Sylus, reassurance

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credits go to the images' respective owners.

“You’re dozing off again, is something wrong, sweetie?” Sylus pointed out as the two of you had dinner together

You immediately snapped out and looked at Sylus, reassuring him. “No, no. Just work…yeah” you went back to look at your food and started to pick at it which didn’t go unnoticed by Sylus

Sylus let out a sigh and used his hands to stop you from picking at your food. Instead, he interlaced his fingers with you, rubbing your knuckles. “Hey, tell me. What’s wrong? What’s in that pretty head of yours, hmm?”

You honestly didn’t want to admit what you were thinking. It was silly and you were being insecure because Sylus was your first-ever boyfriend. Sure, you were aware with love, the idea of dating from the books you read, movies you watched but when you’re the one who’s actually going on a date with your boyfriend, it just feels off.

“Hey…” Sylus called out to you again, rubbing your knuckles and getting your attention

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off again. Umm, what were you saying?” I asked, trying to get into the conversation

“Something is on your mind. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sylus asked, gripping my smaller hand tenderly but firmly at the same time while you tried to avoid his gaze because you knew that if you did, you would actually give in and admit what was wrong

“Sweetie?” Sylus called you again, his grip a bit tighter but not too much that it would hurt you. “Tell me, why are you picking on your food, avoiding eye contact with me? Did I do something wrong?” Sylus asked as you immediately shook your head

“Then? What is it, sweetie? Do I really need to use my aether core and look into your mind? You know that I can do it but I’m not out of respect for your boundaries” Sylus added on, getting a little frustrated on why you wouldn’t tell him what was going on

“Sometimes I just wonder…” you started, trying to unscramble the words to create a concrete sentence while Sylus rubbed your knuckles with his thumb, reassuring you that he’s not going to judge you. “Go on, sweetie. What do you often wonder, hmm?”

You took another deep breath, not wanting to meet Sylus’ eyes as you spoke. “I just wonder…what made you pursue me and to keep going until now? You know I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m not someone who seems to be capable for long-term because of trust issues and all”

Hearing your reply, Sylus gripped your hand a bit more comforting instead of tight and rough. “Sweetie, look at me”

You still tried to avoid Sylus’ gaze until you felt his large hands creep under your chin and gently turn your head so that you were facing him. Instead of looking annoyed or angry like he normally does when he’s out, his eyes showed a softer, more vulnerable side of him. One that you almost never saw.

“Is there truly a need for a reason to pursue you other than the fact that I adore you?” Sylus asked, his hand on your chin rubbing your face gently and lovingly to the point you almost leaned into his touch but held back and shook your head. “It’s just weird. You’re practically the most powerful man in the N109 zone, you’re wealthy, and handsome might I add. Why pursue me when you can have many other gorgeous and much more successful girls?”

Sylus felt his heart swell when he heard you put out all the compliments to him. “You really think I’m that handsome?” Sylus smirked as you scoffed, trying to pull your hand but Sylus being Sylus, he wasn’t going to let you go that easily

“Seriously? That’s the only thing you caught when I talk?” Sylus chuckled at your sudden outburst, finding it cute. “I assure you, sweetie, it’s not. But it’s not everyday you call me handsome though I know you thought about it. But for real sweetie, what does all my trait have to do with wanting to pursue you? Why should I pursue other girls when there’s you”

“That’s the thing, Sy. I’m just me. I’m no one special. I’m not even that pretty, not that smart, not a business owner or anything outstanding” you argued back

“But you see, I don’t care about you being someone famous, special, or outstanding. I adore you because you’re you. You’re special to me whether you see yourself as special or not. I adore the way you ramble on about the little things of life. I adore how kind, gentle, and caring you are. I adore how raw and real you are with me. You don’t try to hide your bad side or be fake. You’re always yourself with me and that’s what I adore. You” Sylus reassured you, bringing your hand closer to his face as he kissed each of your knuckles before rubbing them again.

“Sylus…people will talk. Well, people already talk…” you mentioned but didn’t get to continue as Sylus immediately cuts you off

“Let them talk. I don’t give a damn what they say. They can think, assume, or judge the hell they want. But I’m going to prove to everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise”

“You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine” Sylus kissed your knuckles, making sure his lips linger on your skin a bit longer

And somehow, the gentleness of Sylus’ touch and the raw feelings he poured out today brought a sense of relief and reassurance. Bringing a new feeling for you that maybe, for once in your life, it’s okay to be selfish and allow yourself to be loved.

A/N: I hope that you all are well, here is the fic I promised where you, the girl, doesn't really believe in love and Sylus reassures you by asking you to trust him and show you what love truly is :3 xoxo, peanutpinet

[salemrph]

"A Hunter's Christmas Hustle: X-Mas Morning" Sylus x MC

Summary: On Christmas morning, you wake up flustered from the previous night’s events. Sylus teases you about the kiss, pushing your buttons. As the tension rises, you can’t deny the growing feelings. Maybe the Christmas magic help you to make up your mind.

Read before: A Hunter's Christmas Hustle" Sylus x MC

Character: MC x Sylus

Genre: holiday, fluff, romantic | Pet names : Kitten, Sweetie

| Word count: 4,339 | Reading Time: 17 min | AO3

The next morning, you wake up in Sylus’s large bed. The soft amber glow from the simulated sunlight on the nightstand bathes the room in a calming hue, reminding you that here in N109 Zone, natural light is an impossible luxury. You stir awake slowly, the events of last night replaying in your mind. The adrenaline rush from the Wanderer fight, the shattered whiskey bottle, Sylus’ unexpected Christmas gift, and your lips on his cheek.

A soft warmth rises in your chest as you recall the sensation, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. You lift a hand to your lips, running your index finger over them lightly, as if testing the memory’s reality. His skin had been warm, softer than you expected, a fleeting connection that left an impression deeper than you’re willing to admit.

Your sigh fills the quiet room before you even realize it. God… Your fingers curl against your mouth as your thoughts spiral.

“Morning, kitten,” he greets, his tone as smooth as ever, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts.

Sylus is lounging next to you, propped up on one elbow, his head resting lightly on his hand. His white hair is slightly mussed from sleep, but his crimson eyes glimmer with sharp amusement. The sheets pool low on his hips, exposing the lean, muscular lines of his torso. His signature smug smile graces his lips, as if he’s entirely in control of the moment.

“Did you sleep well,” he continues, his voice laced with teasing, “or were you too busy replaying last night’s kiss in your head?”

Your heart leaps, and you sit up too quickly, the motion sharp and awkward. You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

Your face betrays you instantly, a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks. His smirk deepens as he taps his cheek, the very spot you’d kissed.

“You know, the one right here. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was nice… but now I’m thinking you owe me another.”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “Sylus, I kissed you on the cheek because I felt bad about the whiskey. Don’t push it.”

He slides closer to you, tilting his head with an exaggerated look of disappointment. “And here I thought it was a token of your affection.”

“It was an apology!” you snap, your embarrassment only fueling his delight.

“Well then,” he says, leaning in slightly, his crimson gaze locking with yours, “how about an other kiss as part two. Making up for really letting me down. First, the whiskey. Now, no heartfelt holiday gesture to start the day? I’m beginning to think you’re bad at this, kitten.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You groan.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Before you can protest, he moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around you so that you lay down again, his closeness throwing you off. “Go on,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing yet sincere. “Or are you too scared to follow through?”

Your stomach twists, every nerve in your body alight as the challenge in his gaze holds you captive. You hesitate, heart pounding as you lean forward. “Fine” you mutter. Maybe as apology for resonate with him unconsciously after that sweet moment between you.

When you were ready to go home last night, you had again the evol linkaged on your wrist.

"Seems like someone doesn't want to let go" he said soft. Interlacing your fingers he guided you back to his car. "Next time, just say what you want, sweetie."

But instead of his cheek, Sylus tilts his head slightly, just enough that your lips brush the corner of his mouth.

You jerk back, your face flaming. “That wasn’t what we agreed on!”

His laugh is full and genuine, a sound that wraps around you and settles in your chest. “Consider it my Christmas bonus” he says, standing up with a smug grin.

“You—” you huff, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him.

Sylus catches it effortlessly, setting it back on the bed with a wink. “And yet, you keep playing along. I leave you so you can change, you will catch a cold if you keep sleeping like that.”

He move out of the bed and grab a T-shirt, pulling it over. The grey sweatpants he's wearing sit dangerously low on his hips, so you can't help but follow the line from this lower back to his ass. You bite you lip. A moment later he leaves the room, you find yourself smiling despite your flustered state. Damn him.

Wait? What did he said? You freeze, eyes wide as you glance down at yourself. The oversized shirt, which had fallen carelessly off your shoulder, now leaves far too much exposed. Your heart skips a beat as you tug it back up quickly, but the damage is done.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself, trying to steady your breath and regain some sense of control. You walk over to the mirror, glancing at your reflection. Yeah, that the face of someone who is dying to get closer to him.

With a sigh, you quickly take a shower, letting the warmth of the water wash away your lingering embarrassment from earlier. Once dried off and dressed in your robe, you step back into the bedroom—only to freeze in place at the sight of something unexpected.

Laid neatly on the bed is a dress, a pear of long black socks and black polished low heels.

You blink, your brain catching up to the image in front of you. It’s not just any dress—it’s... festive. The top is a sleek black, simple and elegant, but the skirt is where things take a turn. A cheerful Christmas pattern sprawls across the fabric, complete with mistletoe, Santa Claus, reindeer, and snowflakes. For a moment, you just stare at it, unsure how to react.

He can’t be serious, you think, but then again... Sylus is full of surprises. You can’t imagine him picking something like this out, let alone having it delivered and laid out for you. Yet here it is.

You step closer to the bed, your fingers brushing the fabric. It’s softer than you expected, high-quality despite the kitschy design. Somehow, it’s... cute. You huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

Why not humor him? you think, picking up the dress. Maybe, just for today, you can be kind to him.

Slipping into the dress, you’re not surprised by how well it fits. The vintage cut flatters your shape, and the playful pattern on the skirt gives it a lighthearted charm that you hadn’t expected to like as much as you do. You adjust the fabric, smoothing it down with your hands, and catch your reflection in the mirror.

You look... festive. Cheerful, even.

“Alright, Sylus,” you mutter to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got planned next.”

...

The living room looks completely different. Garland and twinkling lights are strung along the walls, framing the windows with a soft golden glow. A small, elegant Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, adorned with delicate ornaments and a shimmering star on top. A pile of wrapped presents sits beneath it, their glossy paper reflecting the light.

You blink, trying to process the scene. How did I not notice this last night? Then again, you’d been half-asleep in the car and barely conscious by the time Sylus had guided you inside.

Your gaze shifts toward the kitchen. Sylus is standing at the stove, humming softly—an actual melody—while flipping something in a skillet.

At the sound of your footsteps, he glances up, and for a split second, his crimson eyes widen ever so slightly. His usual smug grin quickly returns, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze as he takes you in.

“Well, well,” he drawls, leaning casually against the counter. “Looks like someone decided to embrace the holiday spirit.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but the smile on your face gives you away.

“Ridiculously charming, you mean.” He gestures to the table. “Now sit down, kitten. Breakfast is getting cold.”

You raise an eyebrow as you take your seat, gesturing at Sylus with a fork. “And you? Are you not changing into something festive too? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Sylus smirks, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. His current ensemble—a simple T-shirt and sweatpants—looks far too relaxed for the holiday vibe he’s apparently trying to create.

“Patience, kitten,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “I plan to change, but I wanted to make sure you had breakfast first. Can’t have you fainting from hunger before you get to see me looking exceptional.”

You roll your eyes, biting into a piece of pancake. “Exceptional, huh? You better not disappoint. I’m picturing something with reindeer antlers or a Santa hat.”

He chuckles, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you’ll see. But I promise, I’ll leave the Christmas patterns to you. You wear them better.”

“Wow, a compliment,” you tease, trying to suppress a grin. “Should I be worried?”

He winks. “Always.”

With that, Sylus pushes off the counter and heads toward the bedroom. “Finish your pancakes, kitten. I’ll be back before you know it.”

If Sylus is putting this much effort into Christmas, there’s no way he’s going to stop at just decorating the living room and making breakfast.

As you finish the last bite of your pancake, Sylus returns to the room—and it takes you a moment to register the sight of him.

He’s changed into an outfit that perfectly complements your vintage dress. A crisp white button-up shirt, neatly tucked into tailored black trousers, is accented with a dark green vest that brings out the faintest flecks of warmth in his crimson eyes. Over the ensemble, he’s draped a charcoal-gray blazer, its cut sharp and classic, fitting him like it was made for him.

But it’s the details that catch your attention: the faint shimmer of a gold pocket watch chain glinting from the vest, the perfectly knotted burgundy tie, and the polished black shoes that complete the look.

You can’t help it—you stare.

How is he so handsome?

He’s already striking in his usual attire, but this? This feels like he’s stepped out of another era, exuding a timeless charm that leaves you momentarily speechless.

Sylus notices, of course. He always notices. But he doesn’t acknowledge the way your gaze lingers on him, nor the faint flush that creeps up your cheeks. Instead, he walks over to the corner of the room, where a sleek sound system rests.

Without a word, he turns it on, and the soft crackle of vintage Christmas songs fills the air. The rich, velvety tones of Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” envelop the space, adding an undeniable warmth to the festive atmosphere.

“What do you think? Do I pass the test?”

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away before your flustered state gives you away entirely. “I guess it’ll do,” you mumble, your tone deliberately nonchalant.

His lips quirk into that signature smug smile, but he doesn’t press you further. “Good. Wouldn’t want to outshine you, kitten.”

You snort, trying to regain some composure. “Please, as if you could.”

Sylus chuckles, walking over to the table. He pours you another cup of coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the sounds of the music. “Drink up. We’ve got a long day ahead, and you’ll need your energy.”

“For what?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

He tilts his head, that maddeningly enigmatic smile still in place. “You’ll see.”

You sip your coffee, trying to focus on anything other than how good Sylus looks in that outfit. The music plays softly in the background, adding a cozy charm to the room that feels almost surreal considering who you’re sharing it with.

Sylus, of course, is completely in his element. He moves with his usual ease, clearing the table and making sure everything is in order, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. It’s infuriating, really, how he can be so composed while you’re fighting to keep your thoughts in check.

“Still staring, kitten?” he teases without even looking up.

You nearly choke on your coffee, quickly setting the mug down. “I am not staring,” you snap, your tone defensive.

He glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “If you say so.”

You groan, leaning back in your chair. “Are you always like this?”

“Only when it’s fun,” he replies smoothly, returning to the table to gather the last of the dishes.

As he steps past you, the scent of his cologne—subtle and woodsy, with a hint of spice—lingers in the air. You stiffen, heat rising to your cheeks again.

“I’ll take these to the kitchen,” he says, giving you a fleeting smile that’s almost... soft. You watch him go, feeling a little unsteady. This is... Get a grip.

When Sylus returns, he surprises you by holding out a hand.

“Come on,” he says, his voice lower now, almost inviting.

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he says simply, nodding toward the space he’s cleared near the Christmas tree.

Your heart skips a beat. “Really? Now?”

“Why not?” He smirks, his head tilting slightly. “It’s Christmas. Isn’t this the kind of thing people do? Dance to sappy music by the tree?”

You glance at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. His expression is unreadable, a mix of amusement and something softer, something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t...” You hesitate, but the look in his eyes pulls at you.

“Sweetie,” he says, leaning down slightly so his face is level with yours, his tone teasing yet gentle, “if you’re scared, just say so.”

Your pride flares, and before you can stop yourself, you place your hand in his. “Fine. One dance.”

His fingers curl around yours, warm and steady, as he guides you to the open space. The music shifts to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” the soft melody wrapping around you both like a blanket.

Sylus places a hand lightly on your waist, his touch firm but not overbearing, and you rest your free hand on his shoulder. He moves effortlessly, leading you in a slow, easy rhythm that surprises you.

“You’re... good at this,” you admit grudgingly, avoiding his gaze.

He laughed, his voice low and smooth. “I told you. I don’t half-ass anything.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. The moment feels strangely intimate, the two of you moving together in perfect sync. For once, Sylus doesn’t say anything cocky or teasing. He just holds you, his expression unreadable as his crimson eyes meet yours.

And for a fleeting moment, you forget about the chaos, the danger, the complicated dynamic between you. All that matters is the warmth of his hand on your waist, the soft strains of the music, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth focusing on.

The dance had been smooth up until the very end. You’re so flustered and distracted by the proximity, the warmth of his hand on your waist, and the way his crimson eyes never leave yours, that as the final notes of the song play, you trip over your own feet.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you lose your balance, but before you can even process the fall, Sylus reacts instantly. His arms wrap around you with a swiftness that takes your breath away, pulling you tightly against him.

You freeze, eyes wide, as Sylus pulls you closer, your breath hitching. His chest is warm against yours, his strong arms wrapped firmly around your waist. The playful glint in his eyes hasn’t faded, only deepened.

“Careful” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Falling for me already?”

Your face burns, and you push against him weakly, but his grip tightens, unyielding. Before you can protest, he shifts smoothly, guiding you both toward the couch. In one fluid motion, you find yourself perched on his lap, with no space left to escape.

Your Christmas dress rides up slightly, revealing more of your black socks and upper thighs—a detail Sylus doesn’t miss. His gaze lingers, appreciative and unashamed, the intensity in his eyes adding an almost tangible heat to the air between you.

“Really,” you sputter, your voice shaky as you try to tug your dress back down. “Was this necessary?”

Sylus leans back slightly, one arm draped casually over the couch, the other resting firmly on your hip. “Absolutely,” he says, his smirk widening. “It’s my duty to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Consider this... preventative care.”

“Preventative care?” you echo, glaring at him.

He tilts his head, his expression equal parts amused and smug. “Of course. Can’t have you twisting an ankle or worse, sweetie. Especially not when you look so adorable in that dress.”

Your heart skips at his words, and you curse yourself for the way your pulse quickens under his gaze. The Christmas music plays on in the background, the soft crackle of an old record filling the silence between you.

"Stop looking at me like that," you protest, though your voice is shaky. His presence has always had a way of disarming you, but this—this is different.

His gaze locks onto yours, unflinching. "Or what?" he asks, his voice a low, smooth drawl. His words send a shiver through you, despite the annoyance you're trying to hold onto.

Your stomach twists in a mix of frustration and something else—something you don't want to name. "Let go of me," you demand, though it's weaker now, more uncertain.

Sylus doesn’t move, his smirk deepening as his fingers brush lightly along your arm, sending an electric pulse through your skin. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs, his voice teasing, “but you haven’t exactly tried to get away.”

Your breath quickens as you look for an escape—your mind racing. He's so close, too close, but you know he’s teasing, pushing buttons just to get under your skin. And yet, there's a part of you that... likes it. Desire it.

Touch me.

"Let me go, Sylus," you say again, this time firmer, your voice not quite matching the heat flooding your cheeks.

"Not yet," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Not until you stop pretending you don’t want this."

Your heart stutters. "What are you talking about?"

Hug me.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your chest. "You know exactly what I mean, kitten."

Both of you stay frozen in place, staring at each other. His eyes hold a challenge, daring you to break the silence, to acknowledge the unspoken tension crackling in the air. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re sure he can feel it where his hands rest on your waist.

You clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Admitting your feelings—whatever this is—feels like surrendering, and you’ve never been the type to back down. Not to him. Not to anyone.

But the intensity of his gaze is unravelling your resolve, bit by bit. His expression isn’t mocking anymore; it’s softer, searching, like he’s looking for something in you, waiting for you to say what you both know.

You press your palms against his chest, more to steady yourself than to push him away. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sylus,” you manage, your voice low and tight.

His lips twitch into a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really don’t?” His thumb brushes against your side, the contact sending shivers up your spine. “You’re not as good at hiding as you think, kitten.”

Hold me closer.

You scowl, a flush creeping up your neck. “Stop calling me that.”

“No.” The word is quiet but firm. His forehead drops against yours, and his voice softens. “Not until you tell me why it bothers you so much.”

Your chest tightens, a rush of emotions threatening to spill over. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay composed. You want to say something cutting, something that will wipe that smug look off his face. But the words won’t come.

Because he’s right. And you hate him for it.

Finally, you tear your gaze away, staring somewhere—anywhere—that isn’t his face. “I’m not... ready for this,” you mutter, barely audible.

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his voice patient but persistent. “For what?”

“For you,” you snap, before you can stop yourself.

His grip on your waist doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise? Amusement? Relief? You can’t tell, and it’s infuriating.

“Funny,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Because I think you’ve been ready for a while. You just don’t want me to win.”

Please...

You glare at him, ignoring everything was your body is screaming. “Win what?”

“Whatever it is we’re fighting over,” he says “But you’re the one who made it a game, kitten. I’m just playing along.”

His words strike a nerve, and you shove at his chest, though he barely moves. “This isn’t a game.”

“Then why are you so scared to admit how you feel?” His tone is calm, his gaze unwavering, and it makes you want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe...

Kiss me.

Anything to get that maddening look off his face. But you don’t. Because even if you want to, you can’t let him win. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

The silence between you stretches, the tension coiling tighter with every second. His hands stay on your waist, steady, as if he’s daring you to move first. You know he won’t back down—he never does. But neither will you.

Your breathing is shallow, your pulse hammering in your ears as you force yourself to meet his gaze again. His eyes are dark, searching yours, like he’s waiting for you to break. For you to choose.

“I’m not scared,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky but defiant.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “No?”

You swallow hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to retreat, to put space between you before this... whatever this is, spirals out of control. But you stay.

“You’re the one who’s scared,” you counter. It’s a weak jab, but it’s all you have left. “You’re just hiding it behind that smug face of yours.”

His smile falters, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. A flicker of vulnerability, there and gone.

“You think this is easy for me?” His voice is low, rough, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “You think I don’t—” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply. His grip on your hips tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to let go.

But then, he moves one hand to your lower back and gently goes up to the middle of the back. Staying there, slightly pushing you against him.

"I'm pretty sure I have made myself clear multiple times. Or have you forget it, my beloved?

As the tension thickens between you and Sylus, the soft crackle of the vintage record continues to fill the room. A romantic melody begins to play, its soothing yet melancholic notes mingling with the charged atmosphere around you. It’s a classic, tender tune, slow and intimate—something like "I'll Be Home for Christmas"—a song that tugs at the heart, its nostalgic lyrics almost as if they were written for this very moment. The melody wraps around you both, amplifying the quiet storm swirling between you, adding weight to the unspoken emotions flickering in his eyes.

Sylus's gaze softens just slightly, his thumb brushing your cheek, as if the song has pulled something out of him too, some piece of vulnerability, a part of him he’s never shown before. His breath mingles with yours, warm and slow, and for a moment you let go.

“Sylus...” you breathe his name softly, but it feels like everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been too afraid to say.

“I can wait...” the words are coated with restraints. His lips hover so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off him, just as the final notes of the song drift into silence.

How long have I hold back?

And that’s all it takes. Without a single thought, without hesitation, you close the gap between you. You hear Sylus gasp, his body tensing for a moment while he grabs you harder. The kiss is sudden and fierce, messy with desire and need, but it’s everything: real, raw, and irrevocable. And in that moment, everything else—the tension, the game, the resistance—disappears.

When you finally pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing that exists. His smirk is gone, replaced by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. You relax in his grip. He looks much younger with those eyes.

“Guess I won” he whispers, his forehead resting again against yours.

You manage a shaky laugh, your chest still heaving. “Maybe we both did.”

Sylus brushes a strand of hair from your face. You both sit in the quiet, the world outside forgotten, as the faint sound of the songs fades into the background. For the first time, there’s no tension, no game—just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the moment.

Certainly, a way to start the Christmas morning.

It took me a while to write this down. But yeah, I hope you have a beautiful time with family and friends.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 04

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS/WARNINGS: flashback in italics, the first chapter all in MC pov!, The Truce, yoongi is insane about pens and notebooks again, communication via lipliner and water, yijeong cameo, park jimin strikes fear into yoongi’s heart, tangerine hats and heart-pocket pants, seokjin is unhelpful, idk most of this chapter is a bit silly to be completely honest with y’all, stuff happens but i don't want to give too much away (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.8k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i told y’all this was a slow burn... but happy valentine’s day! thank you to tanni @yooniivrse and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading this chapter (and K again for literally writing a whole line for me when i got stuck)

CH. 04: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

There are worse places to be, you think, than sitting across from Yoo Kihyun.

He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Expensive clothes, perfect teeth, dark brown hair styled neatly away from his forehead. An endearing little divot at the curve of his sharp jawline. The kindest eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

The restaurant he’s picked is a bit hard to get into, a new trendy spot that’s had a line out the door every night since it opened. You’re honestly a little impressed that he managed to get a reservation. If the flush in his cheeks when you mention that is anything to go by, that was his intention.

You’re no good at first dates, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation. He has plenty to talk about, riding high on his critically acclaimed debut. Well-earned acclaim, in your book—he has a beautiful voice, along with a charming personality that his growing fanbase is sure to love the more they get to know him.

You’re happy to listen, and even happier to keep the attention off of yourself for as long as you can. Kihyun’s relatively new to the industry, hasn’t been in the game for too long, and you’re starting to realize that the less he knows about you, the more you like him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been in such an intimate setting with a man, and you’re surprised by how at ease you begin to feel as the night goes on. The tension in your body dissipates more and more with every sip of wine, every kind word. Kihyun hasn’t made any move to touch you, but by the time he pays the check, you’re starting to think you’d let him if he tried. 

You wait together, side by side, for the valet to pull his car around. Maybe it’s the wine, but in a moment of bravery, you allow your fingers to slide between his tentatively. Your heart skips a beat when his hand squeezes yours, interlacing your fingers all the way.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Kihyun says, his voice soft. “I’m sure you get that all the time, being a model. But it’s true.”

His free hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, and you turn to him. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he adds.

It’s the first thing everyone notices about you now, with your new career path. More often than not, it’s the only thing people bother to notice, you think. You still haven’t learned how to respond to the compliments, not when you don’t even know how to feel about them.

You kiss him instead. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to meet you. His lips firm against yours, frozen in surprise, before they yield into something softer. Tentative. Chaste. Gentle.

You were probably going to do it anyway. It feels better than saying ‘thank you’ when you’re not sure you’d really mean it.

★ ★ ★

A week has passed since you shook hands with the devil.

To his credit, Yoongi seems to be holding up his end of the deal—better than you are, even. It’s unsettling. You think you hate it.

It’s gone like this:

Day One

You wake up and choose violence. 

The memory of Yoongi using your ex-boyfriend against you is still fresh in your brain, and you decide to say fuck the truce until he pays suitably. It’s only fair.

Yoongi doesn’t leave the house often, unless dragged, but the universe seems to be on your side today. He’s out of cigarettes! Praise be. Surely his absence, however brief, will give you enough time to exact your revenge.

You tiptoe down the stairs just in time to watch the back of his stupid head disappear as the front door closes behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you’re springing into action.

Careful not to tip off his bandmates, you slink around the house, stuffing your cardigan pockets with every single Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pen you can get your sights on. 

Maybe it’s childish, stealing all of Yoongi’s pens, but fuck it. What else do you know about him? What else is there to take? Pens will have to do.

By the time you’ve scanned each room in the house, twice, your pockets are overflowing. More pens create indentations in your stomach, stashed in the elastic of your leggings like a belt. Like a trophy.

Fifty-six pens are dumped into the bathroom sink. An absolute mental patient amount of pens for one person to have, you think as you separate them into groups of seven. You bundle them with hair ties, stuff them into your emptied makeup bag, and hide your crime in plain sight—the bathroom counter.

Then you wait.

The payoff isn’t immediate. Once he gets back, it takes an hour or so for Yoongi to start patting his pockets. A little longer for drawers to be rifled through, for couch cushions to be overturned. You just watch, confident that he won’t find anything.

By the end of the night, the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a crazed fan, and your makeup bag remains untouched.

Day Two

You have sightseeing plans with Jeongguk today, a visit to the aquarium where photos are sure to be taken. You’re just about to leave the bedroom and head downstairs to meet him when you notice a piece of paper at your feet. 

When you pick it up, you’re faced with the scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting, smudged in an eerily familiar shade of pink.

The name Yoo Kihyun will never come out of my mouth again if that’s what you want. Have mercy on my pens. They didn’t do anything wrong.

— The only person committed to this truce, apparently

P.S. Your lipliner is now a prisoner of war

You absolutely do not snort at Yoongi’s note. You don’t find him funny.

What is funny, however, is that when he swiped the lipliner from the bathroom you share with Jeongguk, he was less than three feet away from all fifty-six of his pens the whole time. Hilarious.

Later, when you’re watching a group of penguins waddle behind glass, you’re hit with a wave of genius.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me Yoongi’s number? I don’t have it.”

Jeongguk seems more than happy to comply, instantly fishing his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Wow, you two are really getting along now, huh?” he asks, sounding more than pleased as he taps on his phone screen a few times.

“What can I say?” you hum, retrieving your own phone as it buzzes in your purse. “You were right. We have more in common than we thought.”

You open your camera app and hit record, zooming in on one of the penguins for a few seconds. It’s the first thing you send to Yoongi.

You: has anyone ever told you that you walk like this?

Day Three

Yoongi has a new pack of pens delivered to the house. You decide to let him keep them, since your message was clearly received. No response to your penguin text yet.

Day Four

Jeongguk needs to learn to read the room, you decide.

It’s late as fuck. You’ve been out all night with him, on another sightseeing trip—following him around, holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. Everything that’s expected of you.

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the mask of ‘fake girlfriend’ feels too tight, too heavy. All you really want is to climb into bed and go to sleep.

Instead, you’re wide awake, idly scrolling on your phone in bed while Jeongguk talks to his real girlfriend over the phone. With all the fucking lights on.

Despite how hard you try to tune them out, you catch every single word. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room with him, that you’re trying to sleep, too busy cooing sweet nothings over the line. 

In this moment, you’re more aware of where you stand with Jeongguk than you’ve ever been. And for the first time since this whole charade began, you’re actually kind of grateful that you’re not really dating Jeongguk. As it turns out, Jeongguk in love is nauseating. Since you’re on your phone, you go ahead and tell Seokjin as much.

After toughing it out for nearly half an hour, you slip out of bed. You decide to go get yourself a glass of water or something, give Jeongguk time with his girlfriend. You’re sure he misses her.

You tiptoe to the door quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to your presence or your departure. “Noona, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Jeongguk whines, completely oblivious to you. 

Aw hell nah.

You book it down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, so fast that you’re out of breath by the time you make it to the bottom.

The living room is dark when you pass through it. You think, for a moment, that you and Jeongguk might be the only ones still awake at this hour. As you get closer to the kitchen, though, the smell of fresh coffee floods your senses.

There’s only one person in this house insane enough to make coffee this late at night.

“Hey.” 

The sound of your voice makes Yoongi freeze in his tracks, caught, but he shakes it off quickly. 

“Hey,” he replies in kind, looking you over. “You’re up late.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, confused, until you look down at yourself and realize what he must be thinking. You’re in sleep shorts and a tank top, barely covered despite the chill outside, sneaking downstairs late at night. From the room that you share with your supposed boyfriend. Out of breath and shaken up.

He probably thinks you just had sex.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply stiffly. “Thought I’d get some water.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stare at the coffee pot as it brews in front of him. Good. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

You grab a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up at the sink. It hits you, as you take a sip, that you haven’t actually spoken to Yoongi since the truce began four days ago. Nothing beyond a note written in your lipliner and an unanswered text about penguins. You don’t know how to act around him now, unsure of how guarded you need to be.

Thankfully (you hope), he breaks the silence first.

“I’ll be out of your hair once this is done,” he says, gesturing towards the coffee. You can’t help but note that he still isn’t looking at you.

“Who drinks coffee this late, anyway?” It’s an attempt at a joke, something to cut through the awkwardness settling between you.

Right at that moment, the coffee pot beeps. Wordlessly, Yoongi fills his mug and shuffles past you like he’s in a hurry, hot coffee threatening to spill over.

“People with albums to write,” he mumbles once he reaches the doorway. Without another glance in your direction, he’s gone.

Day Five

Your day starts with a pounding in your head.

Despite both of you falling asleep around the same time (read: late as hell), the couch Jeongguk’s been sleeping on is desolate when you open your eyes. 

He does that, you’ve noticed. No matter how late he stays up, he’s always up at the asscrack of dawn, going for a run or whatever it is he feels so compelled to do during the devil’s hours.

You roll out of bed around ten. You don’t have anything to do today, and judging by the quiet, it seems like you might have an empty house on your hands. It’s for the best, you think, because your skull feels like it’s about to pop.

Coffee, then. That should help.

Almost as soon as you cross the threshold from bedroom into the hallway, you’re intercepted by an extremely perturbed Yoongi.

“Okay, the pen thing was cute and all, but this is a little different,” he says. No hi, hello, how are you? Great. Your temples are throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, making an attempt to push past him so you can get to the stairs, but Yoongi stops you with a hand on your elbow. Again with that shit.

“YN,” he huffs, unimpressed. “Just give it back. I know you have it.”

“Have what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Will you stop fucking doing that, by the way?”

“My notebook,” Yoongi says, stepping in front of you again. “I can’t find it, and you stealing my shit seems to be a running theme this week.”

You blink at him, brows knitted together in confusion. His notebook? The fuck?

“What, you only had the one? But five dozen pens didn’t seem like overkill?”

“YN, I’m not fucking around,” he snaps. “There’s shit I need in there. Like all the songs for the album I’m here to write? An album I’d really like to finish as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t say the ‘so I can get away from you’ part, but he doesn’t really have to. His tone says enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have his shit.

“Should’ve kept better track of it, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this, Yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “You are fucking ridiculous, you know that? You’re the one who wanted this stupid truce. I was perfectly fine with the way we were operating before, but you came to me, practically begging me to play nice. What the fuck have I been doing?”

He’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You clench your fists at your sides. “Playing nice,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Better than you,” he adds, arms crossed over his chest. “I know you’re used to everyone letting you get away with whatever, but I’m not Kihyun, and I’m not Jeongguk. I don’t gain anything by letting you act like a brat.”

That makes you bristle. “Fuck you. I don’t have your stupid notebook, Yoongi. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not interested in reading any more shitty lyrics about how much of a cunt you think I am.”

With that, you shove him out of your way once and for all. Blood rushes through your ears as you hurry down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wide-eyed Jimin in your haste. 

Shit. You can only hope he didn’t hear any of that.

You run into Yoongi one more time, right before bed. Same as last night, you’re getting yourself a glass of water while he makes coffee. You move around each other in stony silence, both of you unwilling to acknowledge the other’s presence in the kitchen. 

This time, though, you’re the one that leaves first. It feels a little like getting the last word.

Day Six

You spend the whole day in Teams meetings. You packed your schedule on purpose this time, disinterested in dealing with anyone that isn’t paid to kiss your ass. 

You eat a power bar for lunch. At dinner, Jeongguk brings a plate upstairs for you. You claim that you’re too busy to come down, but really, you’re still licking your wounds after your run-in with Yoongi yesterday afternoon.

It seems stupid now, but you really thought things were getting a bit better between the two of you. Or, at least, you hoped so. You weren’t naive enough to think that Yoongi was starting to like you, but you did think that there was a mutual respect forming there.

Your mistake.

It’s late when you decide to venture downstairs. You’re restless, having spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning while Jeongguk snores from the other side of the room.

Late enough that you think, hope, that you’ll be able to avoid another run-in with Yoongi. Even if he’s still awake, there’s no way he’s making coffee at this hour. You held off for long enough.

When you reach the kitchen, you find that you’re half right. The coffee pot is nearly empty, but judging by the aroma, the pot wasn’t made all that long ago. Yoongi, however, is nowhere to be found.

On the kitchen counter sits a glass of water, and next to it, a scrap of paper. Blank, but unmistakably from Yoongi’s thought-to-be-missing notebook.

Huh. So he found it.

You take the glass upstairs with you, careful not to wake Jeongguk as you sneak back into the room. It’s only when you climb back into bed that your phone buzzes beside you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of your still-unanswered penguin text, and a new message.

The Devil: 🏳️

Day Seven

When you venture into the living room in the morning, you’re surprised to find the whole band gathered around the seating area. 

For the most part, the house has remained pretty quiet during the time you’ve been here. Today, though, it’s rowdy. You quickly find out why when you spot an unfamiliar fifth face—a handsome stranger with his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders.

A new bombshell has entered the villa. 

The chattering stops as soon as you’re spotted. You don’t even get a chance to be properly introduced to the new houseguest before you’re intercepted by Jimin, who throws himself in front of you at the foot of the stairs. 

“The inappropriately dressed goddess in silk shorts is Jeonggukie’s girlfriend, YN.”

“You may recognize her face from every Olive Young in Seoul,” Taehyung adds with amusement. 

“YN, this is Yijeong.” Jimin turns around, pointing at you. You think you catch a twitch in his right eye. “Go get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Um… Okay,” you say, half-awake and confused. 

Once you’re dressed less than half an hour later, you’re all piling into the van outside. The busy day, you find out, consists of a trip to the Little Prince citrus orchard—the trip that the band takes every time they’re in Jeju. You guess it was fast tracked due to Yijeong’s arrival.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled at the prospect of spending your day picking tangerines, but the vibe seems off. Jimin looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and the glances you catch him sending Yoongi’s way chill you to the bone. You don’t know what Yoongi did to piss him off, but it seems like Jimin has officially cracked, and you don’t really want to get on his bad side by asking.

Still, you suck it up. There will be plenty of photo opportunities, you reason. Plus, the hallabong smoothie this place offers looks really fucking good.

Upon entry, you’re handed a small wicker basket and gloves for tangerine picking. At the very least, the weather is suitable for what Jimin has in store. It’s the kind of winter day that feels fresh and crisp, more than comfortable to walk around in as long as you have a jacket.

At first, the group breaks off into twos—Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi and Yijeong, you and Jeongguk. You’re not exactly mad about the pairing, considering it means you’ll get to take those pictures for Seoyeon to post on your Instagram. Jeongguk is more than willing to indulge you, immediately tugging you close and snapping a selca with his cheek smushed against yours.

As your basket fills, though, you end up rotating through the group. Taehyung, dressed all in warm tones, buys you one of those smoothies you’ve been eyeing. Jimin snickers at you as you spike it with the flask you’ve had stashed in your purse, stealing a sip. Even Yijeong makes a point to walk with you for a bit, re-introducing himself politely.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to greet you properly earlier,” he says, sheepish. “It’s hard to get a word in with this group, sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you quip back easily, eyes scanning over the hanging hallabongs surrounding your path. “So, you’re here for the weekend, then?”

“Seems like it. Yoongi-yah called me down earlier this week. He wants a fresh pair of eyes for a song he’s working on.”

You scoff at that, unable to help yourself. “Like he doesn’t have three other pairs already?”

Yijeong gives you a sidelong glance, although it isn’t unkind. “He can be kind of secretive,” he explains, careful. “I think he just wanted the opinion of someone without a vested interest.”

You hum, unsure of how to respond. It makes sense, you guess.

“Am I wrong in assuming there’s a little bit of… tension there?” Yijeong continues. “Between you two.”

“We’re working on it,” you mumble, taking a much-needed sip of your smoothie. “Really. Chalk it up to incompatible personalities.”

“Ah.” Yijeong chuckles knowingly. “I get it. Yoongi-yah can be a little…”

“Bitchy?”

“Guarded,” he snorts. “But bitchy, too. I thought the same, when we first met. I was signed to the label about a year after Burn the Stage was. It took us a while to become as close as we are now.”

“You’re a musician?” you ask, interest piqued. You’ve never heard his name before, but granted, you don’t really keep track of that side of the industry anymore.

“Soloist,” Yijeong confirms, seemingly unoffended by your lack of recognition. “Producer, sometimes. I helped master their last album. I guess I impressed Yoongi, back then.”

“Teach me your ways,” you joke, earning another laugh from him.

“He’s not as hard to figure out as he likes to come off. It’s getting him to trust you, that's the hard part.”

Ah. Well. You’re kind of fucked in that department.

“Just give it time,” Yijeong says reassuringly. “If you’ve won the rest of them over, Yoongi will follow. He likes to play the part of the overprotective hyung, but he really is a nice guy when it comes down to it.”

“So I keep hearing. You two must be close, then.”

“Yoongi doesn’t have a lot of people to talk about his problems with. He’s way more interested in being a problem solver for others. But… everybody needs somebody.”

You grimace, stomach dropping at the thought of what kind of things Yoongi might have said about you, to this virtual stranger. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yijeong.

“If it helps, he hasn’t had anything bad to say about you since I showed up,” he adds reassuringly.

“Meaning he hasn’t said anything about me at all?” you ask, hopeful.

“Mm. Well, he said you’re pretty… passionate,” Yijeong says, lips quirking up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’ve learned that’s a good thing, in Yoongi’s book.”

Or it’s code for crazy bitch. But hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“Sure,” you hum, glancing in Yoongi’s direction. He’s a little further ahead on the path, deep in conversation with Jimin. His face is as pale as the white flag he sent you. Uh oh. “We’ll see.”

As the two of you gain on Yoongi and Jimin, it seems like whatever confrontation that was being had is over with. Good, because you still don’t really want to know what that was about.

“You need the Vitamin C, hyung,” you overhear Jimin say as you and Yijeong approach. He bumps Yoongi’s shoulder conspiratorially. “I bought something for you.”

“What?” Yoongi narrows his eyes.

From behind his back, Jimin procures a hat—a fuzzy, bright orange tangerine hat, complete with a tiny green leaf on top. He looks thrilled.

Yoongi, however, does not.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” Jimin is already shoving the hat onto Yoongi’s head before he can fight back, dodging his weak attempts to resist. “Cute,” he coos, stepping back to admire his work.

Yoongi glares, but to your amusement, doesn’t make any move to take it off. 

Jimin, delighted, raises his phone. “Come on, let me get a picture—”

“No.”

“Just one! You’re already wearing the hat—”

“Park Jimin, do you want to die?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Jimin is full-on sprinting, chasing Yoongi around the orchard, phone camera wielded like a weapon. You can’t help but laugh. You’ve never seen Yoongi run, but just like his walk, there’s something penguin-esque there.

As Yoongi dashes past you, tangerine hat still firmly on his head, your gaze catches on something. His jeans—fitted just right, annoyingly so—have heart-shaped pockets.

You blink, looking away immediately. Definitely not something you needed to notice. Definitely not something you should be thinking about. But the image is burned into your mind, and unfortunately, Jimin notices the direction of your gaze and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “Hyung, are those hearts on your back pockets?”

Shit.

Puzzled, Yoongi slows to a stop, frowning. “What? So what?”

Jimin, absolutely giddy, points. “Oh my god. Look at you, Mr. Soft and Romantic.”

“They’re just jeans,” Yoongi grumbles, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears says otherwise.

Jeongguk, watching the whole thing unfold, slides next to you where Yijeong had just stood. “You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea, staring at Yoongi-hyung’s butt like that,” he murmurs, voice low so no one else can hear.

You shove him, hard, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “Yah, they’re cute jeans!” you hiss-whisper. “Maybe I want a pair for myself!”

He just grins, nudging your shoulder again. “Come on, pervert. We’re all going to dinner.” 

★ ★ ★

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

★ ★ ★

The finale to Yijeong’s impromptu weekend visit is a night of bar hopping. A night that ends at a local noraebang.

The room all of you inhabit is small but cozy, with plush seating surrounding a sleek table. Accent lighting on the walls glows neon, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The large screen in the middle of the room is lit up with endless list of songs—some that you’re surprised to see in the repertoire.

Everyone picks off of a tray of drinks and snacks—crispy fries, fried chicken, soju shots, frothy beer—refueling after all of the alcohol you’ve downed tonight.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, but when Taehyung thrusts the microphone into your hands with a boxy grin, you don’t hesitate. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a noraebang, but you can never go wrong with some Paramore.

The moment the opening chords of Ignorance blast through the speakers, something electric rushes through you. It’s instinct, really—the kind of song that demands to be sung like you mean it.

If I'm a bad person, you don't like me Well, I guess I'll make my own way It's a circle, a mean cycle I can't excite you anymore

Where's your gavel? Your jury? What's my offense this time? You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me Well, sentence me to another life

Like riding a fucking bike.

As soon as you open your mouth, Jimin and Taehyung immediately lose their minds, jumping onto the couch and headbanging along like he’s one of the fans at a concert for his own band. Jeongguk, beside him, stares in awe, boba eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

But it’s Yoongi you glance at between verses, though you’re not sure why. He’s leaning back against the couch, half-hidden in the dim lighting, watching. His expression is completely unreadable. You can’t look away.

This is the best thing that could have happened Any longer and I wouldn't have made it It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture I'm just a person, but you can't take it The same tricks that, that once fooled me They won't get you anywhere I'm not the same kid from your memory Well, now I can fend for myself

Don't wanna hear your sad songs I don't wanna feel your pain When you swear it's all my fault 'Cause you know we're not the same We're not the same Oh, we're not the same

By the time you hit the chorus, you’re all in—singing like you’ve got something to prove, like the song is a battle you refuse to lose. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It’s more fun than you’ve had in a long fucking time.

As the last note fades out, you’re fighting for breath, buzzing from the energy. The room erupts into cheers, and Jimin all but tackles you in excitement.

“Holy shit, YN,” he howls. “That was amazing. Again, again!”

Before you can protest, Jeongguk takes the mic from your hands and spins through the song queue. “Nah, it’s my turn,” he declares. “Does this thing have Linkin Park?”

When you manage to peel Jimin off of you, Yoongi’s gone.

You know that it shouldn’t bother you. You know that you should say good riddance, let him go do whatever is so important that he had to bolt like that. But for some reason completely beyond you, you just can’t. 

Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, but it falls on deaf ears anyway. Everybody is wasted, attention already diverted to queueing up the next song, and you slip out entirely unnoticed.

The alley behind the noraebang is dimly lit, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap. And there he is, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips. He notices you immediately, his gaze flickering to you in that lazy way of his.

“You left,” you say dumbly.

He lifts his cigarette in answer. “Need something?”

It’s a great question. Now that you’ve found him and you’re freezing your ass off, your lost sanity is quickly finding its way back to you. Why did you leave everybody inside to follow a person you hate?

“Just needed some air,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, smoke curling in the space between you, and you shift on your feet, shivering against the cold. If he notices, he doesn’t comment—just watches you with that unreadable expression, waiting.

You should go back inside. You should say something biting, roll your eyes, turn on your heel. But you don’t. Instead, you rub your hands along your arms, trying to warm yourself up, and Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“You’re shivering.”

Uh, yeah? It’s winter and you forgot your jacket inside. Of course you’re shivering.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering, then shrugs off his jacket. Before you can protest, he steps forward, draping it over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It smells like him—faint cologne and smoke, something a little sharp but not unpleasant.  

You clutch at the lapels before you can stop yourself, blinking up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the wall. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Right. Because this is totally normal behavior.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the warmth is welcome, and you make no move to give the jacket back.

Yoongi glances at you sideways, smirking. “See? You do like it.”

Suddenly, the cold is forgotten. Like somehow, the cramped noraebang felt less stifling than standing here, out in the cold with Yoongi.

“Why’d you follow me out here, dollface?”

There it is again.

“You need to stop calling me that,” you snap, annoyed.

“Nah,” he hums. Your eyes are drawn to the orange glow as he flicks his cigarette, crushing embers into the ground with the toe of his boot. “I think you like that, too.”

What the fuck.

“I—”

“Answer the question,” he interrupts.

“Why did you leave?” you counter.

“Needed a smoke. Told you that already.”

It’s a solid alibi, but something in his tone tells you he’s not being completely honest. So, you pry.

“Left in a pretty big hurry, for a cigarette,” you goad. 

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say? Clearly you have something in mind.”

All you do is glare at him in response. You’re out here, shivering to death instead of being inside with people that actually enjoy your company. The least he could do is not waste your time by being a fucking pussy.

It’s silent for a long moment, both of you waiting for the other to break. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“I didn’t know you could still sing like that,” he finally says, his voice a low murmur.

Wait.

“Still?” you ask, bewildered.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns up in a lazy smirk. “What, you think I don’t know things about you? You should know better than that by now.”

“I was at your debut show,” he adds, his voice suddenly more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “That voice was my first impression of you. Almost had me fooled.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t elaborate any further. “Fooled into what?” you ask, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t an attempt at a compliment, was it? There’s no way Min Yoongi is paying you a compliment right now.

“Into thinking you’re someone I might want to spend time with,” he replies, unwavering but still completely unclear.

You wish you could tell what he was thinking. What does he mean by that? That if you met under different circumstances…?

The tension is thick, suffocating. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything else—the distant music, the buzz of electricity, the rational part of your brain telling you to walk away.

Yoongi just watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his gaze now—something that makes your breath hitch. Eyes all pupil. 

Against your will, your gaze drops to his lips. You wonder if he notices. You hope he doesn’t. Or maybe you hope he does.

You don’t know who moves first.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him in the cold; the next, his mouth is on yours, and you’re backing him into the wall. It’s messy, urgent—like neither of you expected this, but now that it’s happening, neither of you want to stop.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. You’re dizzy, drunk off the way he kisses you, how he tastes like smoke and whiskey, how his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it, the sensation of smooth metal on the roof of your mouth making you whimper.

And then—

Reality crashes back like a cold slap to the face.

You pull away, breathless, hands shaking as you take a stumbling step back.

“What the fuck,” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, like that’ll erase what just happened.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he looks just as bewildered as you feel, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

What the fuck. What the fuck did you just do?

Without another word, you turn on your heel and bolt, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to get away. Your head is spinning, your heart hammering against your ribs and threatening to explode.

And Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop you. 

You leave everything. You don’t stop. You run, catch a cab, operating completely on instinct until suddenly, you’re in the bedroom, door shut behind you, hands pressed to your face like that’ll somehow ground you.

When you finally lower them, your lips are still tingling, Yoongi’s jacket still draped over your trembling shoulders.

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PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

[5sospenguinqueen]

Sebastian: Quick, take my hand.

MC: (grabs his hand) Okay, now what?

Sebastian: Nothing. (Interlaces fingers) I just wanted to hold your hand.

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 013 ! the bigger talk

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note i took a short mental break before updating but im pretty proud of this part, especially since its the second to last one

previous <> masterlist <> next

“so we’re gonna tell them for sure? no backing out?” riki asked as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“i mean, we’re already here..” you stared blankly at him. you gestured to the large double doors — which behind, held bang sihyuk’s office.

“yeah, yeah.” he scoffed, playing it off. “sunghoon was totally wrong anyway. don’t know why he wants us to wait until we get in trouble again.” riki scratched the back of his neck.

“you don’t have to be nervous. there’s nothing to worry about” you chuckled at his expression, before interlacing your hand into his.

riki cleared his throat before going to open the office door. “sir, do you have a moment?” he asked.

bang pd looked up from his computer, gesturing for you two to sit without a spoken word. “something on your mind?” he muttered, going back to typing on his keyboard.

“we just wanted to say,” you spoke up, taking a deep breath. “that we’re dating. and we wanted to let the company know. we think its best that the public knows about this.”

“ah.” bang pd hummed.

you and riki turned to face each other, confused. “uh, sir? we said, that we’re dating.”

“i know. i heard you the first time.” he chuckled, before signing out from his computer to give you his undivided attention. “and, i’m very happy for you both. i think it’s great you made the decision to come forward to us. the company will release a statement within the next few hours. you two have not a thing to worry about.” bang pd smiled.

“what? s-so, that’s it? that’s all you have to say?” riki asked lowly, still stunned.

“did you expect something more? fans loved you two as a duo from the start. we’ve always taken this into account. if they loved these interactions and have supported you up til now, there should be no problem if we announced that you were dating.”

“no repercussions from the company, whatsoever?” you stepped in riki’s place, gently rubbing circles into his palm in a comforting manner.

“no repercussions. now, assuming that is all, you are released. if you may, could you close the door on the way out? i have an online meeting in few minutes.”

the two of you stood up from your seats, thanking bang pd before leaving as he asked.

“see? i told you there was nothing to worry about.” you smiled, wrapping your arms around riki’s bicep as you walked through the hallway.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[loveafterdeath-if]

Okay, So I'll take this opportunity to steal a few asks from other ifs.

How would the ROs react if the MC got drunk on a night out and when they tried to help him get home the MCs tells them that they they have a girlfriend/boyfriend and pushes them away, this being once the MC and ROs are in a relationship of course, I have an angtsy version of this ask but I fear it might be too angtsy so I'll wait for your expert opinion and angster (angst author) in chief

I'm late, am I not? You're free to beat my ass for the late reply, lmaooo

L blinks at you, their hand brushing their arm where your hand pushed them away. They don't follow you to their car, only stare at your retreating back, forcing you to turn around with a puzzled frown.

"I told you I already have a lover," you slur. "Stop following me."

They point their finger at themself with a charming grin that slowly spreads across their face. "I am."

"What?"

"I'm your lover," they clarify with a proud nod following their words. "I'm the lucky woman/man who can call you theirs."

You blink, vision a bit blurry from your intoxicated state. That person is... yours? You tilt your head, observing the gorgeous man/woman standing a few feet away from you.

And just like that, a bark of laughter escapes your mouth as you sway on your feet. "No way!"

"Yes way," L preens under your disbelief, resuming their steps to stand in front of you and reach for your hand. They interlace your fingers with a wink. "So let's keep it that way."

You squint at them, processing their words. "Oh," you murmur, realization dawning on you before another laugh leaves your lips. "You're right."

"How many drinks did you have again, honey?" L chuckles, tugging your hand to guide you to the car, their thumb stroking your skin tenderly. "Should I be worried you forgot about me?"

"What?" You frown at them as you pull your hand away. "Wait—stop hitting on me, I have a boyfriend/girlfriend."

L glances down at their now empty hand, already missing your warmth. Their smile falters, and you swear they look like a kicked puppy.

You grimace. Maybe that wasn't the best joke to make just after genuinely forgetting they were, in fact, your lover.

"I'm kidding this time," you quickly reassure them, grabbing their hand back as you resume your step to the vehicle.

Their eyes light up as they're all too happy to lift your linked fingers and press a kiss against your skin. "You got me worried there, honey."

____

Ekissa watches you with a frown as you retreat. Did they hear you right? They don't have time to think, already fastening their steps to grab your wrist before a car can come barreling down on you.

"Look where you're going, dumbass," they grumble, tugging you away from the road.

"Stop following me," you try to yank your arm away, but they're quick to grab your hand instead. "I told you I already have a—"

"I'm the lucky bastard who's dating you, sweetheart." Ekissa cuts in, glancing at you with a raised brow. "And you drank one too many. So now, either you let me help you get back home safe, or we're gonna have a problem."

You squint at them, processing their words. "Wait, really? You? You and me?"

"No, you and my sis," Ekissa quips, sarcasm dripping through each word. "Yeah, you and me. What, got a problem with that?"

"Nope, no problem at all," you shake your head with a smile, the movement making you sway.

"Careful," they sigh in growing frustration, yet there's fondness as they squeeze their hand around yours. "Let's get you home, sweetheart."

"Oh, oh," you snort, interlacing your fingers with theirs when you finally remember. "Right."

"Finally remember my existence?" Ekissa grumbles, their eyes meeting yours.

You huff a laugh, offering an apologetic kiss against their shoulder. "Yeah."

Their features soften ever so slowly, but the words don't follow the expression. "Should I kick your ass for forgetting me?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," you mumble in your intoxicated state. "I'll be nice from now on."

That earns a snort from them, their hand in yours drawing you closer until your shoulders are pressed together despite their allergy to public displays. "Yeah, yeah, I heard this one before."

____

"I am your boyfriend/girlfriend," T wastes no time clearing up the misunderstanding as they walk next to you despite your protest.

"You're not," you slur, your eyes looking where you're walking. "I'd know if it was you."

"Clearly, you don't," T retorts matter-of-factly as they grip your elbow tightly to keep you balanced when you nearly trip over nothing. "I told you to go easy on the drinks."

"What?" You turn your attention to the dark-haired woman/man. Your eyes blink slowly, having difficulty keeping them open.

"You drank too much," T clarifies, deciding it’s better to give up on chiding you as they shake their head. "Never mind, let's get you home before you fall and get hurt."

Your eyes narrow, your finger jabbing gently into their shoulder. "How do you know where I live?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend/girlfriend," they answer flatly, not particularly annoyed to repeat that simple sentence again and again.

That brings a tiny smile to the corners of their lips the more they repeat it. They could repeat those words for an entire day and wouldn’t tire of it.

"No, you're not. Because I already have one."

"Yes, and that's me."

"What...?" You huff a laugh, your steps unstable despite T helping you walk. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You?"

"Yes, me."

"And me?" You add.

T lets go of your elbow to slide their arm around your back and wrap it around you to better steady you as much as they can. "Yes, do you have any objections?"

Realization dawning on you, you snort, shaking your head with a small smile. "Not really."

"Good." They murmur as they squeeze your side gently.

____

Athiel's mouth opens in offense as a loud huff escapes their lips. Their features contort in frustration, hurt, and arrogance. "Fine. Faceplant yourself and see if I care."

They don't follow you, not even when your body sways at each step you take. Not even when you stop in your tracks and turn around to face them with a tiny frown.

You're drunk, not blind. And this woman/man is not only gorgeous but also criminally adorable with the little pout they have right now.

Despite yourself, you find your feet approaching them with a curious, almost wondering expression. "Are you pouting?"

"Go away," Athiel crosses their arms, glaring at nothing in particular on their right.

"You're pouting," your lips tremble, and you're trying your hardest not to smile. "I have to stay loyal. And I told you I already have a boyfriend/girlfriend."

"Yeah? Well, go back to your lover then," Athiel lifts their chin, but they don't meet your gaze, determined to sulk all night if they have to.

"I will," you nod slowly, processing your own words as you try to remember who is actually your lover.

Your face must betray your thoughts because Athiel narrows their eyes at you. "Sorry won't cut it."

"C'mon, I was... joking, mostly..." you try to get away with it with that laugh that people have when they're drunk. You grimace when you're met with a glare from your lover. "I'm sorry..."

"I don't care," Athiel clicks their tongue as they walk past you.

Your hand shoots forward to grab their hand and interlace your fingers as you walk beside them. "I'm sorry... I'm just too drunk, like, really drunk."

"I don't care," they repeat, but their fingers tightening around yours like a lifeline proves otherwise. "You better remember who's your woman/man next time. I'm not dealing with your stupid brain every time you drink too much."

"Yes, ma'am/sir," you hum, bringing your linked hands up to leave a kiss against their skin, something that earns a blush on their face that never gets old to admire.

[cegiel-athelia]

In This Lifetime

(a Love and Deepspace fanfic featuring Zayne)

Genre: Fluff mostly. Hints of intimacy.

I reckon that based on his head cannon, Zayne would be hesitant to get MC pregnant in light of her heart condition, especially since he is her doctor. So I wanted to write about it — about the conversation that they would have had.

I haven’t written a fanfic in years. Who knows whether I may start again. But this is all I have, for now.

I did my best to stay true to the storyline and memories.

I hope that this will be a pleasant read.

====================================

Lying in bed, you gazed at the man peacefully sleeping next to you on the right side of the bed — his preferred side, the glow of the moonlight that seeped through the curtains gently bounced off his dark hair. Zayne’s fingers were interlaced with yours and he held it close to him as he slept, his frame rising and falling quietly as he breathed. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his face. He was beautiful in both body and soul.

Tonight was one of the few nights you both were able to spend a full night together. Such were the demands of his job. You did not want to so much as move lest you wake him. His sleep was mostly deep in short stints, yet light since his body was attuned to be ready on call at any given moment.

You reminisced about the time when you first met him — he was so little then, as you were too — and how he ‘fixed’ your melting popsicle with his evol so that you could be happy again, and you were. You recalled him speaking of this once when you were dating, although you acted as if you could not remember the event only so that you could hear it from his point of view. The manner in which he spoke of it made your heart blossom with love for him. You wanted so much to return the love he gave, which has been consistently genuine and magnanimous. It was only natural that you would fall so deeply in love with him.

It has been three years since you married him and everyday with him was a blessing. Earlier during this night, he was passionate — he usually was, but more so tonight and it was probably because you.

See, Zayne was innately caring as a person, but it was also an occupational hazard. You knew he wanted to live a full life with you as you too wanted it with him. Before tonight, he was always cautious to protect you during intimacy. His concern stemmed mostly from your heart condition, and the rest of it was because you had not yet expressed that you were prepared to be with child — until tonight.

Your mind wandered back to the conversation you had and you remembered feeling bashful as you called out his name between his heated kisses to draw his attention. When his eyes, glazed with desire met yours, your cheeks flared causing you to involuntarily look away. You were secretly glad that the darkness of the bedroom hid your reddening cheeks from his view. Still, he was not impatient with you and waited for you to continue.

You steeled your nerves as you uttered, “Zayne.. I..” You paused to glance at him, but his gaze was too intense for you to maintain eye contact. Looking downwards, your fingers gently gripped his shoulder for support as you continued between pauses, “I.. wanna start a family with you.”

His silence unnerved you and you looked to him again, searching for an indication in his expression, but he was hard to read.

Uncertainty and doubt started to cloud your mind. Maybe you had been wrong about him wanting a family seeing as he was lonely in his childhood.

Almost failing to mask the disappointment in your voice, you murmured, “Only if you want—“

“I want it.” He said before you could finish your sentence. Taking your hand in his, he pressed it to his heart, and your evol autonomously resonated with it, revealing his quickening heartbeat. “All I have ever wanted was to share a life with you and you have made that wish finally come true. For that, I am eternally grateful.” He pressed his lips onto your forehead in a long gentle kiss before meeting your eyes again.

“I researched.” This time it was him who looked away, voice trailing off. He had effectively confessed that he was of the same mind — that he wanted you to bear his child.

You smiled as you concocted several lines that would possibly tease him, but you said nothing so that he could continue.

“Whilst yours is a unique condition, there is no known study to evidence that pregnancy would adversely affect a heart condition as long as you remain disciplined in taking your medication in consultation with both the obstetrician and your primary care physician.” It was dark but you could tell he was smirking when he referred to himself.

“Yes, Dr. Zayne. I trust that you would’ve conducted research on how best to impregnate your wife.” You smirked while drawing your lips closer to his, ensuring that he felt the heat of your exhalation on his skin. With a lilt, you breathed, “I leave myself, and my body, in your good and incredibly strong hands.”

The conversation ended and a sensual dance of bodies took center stage. It was a night you would remember.

A smile found its way onto your lips as you lovingly gazed at your husband in recollection of the night’s events. You unconsciously stroke his hand that was holding yours with your thumb, which caused the man to stir and sleepy eyes met yours.

Leaning over to brush his fringe from his forehead, you whispered, “I’ll love you in every lifetime.”

[lucifersyume]

Your voice

Leviathan X gn!MC (kinda short, apologies!!)

૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა — Fluff, no angst

Levi discovers MC is the voice of one of his favourite anime character, so immediately he goes to interrogate them and ask why they didn’t tell him!

Notes: MC is referred to in the 3rd person! It isn’t stated if they voiced dub or sub, you pick, Levi pouts. Alot. MC and Levi are lovers in this!! not proofread!

As per usual, an anime long anticipated by Leviathan had dropped, so naturally he holed himself up in his room until he had finished absolutely everything the show has to offer, watching both sub and dub, refusing to check any messages or calls in fear of spoilers, which of course meant he missed messages from his brothers, and also MC about dinner preparations.

Though, after a few watches, Levi felt a feeling of familiarity in regards to one of the characters—his favourite. Their voice, to be specific. He recognised it almost immediately. That sweet, gentle, almost melodic tone. That voice that made him feel butterflies. That voice he absolutely adores.

“MC?” Was all that escaped his lips. Surely It can’t be them! They would have told him! That’s such a huge secret to be keeping! But he couldn’t deny it. That voice was theirs. No doubt about it. So, he did what his mind was practically screaming at him to do, go and see tnem. So he did. Pausing his show, and making his way to MC’s room, almost sprinting.

Without any warning—he bursts in, and stares at them in disbelief, before opening his mouth to speak.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” He gasps, eyes still wide, almost as if his expression was stuck that way.

“What do you mean, Levi? Tell you what?” MC responded innocently, they knew exactly what Levi was talking about, they just wanted to mess with him a bit.

“You-! In that new anime! And you didn’t tell me!! What’s up with that? I thought I was supposed to be your friend!” Levi said, his tone almost accusing, yet not hostile.

“I wanted to tell you,” MC stated calmly, standing up and taking his hands in their own, which caused a sudden blush to appear on Levi’s face, his eyes locked onto theirs.

“Yeah, if you wanted to, why didn’t you? I would have kept it secret, but I guess you didn’t want to tell the shut-in otaku.” He huffed, a pout forming on his cheeks—his gaze momentarily flicking away from them, and back for a brief moment.

Chuckling softly, MC tilts his head toward them, a gentle smile on their lips.

“Levi, me not telling you was almost impossible. I wanted to reveal that secret to you so badly. But I wasn’t able to, due to my contract. I couldn’t leak anything until release day.” They explain, their voice never raising, that fondness never leaving.

Levi let out a “hmph,” looking at them, still faintly pouting, “well you still coulda told me! I’m no normie! I-I wouldn’t have gone around blurting out that you were the lead!” It was kind of funny, the way he was acting like a little kid who just got their favourite toy back after having it removed for misbehaving.

MC couldn’t help but sigh fondly, interlacing their fingers with his, and resting their forehead against his own, eyes closing. “I trust you, guppy. Believe me. I was in an internal conflict with myself. But if I had told you, I would’ve risked losing my role, you see.”

Guppy.

That silly nickname you had for him. Levi utterly adored it, adored the way it made his chest feel warmer and lighter, the fuzzy feeling it brought his troubled heart.

Though that was short lived as you mentioned possibly losing the role, and he gasped quietly.

“Losing the role!? Over telling one person?!” He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m still kinda upset you think I’d tell anyone! That secret would have followed me to the grave! You know that!”

That made MC smile, and once again, they nodded in agreement. “I know, guppy, I know. But you understand the risk, yeah? You’d be devastated if you lost such a great opportunity!!”

At that, Levi paused and pondered, before nodding in defeat. “Yeah, i s’pose you’re right, MC.. I’d be really disappointed.” Though, his punctured demeanour was not long lived, as his eyes quickly lit up, and the barrage of questions began.

“Can I tell you my theories? What was your favourite scene? Will you be there for season 2? What happened to Aoi? Do you know what they were planning in the end?” And so on..

“C’mon guppy, sit down, I’ll tell you all about it, and you can tell me what your theories are, of course!”

Long into the night, Levi and you discussed it, until you both fell asleep in one another’s embrace, holding one another closely.

[sylusonychinus]

💖 Day 2 - I Wanna Show You Off 💖

📌 Pairing: Caleb x F! Reader 📌 Requested by: @drake-bois "Can I request some soft smut with Caleb? I was thinking maybe MC is feeling a bit insecure about herself, and Caleb notices that she’s down—so he shows her just how wrong she is." 😭💖

Summary: For this piece, MC is struggling with insecurities, feeling like she’s not enough. Caleb, ever the attentive lover, immediately notices something is off. Instead of letting her sit in doubt, he takes it upon himself to remind her just how beautiful, cherished, and loved she truly is—in the softest, most intimate way possible. 💫🥺🔥

✍️ A/N: Hewwo! 🐾 Thank you for this sweet request! Welcome to Day 2, where we bring love, reassurance, and some soft, tender smut—WE LOVE A MAN WHO WORSHIPS HIS MC!!! 😤💖🔥

The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the quiet tension humming between you and Caleb. You sat curled on the plush velvet chaise lounge, a book lying open in your lap, but your eyes weren't focused on the words. Instead, they drifted towards the intricate patterns of the Persian rug, a swirling kaleidoscope of colors that mirrored the turmoil inside you. You’d been quieter than usual, a shadow of the vibrant woman he knew, and it worried him.

Caleb, sprawled on the floor, leaned against the chaise, his gaze fixed on you. He’d been watching you in silence for the past hour, a frown creasing his brow. He’d noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor over the past few days – the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you’d been picking at your food, the way you’d avoided his touch. He knew something was wrong, and this time, he wasn’t going to let you push him away. He’d seen that vulnerable flicker in your eyes before, the hint of insecurity you tried so hard to hide.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble that broke through the stillness. It was the same voice that could soothe a frightened child or command a boardroom, now laced with concern.

You flinched slightly, startled out of your reverie. “Just thinking,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. You knew he could see through you, and that’s what scared you most. He saw you, the real you, the one you weren’t always sure was good enough.

He reached out, his hand gently covering yours on the book. His touch, warm and comforting, sent a shiver down your spine. It was a familiar touch, one that always made you feel safe, even when you felt anything but. “Thinking about what?” he asked, his voice soft, coaxing, like he was trying to gently unravel a tightly wound knot.

You hesitated, your insecurities swirling within you like a storm. He’s so handsome, so confident, so…everything. And I’m just…me. The thought echoed in your mind, a familiar, unwelcome guest. The whispers of doubt crept in, reminding you of all the ways you felt inadequate.

“Nothing important,” you whispered, trying to pull your hand away.

But Caleb’s grip tightened, his fingers interlacing with yours. He tugged gently, pulling you closer until you were sitting on the edge of the chaise, facing him. He knelt before you, his eyes, dark and intense, searching yours. They held that familiar mix of tenderness and something more… something that made your heart race.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s going on.” He knew your walls were up, and he was determined to dismantle them, brick by brick.

The dam of your composure finally broke. “I just…I feel like I’m not good enough,” you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Like I’m not…worthy of you.” The confession felt like a weight lifted, but also a terrifying vulnerability.

Caleb’s expression softened, a look of tender understanding replacing the concern. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. “Where does this come from?” he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

“I see how people look at you,” you said, your voice trembling. “They admire you, they respect you…and then there’s me. Just…ordinary.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. “Ordinary?” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You think you’re ordinary?”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, you’re funny…and you’re beautiful.” He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips, a flicker of something intense in his eyes. “So incredibly beautiful,” he breathed. He traced the curve of your mouth with his thumb, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. His thumb then drifted lower, tracing the line of your jaw, then down your neck, lingering for a moment at the hollow of your throat, where your pulse fluttered nervously.

“And if I may be so bold,” he continued, his voice now a low growl, “you’re also incredibly desirable.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. “Don’t ever doubt your worth,” he murmured against your mouth. “You are everything to me.”

His words, spoken with such sincerity and passion, washed over you, soothing the ache of insecurity. He kissed you again, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands moved to your shoulders, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard muscles of his chest against your breasts.

He broke the kiss, his eyes searching yours. “Can I show you something?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, your own desire mirroring his. Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, his fingers tracing the curve of your stomach, sending shivers down your spine.

He stood, pulling you up with him. He led you to the bedroom, the candlelight casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the walls. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

He turned to you, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your collarbone. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice husky. He gently unbuttoned the top button of your sweater, his gaze never leaving yours. “And tonight,” he continued, his voice now a low murmur, “I’m going to show you just how beautiful you are.”

His words sent a thrill of anticipation through you. You knew what was coming, and you were ready. Ready to let go of your insecurities, ready to embrace the passion that flickered between you and Caleb, ready to believe, just for tonight, that you were everything he said you were. He reached behind you, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra. “Let me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. The click of the clasp echoed in the quiet room, and your sweater fell open, revealing your bare chest. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your breasts. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your nipples, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand moving to unfasten your pants.

His kiss deepened, a consuming fire that chased away the last vestiges of your self-doubt. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every corner of your mouth, igniting a heat that spread through your veins. His hands, now free from your sweater, roamed your body, tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. You moaned softly against his lips, lost in the intoxicating feel of his touch, the raw desire that radiated from him.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes, dark and smoldering, held you captive. "You're driving me wild," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He nuzzled his face against your neck, his lips tracing a path down your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched your back, offering him more access, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.

His hand found the button of your pants, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he undid it. He slid the zipper down, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers of pleasure through you. He pulled your pants down, revealing your bare legs. His gaze traveled over your body, taking in every inch of you, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

He lifted you slightly, his strong arms supporting you, and pulled your pants the rest of the way off. You stood before him, clad only in your underwear, feeling both vulnerable and incredibly exposed. But his gaze, filled with admiration and desire, made you feel anything but ashamed. He saw you, the real you, and he desired you.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your skin just above the lace, sending a jolt of electricity through you. He nipped gently at your skin, and you gasped, your hands tightening in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

You didn't hesitate. You knew what you wanted. You wanted him, all of him. You wanted to lose yourself in his touch, to forget about your insecurities, to feel the heat of his desire. You nodded, your eyes meeting his, conveying all the passion and longing that words couldn't express.

He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that made your heart pound in your chest. He reached behind you again, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. With a gentle tug, he released it, and it fell to the floor. You stood before him, completely naked, feeling more vulnerable and more powerful than you ever had before.

His gaze swept over your body, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. He stepped closer, his body brushing against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. He reached out, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb gently stroking your nipple. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every inch of your skin. You moaned softly against his lips, lost in the intoxicating feel of his touch. He lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours.

He undressed quickly, his gaze still fixed on you. He knelt beside the bed, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. "I'm going to make you feel so good pipsqueak," he murmured against your mouth.

He showed you with a tenderness that belied his earlier intensity, each touch, each kiss, a whispered promise of pleasure. His hands explored your body, learning every curve, every secret place, igniting a fire that burned brighter with every passing moment. He whispered words of adoration, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine. He praised your beauty, your strength, your spirit, each word a balm to the insecurities that had plagued you.

He moved above you, his weight a comforting pressure, his eyes locked with yours. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, to say no. But you didn't. You met his gaze, your own eyes reflecting the desire that burned within you. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He kissed you deeply, a kiss that spoke of passion, of longing, of a connection that transcended the physical. And then, he began.

He moved slowly at first, teasing you, building the anticipation until you were breathless with longing. His touch was exquisite, his rhythm perfect, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. You moaned softly, your hands clutching his shoulders, your body arching to meet his.

As the intensity built, his movements became more urgent, more demanding. You met his passion with your own, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time. The world narrowed to the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your breathing, the beat of your hearts.

And then, you reached the precipice. A wave of pure sensation washed over you, a feeling so intense, so overwhelming, that you cried out his name. He followed close behind, his own release a powerful echo of your own.

The world stilled. You lay entwined, your bodies still warm, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his chin resting on your head. He kissed your hair softly, his touch gentle and reassuring.

He lifted his head, his eyes searching yours. "You were amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration.

You smiled, a genuine smile that reached your eyes. "So were you," you murmured, your voice still slightly breathless.

He kissed you again, a soft, tender kiss that spoke of love and devotion. He pulled you closer, his body molding against yours. You snuggled into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that this was more than just a night of passion. It was a connection, a bond that had been strengthened by vulnerability and trust. You knew that Caleb saw you, the real you, and he loved you for it. And that was all that mattered. You were his, and he was yours, and in that moment, in the quiet darkness of the night, you knew that everything was going to be alright. You had found your safe harbor in his arms, and you knew that you would never be alone again. You had found your happy ending, not in some fairy tale, but in the real, messy, beautiful world, with the man you loved.

He stirred slightly, his hand gently stroking your hair. "Pipsqueak," he murmured, his voice soft with affection, the nickname a familiar endearment that always made your heart flutter. "You're safe now," he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. And in that moment, nestled in his arms, you knew he was right. You were safe, loved, and finally, completely at peace.

[nansmenagerie]

Mutual Understanding

[lazylattedgleam]

(Image credits: Pinterest)

Various!LADS x Reader[you] (reader can be either MC or Non!MC as interpreted by the reader!)

(TW: Slight lemon)

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T.h.e O.n.e W.i.t.h(T.O.W) t.h.e B.o.y.s

Gif credits: GIPHY)

(Image credits: Pinterest)

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Zayne: It was a fine, hot Saturday morning, you were off work that day hence being lazy, woke up late around noon and made coffee, cuz coffee is essential! And ofc also had chocos with milk for breakfast. As you sway around while you pour the chocos in your iconic black with proper colour coded dots in between the words which read, “WE WERE ON A BREAK!” bowl then adding the milk from the carton, humming to the theme song of one the most famous sitcoms of all times, and your favorite F.R.I.E.N.D.S! “So no one told you life was gonna beeeee thissss wayyyyyy! *clap clap clap clap* (FITE ME CUZ ITS 4 CLAPS NOT 5!) Your job’s a joke you’re brooooke your love life’s DOAAAAAAAAA!”

As you dance around in your snowman pyjamas while chewing from your spoon and uttering the lines from the time of the second breakup of Rachel and Ross. Holding your spoon as your mic, chewing as you change stances and positions once being Ross and the next time Rachel, “…I didn’t finish your letter I fell asleep!”, you say Ross’s lines while mimicking his exact behaviours and style of talking, “You fell asleep?!”, walking to your opposite side, you enact out being Rachel. As you quickly switch sides again, grabbing an imaginary coat from an imaginary coat rack in your hand as you pointed at ‘Rachel’, “It was five thirty in the morning…and you have rambled on…for 18 pages…FRONT AND BACK!”. As you go back and forth with the lines from the sitcom enjoying yourself, feeling free, finishing your breakfast, you hear the doorbell ring! Zayne! It was his day off too from the Hospital as things were under control and his other colleagues and subordinates were taking care of matters as needed, he had promised you to get breakfast with you early, but knowing you’d slept in, he decided to grab lunch instead.

You smirk to yourself, as you open the door in Rachel’s style and say directly at him, “And hey! Just so you know! It’s not that common! It doesn’t happen to every guy! And IT IS A BIG DEAL!”, immediately going behind the door to emerge from hiding like Chandler did and say, “I knew it!”

Zayne stared at you dumbfounded as you stood back in front of him again grinning like a lovesick-teenager, him not knowing whether to enter or not…as he finally speaks up… “So…lunch…?” You giggle and nod as you wrap your arms around his neck giving him a soft kiss as he returns the gesture.

Bonus: Zayne and you were strolling the streets of Linkon in the evening, hand in hand and fingers interlaced, the setting sun giving it a peaceful gleam, as he finishes his fourth and last of the macarons you’d bought for him for dessert, and carefully folds the paper packet neatly, putting it inside of his pocket for home to throw it. “You’re such a Monica”, as his lips give out that iconic soft smile, “I know~”.

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Sylus: There was nothing in the world probably that this man wasn’t capable of or didn’t have the knowledge about…well or so that’s what you thought…It was a eventful night after an auction…you were staying over at the base, since the twins, mephie and ofc your boyfriend love whenever you visited…As he sat on his bed after a nice warm shower, changing to his night clothes, as you walk in and smirk leaning against his door, “Hey Sy…How you doin’~?”, you said it in the iconic Joey pose and accent…He stared at you for a while then smirked and let out a husky chuckle, “Kitten are you drunk?” “Wait…don’t tell me you didn’t get the reference…” “What reference?” “F.R.I.E.N.D.S!!! THE SITCOM!” “Well…*as he puts on his night shirt* what do you think I look like someone who has time to watch silly sitcoms-“, you gasp cutting him off dragging him to bed, turning on your Tablet, starting from season 1, “YOU HAVE TO WATCH AND LEARN EVERYYYYTHING RIGHT HERE AND NOW!!!”

And that was how he got introduced to your most favourite sitcom…it’s great right? NO! CUZ BELIEVE YOU ME! ONCE THE SHOW GETS FULLY REGISTERED INTO THIS MAN’S GENIUS ASS BRAIN, HE.WILL.NOT.STOP.MAKING.REFERENCES.EVERY.DAMN.SECOND… You’re playing pool, he’ll make a reference! In the shower, he’ll make a reference! Eating? Yep he got one right in the bag! Doing the deed? Don’t worry he won’t forget Monica’s sacred code of 7! 7! 7! 7! 7! 7! He hits all the numbers correctly~ At times this guy makes you jealous questioning your memory, so you turn off the Tablet and pout, “I INTRODUCED YOU TO FRIENDS YOU CANT BE A BIGGER FAN THAN ME!”, TO WHICH HE WILL LAUGH THAT SASSY GUY LAUGH! My guy will not look the part that he might like any sitcom for that matter based on his outward depiction of his personality, but the man is obsessed, with every single season and episode, although he despises Ross and Rachel’s breakup every time, believe you me, man will get frustrated maybe even speak at the screen…His favourite has become Phoebe, he adores and I MEAN ADORES her all through every season especially the earlier ones, her silly antics and her songs and her personality charms this sexy dragon, cheering him up gifting you to see that soft smile and laughter from the bottom of his heart…one of your most cherished sights…as you take pictures of him and post on your Moments, captioning “yep that’s my pheebs right there <3”

WILL BOP AND MEMORISE BY HEART EVERYONE OF PHEOBE’S SONGS AND SING ALONG WITH THEM! Rip your ears honey TT~TT! Smelly cat and the holiday song are his favorite! Luke, Kieran, and Mephie join in too because yes! “Wooo wooo! Go my babies!”

Bonus: You were at a karaoke place called “karaoke-dokie” (VICTORIOUS REFERENCE PEOPLE PLS GET IT) along with your friends and him, your bf “Skye”, the successful fruit seller. Everyone although intimidated by the man, are easing to him slowly and steadily…As you all talk and talk, when suddenly uh oh…the workers play a surprise song…and guess what it was? Smelly Cat! BRO LITERALLY LEFT THE TABLE AND YOU IN ONE SWIFT MOTION AND WENT TO SING!

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Xavier: Your 200+ year old alien lover DID NOT KNOW what F.R.I.E.N.D.S was until one time he was over at your apartment after a tiring day of fighting wanderers and wanted to bask in your warmth and cuddles, only to hear that you were gushing about certain “Chandler, Monica, Rachel, Joey, Phoebe and Ross” people, and complimenting them! How dare you?! He was your number one! And who are these people?? Does he need to tell them that you’re his??? Soooo the green eyed monster got the best of him and he plopped down onto your bed, burying his face in your stomach, arms around your waist as he groaned while you caressed his hair, massaging his scalp. After cutting the call with your friend, he finally confronts you… “Are they better than me…?” “Huh?”, you were confused. “Yk…the names of the people you just said…yk you were gushing about them on the phone…” as he looks up at you with looking all fluffy and tired…

Then it suddenly clicks you, and you sigh, laughing out too…This bunny… “Lmao no…bun bun, they’re characters from the famous sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S!” “Friends?” Oh boy you have a lot of lore to drop and explaining to do, but you were always happy to yap about your favourite sitcom, besides after this both of you can binge together, so win-win! As you proceed with each character and their personality and the relatability of the sitcom…how all of them have their major flaws yet have become one as a Family…knowing each other better than anyone else… He listens intently as you go on for almost an hour and a half before finally asking if he wanted to watch it… “Too tired now…only want cuddles…”, you kiss the top of his head, lips brushing his fluffy hair, “Alright Xavi…”

The next day he had no mission, soooo you thought you’d make it a date! Binging F.R.I.E.N.D.S and snacks and everything! Like Sylus, Xavier too gets addicted soon enough hitting you with references here and there. His favorites are all the thanksgiving and Christmas episodes as they make him feel all fluffy, cosy and homely, especially when he’s with you, hence why he loves the first two seasons by heart…Still gets jealous though when you gush about how hot season one and two everyone was, or how hot season 5 Ross was, especially the shirt and pants he wore on the day he went back to Elizabeth after breaking up, who threw a balloon at him… “ROSS! YOU SUCK! *SPLAT*!”, he laughs at that everytime, and would occasionally hit you with the “I too am a neat guy” when he wants something from you…blackmailer babe… His favorite is Joey, as he loves his quips and antics and especially how much Joe can eat, making him inspired to cook more! He’s envious of Chandler, cuz you gush over him a lot, especially season 1 Chandler, no no you’re his girlfriend not a fictional character’s.

Bonus: “My Star you’ve come home! I made something for you!”, as you enter your apartment…seeing your kitchen a mess…and in his hand a burnt something…oh how sometimes you regret giving him the copy of your key… “Can you guess?” “No Xavi I cannot…apparently I lack the brain cells to identify your mastery…” “It’s something you have not something you are!”, he grins excitedly. “Umm…Unagi…?” “Well no silly I made you a Salmon skin roll!” “…Oh dear lord…I’d rather have Rachel’s trifle than this…” “Huh?!” “Whaaat? Custard? good! Jam? good! Meat? gooood!” “Oh I can make that for you too!” “NO-”

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Rafayel: This fish has rewatched F.R.I.E.N.D.S atleast three times after he got obsessed from that one reel you’d sent him…Fishbrain at first didn’t understand what the plot behind the sitcom was and searched all over google about it…but once you and the Internet people explained to him what it was truly bout, he can’t stop binging anymore…he’d even send you memes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S all the damn time…

Bro can barely remember any lines from the show but you love your fishie so you always encourage him to try and then you’re there to correct him and guide him through. His favorite is Rachel. Rachel Rachel Rachel! Above all and anyone! I mean look at them! Both of them are DIVAs! He adores the way she is so fashionable and how she adapted from her richly spoiled life into a successful independent woman…it does kind of bring resemblance to his own adaptation with the landers…how it used to be so different at the sea…He would 100/10 get philosophical at certain scenes while watching randomly, like that one time you two were binging the episodes of Ross and Marcel’s relationships, he utters out, “Animals can really tell when they’re being given love…unlike humans their love is selfless and unconditional.” It blew your mind that he always got so deep (hehehe) but you hug him and lighten the mood “Babe as much as I loooove your deep talks, it’s just a sitcom for us to relate and enjoy, ease out the stresses Raffie Taffie…”, as you give him a shoulder massage, while both of you binge and munch on popcorn.

He has a painting of all the six together, on the iconic sofa like the one at the ending of the theme song. Hums along to the theme song while he paints, will send you out on errands to get him supplies and materials from which he can extract the paint…this leads to his delay in his artwork which is necessary for his exhibition…poor Thomas has to always nudge and budge him, but this fish won’t stop until he’s poured his heart out for the sitcom on his canvas…And the finished products are always an artistic wonderpiece, taking away your breath and blowing your mind…as he minutely adds more flavor and characterisation to each character…emphasising their vices and virtues more vividly…

You buy him all the Rachel’s iconic outfits you can find and tell him to give you a private fashion show~ Becomes more red than red Ross, but who’s he to deny his lover~ “Fine cutie you win…I’ll go change…” “Good boy~”, as you get ready your scorecard and drinks…

Bonus: You were at his studio like usual hanging out, while watching him paint, as you ask him, “Hey Raf do you know a good tailor?” “Why you need some clothes altered?”…and at that instantly you smile and chuckle, trying to hold in your laughter as you speak, “No no I just want a man to draw me with chalk.” He looks down at you and smirks, “I can do that for you cutie~ I am a professional artist after all~ come here~”…

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Caleb: You two…you two...you two…both of you are the literal definition of a brainrot couple, always sending each other reels (ofc whenever you both make and have time), reciting lines from your favorite shows and trends, especially the loaf cat one…But when it comes to F.R.I.E.N.D.S, you two ascend to another level. You have almost every episode of each season memorised line by line to heart, enacting them every time to rewatch and binge the show…by now you’ve probably binged it more than 15 times. Both of you knew about it and watched it from beforehand when you were just friends, but as a couple it hits different. He loves to define you as the “Mondler” and “Chanoey” couple goals.

You will have competition of who can remember the most everytime you watch the show, who is more smooth in their enactment, fluency and what not, scoring each other very very critically. Hence his favorite episode is “TOW the Embryos”, season 4, you two have the whole episode memorised by heart and love playing the Apartment betting game, often adding your own self inserted questions too, but keeping the rules same. But it was getting harder without a third person, so you bring out an Ottobot and make it the judge or Ross during the lightning round! You guys have even played Pictionary, Poker and ofc BAMBOOZLED! YOU LOVE IT EVERY TIME!

It’s really funny how competitive the both of you can get. And as for his favorite character, it’s got to be Chandler and Monica too! I mean look at Caleb! He can have the sarcasm of Chandler and is a great ass cook like Mon! Your boyfriend is literally a all-in-one deal pack! (Yes he’s well utterly possessive…buuuuut we’re letting it slide for the sake of this FIC…besides YOU CAN FIX HIM!). “Caleb! Stop making the trifle for every time we watch a Thanksgiving EPISODE!” “Noooope~!”

Bonus: Like Sylus, he has all your 7 zones memorised and uses Monica’s number sequence as the ultimate guide to pleasure… “Yeah baby…there we go…you like that…? Like when I hit it here on 7 hmm? Cmon baby say it say it for me…” “7! 7! 7! 7! 7! 7! 7! 7!”, as he leaves you a moaning and whimpering mess…only to make you say out the numbers in sequence all over again…he loooooves edging you… “Good girl…”

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(Picture credits: Pinterest)

A/N: Thank you everyone for checking my post out and reading it! Like always do tell me points to improve my writing if you want to! Criticisms are welcome :D! I really wanted to fuse the Lads! With F.R.I.E.N.D.S sooooo I thought I’d write it! Hope you guys like it!

[lightweaver-chosen-if]

If it's not spoilery, can you please do the ROs reaction to mc telling them "there are many things I'd die for, but you, you're the only one that makes me want to live"

Thank you!

"There are many things I'd die for, but you..." you whisper softly, voice trailing into silence as your words linger, heavy upon your lips. "...you, I'd live for."

L

L's eyes shine bright under the dim moonlight, pupils widening slightly—perhaps taken aback or surprised. You can't tell, not in the dead of the night, not beneath the blanketed darkness. Instead, you simply wait, watching the emotions stir behind their hazel gaze, the corners of L's mouth upturning as warmth returns to their cheeks.

Their fingers curl lightly around your sleeve, and L's lips part, the barest hints of a reply hanging upon the edge of their tongue, poised to spill free, only to falter. A slight, amused chuckle leaves them instead, tilting their head as a soft grin plays across their features.

"You sap," they tease, the gentlest edges of their voice colored fondly.

A

A's eyebrows rise, the barest traces of surprise reflected amidst their sky-blue irises. Their gaze flickers across yours, their lips pursing shut. A holds your words at length; studying them, analyzing them, carefully picking apart each syllable, each inflection. And then, the faintest hue of pink colors the tips of their ears, and A averts their eyes, their grip on your sleeve tightening, almost possessive.

"...Live for yourself too."

Your breath stills, A's reply carving deep, embedding itself upon the confines of your chest—heavy, weighted, but not stifling, not burdensome.

Instead, A's words settle; a realization, a reassurance, a grounding comfort that fills you with a sense of warmth.

J

J blinks, before glancing away sharply, the tips of their ears coloring red. They shift their weight, shoulders grazing against yours ever so slightly—comforting, reassuring, the barest hints of a returned embrace.

Their fingers trace against the back of your hand, featherlight touches tracing against the scars that mar your knuckles. J's touch settles, their palm resting upon the pulse of your wrist, feeling the rhythmic thrum of your rapid heartbeat.

They refuse to look up, choosing instead to keep their gaze trained forward; but their presence remains, and their hand lingers, interlaced snugly between yours, firm, unwavering.

[ally1uvsu]

The Last Train to Survival. | Squid game x Dystopian au

Summary; The world fell apart in the most unexpected way, nothing mattered anymore. Debts didn’t matter, getting high or worrying who’ll you sleep with in the next party. All you have to worry about is survival, if the dead won’t creep up to you at night and kill you, in a world such as this, only the fittest and the smartest survive. Giving the ones in debt a sick irony of a second chance.

Info; Okay gang, since this ain’t ao3 and I don’t have an acc, I’ll try to tag properly here; Ships so far - Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu, Cho hyun-ju x Gyeong Seok, Hwang In-ho x Seong Gi-hun, Kim Jun-hee x Se-mi, Park Min-su x Kang Dae-ho Tags (for the whole fanfic); angst, fluff, character death, dead dove, smoking, use of drugs, killing, blood, sexual content, sexual tension, threatening, stealing, suicide, self-harming, mutual pinning, slow burn, violence, abuse, self-harm, internalized homophobia, transphobia, trans!nam-gyu, Jun hee is still pregnant in this, autistic characters (hcs), SA, mentions and inferences to r4p3 (even scenes with it, the chapter in itself will have a TW), Implied autistic characters, organ harvesting mentions, transgender (hc and og) characters, EDs, Thanos is a little shit in the beginning, depression, EXPLICIT mentions of harmful substances, behaviors, fighting, spanking (sexual and nonsexual), overall NSFW stuff, near death experiences, stalking, kidnapping, just normal zombie apocalypse shit, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Notes; I DONT HAVE AO3 💔💔💔 I LOST MY ACC BRO but the second I get my hands on that invite I’ll update this there. I’VE BEEN W THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD FOR SOOOOO LONG LIKE!?!?! So I hope y’all enjoy it<3 (also, should I mayhaps drop this on other sites like wattpad, and etc?) Also, the main focus here is Thagyu!! We have other ships but they’re the actual mcs here. So hence why that heading, this will be Nam-gyu’s POV.

Dead for a little while. | Pt.1

Nam-gyu had a huge fucking headache that no drugs or smoking could cease.

The bar he was working out was loud enough to burst his eardrums, he groaned as he cleaned some countertop, now, normally Nam-gyu would be fine, it's just that today in particular he hadn't gotten enough sleep, so he was grumpy the whole time.

Checking his phone, he had twenty minutes left on his shift, the clock marked nearly midnight; the weather was clear but cloudy, expecting rain. Nam-gyu sighed as he shoved his phone inside his pocket, this place would get fairly more humid and disgusting with the hot rain.

He tucked his hair behind his ears, not really paying mind to anyone or anything until some guy with two girls clinging to his arms came to the counter, "Hey, man. Can you pour us a few shots of whiskey? Like, three?" 

For fuck's sake, what a dumb question. Of fucking course he could. Nam-gyu lifted his head up, controlling his temper. He wasn't normally the best one to deal with migraines, and plus, judging by the look on this guy's face that had a cheeky grin as he talked to the two girls with his arms interlaced with them, he was some sort of rich guy who certainly knew how to fight.

Don't get Nam-gyu wrong, he could fight. But today he wasn't in the mood and this guy was definitely stronger than him. So against his normal behavior, Nam-gyu just nodded and dropped the cloth he was using to clean the countertops. He walked back behind the counters, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and three cups used for shots, pouring three of them and sliding them to the trio in the opposite side. 

Stating the given price, Nam-gyu took the money and watched the guy and the two girls turn around on their heels and leave off, disgusting. Not that Nam-gyu thought hooking up was bed it was just.. two girls at once seemed a bit too much.

The pounding in his head was insistent, Nam-gyu swore his head would fucking blow up if he stayed in here any longer. "So-ri, can you cover for me? My shift ends soon anyways." Said the raven haired as he called out to one of the many bartenders the club had, whose shift would be right after his.

So-ri would normally arrive twenty minutes earlier to take some time to secretly get high, and she was still good at her job even while doing so. It was admirable, really. Nam-gyu never snitched on her, ever. One because it was none of his business, two, he'd do the same. And lastly.. it just made her owe him something.

"Go ahead, dude. I'll take over. Boss' ain't even gon' care anyways." And Nam-gyu didn't have to think twice before going to the bathroom where they normally had lockers to keep their shit in. Getting in and out was fairly easy, Nam-gyu was so used to that damn combination that he could do it far more quickly than he used to.

Soon enough, he fell into step on the streets. Jacket tied around his waist and bag slung over his shoulder, again, he wasn't quite sure why he brought a jacket along with him, the weather was disgustingly humid, after all. But maybe it was just a force of habit, considering he was someone with a cold body and was cold constantly. Today was just one of the rare times where he didn't need his jacket to fell warm.

He grabbed a cigarette from his bag, lighting it up with a lighter he also kept in the back pocket of his jeans. Closing his eyes as he took a long drag and let the smoke mix into the air and become nothing, just another part of it.

His ears weren't difficult to pick up sounds of footsteps, he ignored it for the first couple of minutes, but then he figured something was wrong. And Nam-gyu knew exactly who was following him, fucking shark loans. 

He turned just around the street, and to his surprise (or maybe not), more of them were already waiting for him. Nam-gyu took the cigarette away from his lips and let his hand that was in charge of holding it fall limply to his side as his face became a grimace for a split second.

"Nam, fancy meeting you here." The guy said cheerfully, but Nam-gyu wasn't dumb. He could see the pure disdain in his eyes deep down. "Don't call me that, fuck do you want?" Nam-gyu gritted out, hell, he knew exactly what they wanted.

"You know what we want," Well, fuck him sideways, it was like they read his mind, fan-fucking-tastic. "I don't have the money right now and you know damn well our agreement isn't until next month." Nam-gyu said rather annoyedly.

"That's the same thing you said last month, wasn't it? We keep postponing the date because you can't be responsible enough to save up and pay for it." A vein popped on Nam-gyu's temple, they weren't necessarily wrong, but it still stung. Before he could even speak up again, he was cut off by that guy, Nam-gyu hated being cut off.

"And we thought we should teach you a lesson to put you straight in line." Fucking great, Nam-gyu was exhausted and outnumbered, but hey, it is what it is. He dropped his bag to the ground, tucking his hair behind his ears.

A loud sound of knuckles cracking and meeting a bone was heard, maybe someone's jaw. And then he realized, it was his jaw. Blood inevitably splattered out of his mouth and he stumbled back, he threw a punch that hit the guy in the nose and because they were all fucking pussies, like Nam-gyu thought, everyone ganged up on him.

He felt a punch on his nose, warm blood trickling down it and a bit pushing past the gap of his slightly parted lips, his tastebuds immediately catching on the sick and metallic taste of blood, he cringed. Another punch to his stomach, his head meeting the ground, his knuckles split on the second attempted impact at someone's face, he couldn't even tell who at this point. And then his wrists were pinned down, and he had to fight the stinging pain.

Eventually, it stopped. And someone's hand was on his chin. Nam-gyu's vision was turve, blurry. He couldn't exactly make out who was in front of him, just a big blur of colors before his vision somewhat focused, but never fully- maybe because Nam-gyu knew he needed stupid vision glasses.

"Now, don't be mad. This is only a lecture, nothing personal. You have until next month, Nam." The guy said as his fingers trailed down with a voice falsely dripping with gentleness, Nam-gyu would have scrunched his nose if it wasn't hurting so bad. 

The feeling of that finger, moving like a feather down his jaw, neck, trailing his collarbones so gently made Nam-gyu seriously want to puke. And then, it stopped right where his heart should be. "Otherwise we won't have a choice but to sell your organs, especially heart, to the black market. You're a shitty person, with an even shittier heart. You won't need it as much as someone else will."

Nam-gyu let the words sink in, panting and slightly wheezing for breath once the man stood up straight. "Alright, boys. Let's pack up and go, business is done around here." And then the sounds of footsteps, first loud and then slowly vanishing into the corner were picked up by his ears.

Nam-gyu slumped against the wall, the back of his hand wiping his bloody nose and his tongue licked his cracked lips, now split open at the bottom. He looked up at the sky, staying there in silence and unmoving for around five minutes, if he had to guess. 

"Fucking pussy, can't even come fight me alone." Nam-gyu finally uttered out to himself as he stood up with  the a grunt of effort, ignoring how sore and painful his muscles felt, this was nothing new. Nam-gyu deep down knew he deserved it, he was indebted and owed these guys.

He quietly walked back home, not bothering to light up another cigarette. He stared at the air with an emptied stare, this was and has been his life. Maybe that's where he realizes something inside of him is broken, maybe not. But life sucked, really fucking sucked. His job did, the people did, but it wasn't like he had a escape, hell, his money from work mostly went to drugs and sometimes he got so low he would barely have money to buy groceries, often opting for convenience stores because they were so cheap.

It took him a while, normally a walk from the club to his house was fifteen minutes. It was painful but Nam-gyu really didn't feel like sleeping in the middle of the street. The second he got home, his shoes were nowhere to be seen, maybe mingled in the mess of his other cheap ones. And his bag was thrown on the couch carelessly as he dragged himself to bed.

He didn't bother unbinding even if his ribs hurt like a fucking bitch. A groan left his lips, mixed with a sigh of relief as his eyes fluttered shut. Nam-gyu never had went to bed so.. 'dirty' but he couldn't help it when his eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep almost instantly.

. . .

Sleep wasn't easy on him, like always. But tonight, due to the exhaustion, he might have slept a bit better. Like everyday, he was up at exactly six in the morning, taking a while to properly get up and go to the bathroom to do a proper hygiene.

Once he created enough motivation, he was back up on his feet, rubbing one of his eyes as he reached the bathroom. He turned on the tap and stared at himself in the mirror, split lip, a hint of a black eye, and dry blood around and in his nose. They really didn't go easy on him this time.

His hands moved to make a cup form to catch water, splashing it onto his face. The pointy feeling of the water waking him up somewhat, then he did it again just to make sure he was fully awake.

Opening the cabinet, he reached out for some already nearly ending bandages, three cotton pads and rubbing alcohol. He wetted one of the pads, sighing as it hovered close to his nose. He cleaned up the blood around it gently, the material gliding against his skin to clean the blood that once dirtied his face.

Other than that, he didn't bother with his other injuries, figuring he'd save the bandages and rubbing alcohol as he put them back in their designed places. Instead, he focused on brushing his teeth and brushing his hair, bothering to style it was dumb, so he never truly did.

As he moved back inside his bedroom, his mind was already thinking what to do for the day. He needed to go eat something, probably buy a few things. He didn't really pay attention to his outfit this time, nobody really would pay attention to him, or at least he hoped so.

Even then, he still reached for that face mask, he didn't feel like getting eyed for having a split lip despite having a whole ass black eye. Thankfully, his muscles were in agreement with him and weren't as sore as yesterday.

He didn't have much money, but he didn't mind it, he often got more high than bothered eating, maybe that's why he didn't gain much weight. But that was another topic, slipping the house keys inside his pocket, leaving.

He was greeted by a bit more chillier wind, good. He seriously couldn't handle horrendously humid weathers and far too hot ones that made you sweat in big amounts. But couldn’t handle too cold, too. So he had a jacket on anyways.

The breeze kissed his face as he moved, he liked weathers like this, something about it just made it comfortable.

The convenience store was around a five minute walk, good thing for him it wasn't that expensive either. He wasn't that hungry, sometimes he didn't even have an appetite and yet would still eat because if he were to wait, he would go quite a few times without eating.

Today, he opted for something lighter. A cup of microwaved tteok-bokki, and a roll of gimbap. Grabbing some water to drink with it along the way. He assumed he only grabbed enough money for breakfast, so groceries would sadly have to stay for another time.

He paid for it, sitting down by the table they left against the windowsill. Already opening his gimbap and taking one of the rolls inside his mouth while his fingers worked to open the tteok-bokki.

He added whatever was there to add, microwaved it, grabbed his chopsticks and began eating. His eyes focused on the view outside as he chewed, so many people and yet all of them had different lives.

Some of them were on shit like him, some were rich bastards, some were making enough to have a good life. All of these people looked happy, he wondered how come he couldn't be like them? Not that he envied them, it'd be wrong. He was in debt because of his own reasons, envying them would be stupid. But he meant it in a sense of being happy, enjoying the fleeting joys. Having someone, hanging out with friends on some cheap place, but then like that guy said yesterday, maybe someone else would enjoy having his organs better than he did.

As good as it was, he only finished his tteok-bokki halfway, and three rolls of gimbap were left. He neatly closed the gimbap with the plastic he hadn't yet discarded, trying to somewhat seal the container the tteok-bokki was in. 

He'd probably stay home for the rest of the day, lay down, sleep, contemplate his life. Well, at least that was his original plan. The universe however seemed to have another one. 

He was greeted by that same breeze when he stepped out, but this time, the scenario was far from pleasing. His head snapped as a blood curling scream came from somewhere in front of him, to the left. Followed by gurgling and squelching sounds. Everything around became chaos in question of seconds, people ran and screamed, and soon enough, he got a view of whatever the fuck was happening.

His eyes locked with a figure on the ground, bleeding in excess. The skin on their neck was broken, maybe bitten off. His eyes widened, the person was dead on spot.

But maybe just for a little while.

Nam-gyu didn't keep track of how long he spent standing there, maybe minutes. Chaos erupted around him, and yet he wasn't quite sure how he wasn't caught up in it. His ears tuned out the screams and cries, his vision blocked everything. He was solely focused on that person, dead on the ground.

And then they began standing up, movements all jerky, eyes white and lifeless. Making groaning sounds, shit, Nam-gyu wasn't even sure if that thing could be called human anymore.

By the time he snapped out of it, someone was already rushing into him, sending him tumbling down on his butt. He woke up to reality, shit, what the fuck was going on? 

Nam-gyu normally would think this was one of his all to real nightmares, just another one to the collection. But then, the sirens used to alarm the city began ringing, telling everyone to hide. 

His legs had never worked quickly despite the shock, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins that kept spreading when he saw people killing off each other, he stood up in a flash and was back inside the convenience store. 

He looked around frantically, someone could get in. He reached for one of the shelves, ignoring how he was knocking some food out. Pushing it until it was sturdy and firm against the door, hell, he even unplugged the refrigerator where the cold drinks were normally kept and to secure a second layer, pushed it against the shelf.

Now that was done. Nam-gyu finally let whatever the fuck happened sink in, "What the actual fuck." He mumbled to himself, breath shaky. He moved away from the door, checking for any other ways of getting inside, he only found a back door nearby the bathrooms. He covered it with some furniture, never having been so thankful that these doors opened from the inside.

He pulled his phone out, since it was buzzing in his pocket as notifications of alerts rang through it. Some saying stay at home, others saying evacuate. No way in fucking hell Nam-gyu would go anywhere out of that door.

Instead, he grabbed the fire extinguisher to use as some sort of weapon and sat in the middle of the store, trying to tune out the screams and sometimes the banging in the windows. He didn't look outside, nor at the glass doors, not at the windows. Knowing they'd likely be drenched in blood.

He turned the TV on, the channel was flicked to the news. Some woman was talking about a virus, fucking great. Viruses were bad, some weren't. But what kind of fucking virus made people die and come back from the fucking dead to eat others alive?

"Stay calm, and stay safe for now." The woman said, hell, as if Nam-gyu could be any calm.

He didn't leave the place even when he heard gunshots and sounds of cop car sirens blaring, eventually they were all replaced by screams and more sounds of gurgling and squelching as blood seeped out of their bitten skins. It was the most sane choice, he wouldn't trust some cops or even a journalist that was just reading a fucking script.

How many hours had he stayed in there? Nam-gyu wasn't totally sure. He fell asleep after hour one, not sure how he did it. Maybe it was because his brain had the urge to shut down, to do anything but hear the pleading and screams outside.

Three hours after that, he woke up. He was lying under  counter where the cashier was. The air was dead silent. Normally, Nam-gyu would think that it was all a  dream, just his mind playing tricks on him after getting that beating. 

But he woke up sleeping under the damn cashier, and reality seeped back in. It wasn't just a dream, no. It wasn't his mind playing cruel jokes on him. It was real.

He was careful to even stand up, steps slow and measured as he hunched over to get a glimpse outside from the window. He nearly couldn't stomach the sight, his lips parted open and eyes wide in shock. There was blood everywhere, people.. things, actually. Were limping, crawling, or just dragging themselves around the streets. Some people were gutted out, dead on the floor. The sight was fucking horrifying, even for someone like Nam-gyu.

"I'm so fucked." Nam-gyu muttered, maybe he was. He got lucky to be inside a convenience store, getting in here as a safe okace without even thinking. He had water, food, bathrooms, everything necessary. But he knew it wouldn't really last forever, he just created that illusion to feel at ease on day one.

The people he thought that were dead just.. came back. What a sick irony, death didn't fully claim them. Maybe the heavens listened to the pleading of the living when they wanted their loved ones to be back from the dead in flesh.

All these people who died.. they were dead, but their bodies wandered alive. And the things that came back weren't people, Nam-gyu guessed it was safe to assume they weren't people. Their conscience and form were just gone for a little while.

[matchavellichor]

Can I request a Seb x f!Reader where either MC is super tired or Seb is super tired and the other helps them relax. Like by running a hot bath, then giving a really sensual massage? It doesn’t have to become NSFW or it can. Completely up to you! But I just cannot get the idea out of my head!

You’re writing is to die for btw!

A/N: I loved this idea sm!! I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy!

Long Night

Sebastian x f!MC - NSFW/Fluff - 3.6k words - ao3

Tags: Pre-Established Relationship, Protective Seb, Cunnilingus, Body Worship, Care/Comfort

Summary: Sebastian helps you wind down after a long night.

It was half past two in the morning when you finally staggered your way back to Hogwarts, having spent the better part of your evening decimating Ashwinder camps around the outskirts of Hogsmeade. As you slip through the common room door, Sebastian rouses from the wingback chair he had fallen asleep on while waiting up for you.

“Please, no lecture tonight,” You intercept as soon as you spot him, raising a hand to your mouth to stifle a yawn. “I’m far too exhausted for this.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, but disgruntledly closes it at the sight of your half-lidded eyes, the weary slouch of your shoulders. 

He brings a hand up to thumb at the smear of ash on your chin, a faint look of understanding. “I’ll save the scolding for tomorrow. You look like you’ve been roughed up enough for one night.” 

You give him a satisfied smile as you sink back against one of the plush couches. “You think I’m roughed up? Should’ve—” You wince at the contact of the cushions with the abrasions and cuts under your clothes. “Seen the other guy.” 

He looks unconvinced. “Yeah, yeah,” He outstretches a hand in front of you, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, up.” 

“Do I have to?” You close your eyes, tilting your head back onto the backrest of the couch.

“Yes . You’re a mess,” He tugs you to your feet despite your groans, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You’re taking a bath then I’m putting you in a bed. No more passing out on the common room couch.” 

“Yes, mum.” You quip, your muscles too sore to physically protest, but not compliant enough to go without a fair amount of whinging.

He locks the door behind him as soon as he gets you inside the Prefect’s Lavatory, flicking the lights on with a swish of a wand. A set of firm hands on your waist lifts you up on the counter so he can better tend to you. You grimace from the press of his fingers against your injuries and concern washes over his expression.

“May I see?” He asks, fingers paused on the laces of your bodice. You nod. 

He unties the latticework of laces with a deftness that only comes from practice, beginning on the buttons of your blouse next. He slips the garment  off your shoulders with a tenderness that contrasts so starkly to the usual hasty manner he tears it off you in isolated alcoves in the Restricted Section, or under the drawn curtains of four-poster beds.

“Lift your arms, love.” 

He pulls the chemise over your head, yet doesn’t linger too long on the sight of your bare chest when he notices the purple contuses scattered over your ribs. He frowns in disapproval, tsks as his fingers trace the bruises with feather-light touches. His gaze snaps back up to meet yours. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You give him a sheepish smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I tripped on my way to Charms?” 

He looks entirely unamused.

“Worth a shot.” 

“Merlin’s sake, the things you get up to...” He parts to rummage through a first-aid kit that he pulled from one of the cabinets, a frustration in his movements. He’s upset, but not at you. “It’s a miracle you’ve never gotten detention. Or honestly right out expelled. You’ve broken so many Hogwarts ordinances I’m surprised you’re still—”

“Since when did you start caring about the rules?”

He sighs as he pauses in front of you with a tin of dittany salve in hand. “Since I started caring about you.”

You roll your eyes, even though his words make you feel warm and you have to bite back a smile at the preposterous idea of Sebastian Sallow caring about someone other than himself. If someone had told you this a few months ago you would’ve fell into laughing hysterics.

“What was it this time?” He pops open the lid of the balm and begins to rub a generous amount on your bruises, careful not to apply too much pressure.

“A pack of angry Mooncalves. Vicious beasts, really.”

He scoffs. “Oh, terrifying.”

You nod solemnly. “My life flashed before my eyes.”

He rolls his eyes, once again intensely unamused. He finishes smearing the last of the paste over your sores, tucking the salve away in its kit. 

“So do I get to know what creature has actually battered up my girlfriend?” 

“I am not battered.” You protest. “It was just a few Ashwinder camps. No big deal. I handled it.”

“A few,” He mutters to himself in disbelief, shaking his head as he closes up the healing kit and slides it back into the cabinet. He turns back to you and you can’t help but find his face of disapproval devastatingly adorable, feeling a bit inclined to defy him more often.

He takes your jaw in his hand, tilting your head for him to study. His eyebrows knit together as he eyes the cut just under your cheekbone, concern etched into his expression. “Yeah, I can see how well you handled it.”

“Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“Yes, you are, I can see it on your face.” You tilt your head, amused. “You kind of look like Ominis.”

“You wound me.” He drops your chin. 

He turns to open the faucets in the bathtub and you watch as he holds a hand under the water to make sure the temperature is just right, runs his fingers through the lavender-scented suds beginning to form on the surface.

You hook your fingers into the belt loops of his trousers to pull him closer when he finally makes his way back over to you, spreading your legs to situate him in the space just between your thighs. 

“I’m fine, alright?” You trail your hands over his chest demonstratively. “Got all four limbs. I’d call that a major success in my books.”

“Your definition of success genuinely perturbs me.” 

He braces himself against the ledge of the counter when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss him lazily. 

His mouth is warm and sweet, the taste of mint on his tongue where it meets yours.

He indulges you for a moment, a hand coming up to hold your jaw. A thumb brushing against your cheek, lips moving against yours with a syrupy kind of softness that makes your toes curl. He holds his other hand to the small of your back, fingers spreading warm and broad over your bare skin. Tender. Careful. 

You want to just melt into him, your muscles loose and jelly-like from exhaustion. You groan, pettish and frustrated, when he finally pulls away. He smiles.

“Stop trying to seduce me and get in the bathtub.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” You scoff, your legs wrapping around the backs of his calves to keep him close to you, feeling the stiffness pressed hot against your stomach. You smile

back. “I’ve clearly already done so.” 

“I have a gorgeous, half-naked witch kissing me, you can’t expect me to maintain total composure.” He steps away from you and holds out a hand for you to take. “Now get in the tub before you whittle away the little moral principle I still do possess.” 

“Oh, stop it,” You jeer as you let him help you down from the counter. “Corroding each other’s moral compasses is our favorite pastime and you know it.”

“The only pastime I’m interested in right now is getting you clean and in bed.” 

“Such a bore.”

“You are such a brat.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

He slips off the rest of your clothes with gentle fingers, mindful of every bruise and abrasion as if he’s already memorized their locations. You sigh contentedly when you finally sink into the warm water, your head falling back against the porcelain. He kneels down beside you, brushing back the hair from your cheeks and forehead.

“Feel nice?

Your answer is a murmured mnhgmm. He chuckles and casts a stasis charm to keep the water at that temperature. He watches you for a moment, fingers dipping under the water to rub soft little circles over your arm. 

He slips a hand under the nape of your neck. “Tilt your head back, darling.” 

You oblige even though your muscles feel too limp to move, letting him run his fingers through your hair and dampen it in the water.

He works in some sickly floral-scented shampoo, the kind that you find far too sweet for your own preferences but that you know he absolutely adores smelling on you. You can’t find it in you to protest because the feeling of his firm hands massaging your scalp makes you too lax to form any coherent thoughts.

“Fuck.” You mutter when he kneads at a particularly sensitive spot at the nape of your neck. “I’m going to marry you.”

He breathes out a laugh, focusing on that spot until you’re practically melting into his palm, shoulders sinking further into the water. “That easy?”

“I’m a simple woman.”

“You’re very much not.”

“You like it.”

He smiles fondly. “I do.”

He takes advantage of your drowsy state to lean over the rim of the tub and steal as many kisses as he wants, tilts your chin up with a wet hand to give himself better access to your lips. He moves you around like a ragdoll, placing kisses down your wrists, on your knuckles, while he runs a loofah up and down your arms.

“You look pretty like this.”

“What? Covered in the blood of half a dozen different poachers? You’re sounding like Poppy.” 

You chance a look at him through one half-opened eye. He’s watching you intently, arms crossed over the side of the porcelain basin, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“While admittedly strangely erotic ,” He confesses,  rubs at a lingering speck of scarlet on your neck. “I meant...all sapless and drowsy. It’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

When he’s finally content that he’s gotten every ounce of blood and soot from your body, he helps you out of the water with one of your arms slung around his shoulder, wrapping you in a towel that’s big enough for you to drown in.

Sufficiently dried and smelling like a floral abomination, he takes you back to your room and lets you sink back against the pillows while he rummages through your chest for pajamas. 

He manages to procure the tiniest set you owned, a sleek negligée with a babydoll neckline and a ditsy floral pattern all over, little pink roses with green stems adorning the fabric. It’s ridiculously short and leaves absurdly little to the imagination.

He holds it out to you curiously, dangled precariously over his finger by one of the thin straps. “How come I’ve never seen you in this?”

“Because that thing can barely be considered clothing.”

He helps you sit up on the edge of the bed. “You’re not doing a very good job of selling me off it.”

“I’ll indulge you in your utterly impractical sleepwear choices just this once.”

He slips the gown over your head, smoothing down the fabric at your waist. His hand stretches broad and warm where he’s settled it over your hip. When he pulls away to tuck the matching frilly floral undergarments back into your chest, you raise an eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed any knickers?”

“Nope,” He pushes you back against the bed and you sink into the covers. “Doctor’s orders.”

You shift onto your stomach, hitching a leg over one of your pillows tucked between your thighs as you get comfortable. You murmur through a yawn, “I’d like to see this guy’s medical license.”

Sebastian eyes the way your dress rides up over your bottom, the silk bunching up at your cinched waist. If he were a weaker man, he’d be tugging the flimsy fabric the rest of the way up over your hips and fucking you into the mattress until you were truly sore and exhausted. 

However, he has principles. Sort of.

He kneels beside you at the edge of your bed and tugs the hem down before you can properly give him a heart attack. You’re blissfully unaware of any unintentional indecencies.

He lets his hand linger a little too long, running down your sides and reveling in how warm and pliable you feel under his touch.

“You’re a little tense,” He remarks, even though you’re certainly anything but tense. You currently feel like you’ve dissolved into a puddle of warm sensations and you’re surprised you haven’t seeped into the mattress by now. 

His hands are kneading at your back before you can form even a semblance of a protest though, and you soon forget why you would ever want to. 

He smooths his fingers over the silk, feels your warmth seeping through the fabric and it’s enough to make him lose his mind. Before long he’s slipping his hands under the hem of your dress, chasing the feeling of skin-on-skin. 

He massages the space between your shoulder blades, down your spine, over your sides, smiling to himself at the little satisfied sighs you let out from the sensation. 

“Fucking hell,” You moan when he presses his knuckles into a particularly knotted spot at the small of your back. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He spews out a laugh, sounding utterly delighted with this information. “And all it took was a measly little massage for you to come to this realization?”

“Among other things...” You murmur contentedly into the pillow.

“Give me a comprehensive list when you get a chance,” He leans over you to place a kiss to your shoulder, runs his hands south to knead at the soft flesh at your hips. “I need to know what I’ve been doing right.”

“Well, first on the list, —whatever magic you’re doing with your hands right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Next up…mmhm, that one thing you do with your tongue.”

You pause, thighs squeezing together at the memory of the many times his head has been between your thighs. “Actually, that might be number one.”

“Might be?” He scoffs. “Well clearly I haven’t been doing it nearly as good as I should have. Simply unacceptable.” He enunciates his indignation by flipping you onto your back, amusing himself with the drowsy giggle you let out.

He kisses you slow and languid, cupping your jaw in his hand and rubbing your cheek with his thumb as if in appreciation for getting to touch something so precious. He peppers kisses down your neck, inhaling deeply, “Gods, you smell amazing.”

“I smell ridiculous.”

He licks a stripe down your throat in exemplary approval. “Ridiculously delicious. It's absurd, really.”

He dips his head to trail kisses over your collarbone, down your sternum, around your navel, over your hip bones. His hands bunch up the fabric of your dress, tugs it over your waist and gropes tenderly at the expanse of exposed skin.

He takes his time, as if he’s at an altar in solemn devotion. You let out soft, drowsy sighs as he drags his tongue down your midriff, across your hip, as if he needs to taste every part of you.

He looks up at you when he finally dips his head between your thighs, clearly satisfied with the way your head is sunken back against the pillow and your hands have balled up the comforter in little fists, consumed by anticipation.

He hooks an arm under one of your thighs and pulls it over his shoulder, keeping the other pinned to the mattress. He revels in how pliable you are, a weak, loose-limbed little mess spread out before him, barely even able to keep your own eyes open. He can’t help but watch you, truly study you in the state you’re in.

You huff after a full minute of him hovering over your center, his warm breath lighting your nerves on fire. “I thought I was supposed to be going to bed?” 

“I’m just helping you wind down,” He murmurs and places a kiss to your mound just to appease your impatient whines. Your stomach swirls at the long-awaited contact and the mewl you let out would’ve been mortifying if Sebastian’s returning groan wasn’t just as needy . 

He licks a single broad stroke through your folds with the flat of his tongue and you can feel his smirk against your skin when your hips squirm from the contact.

“Look at you,” He coos, taunting, rubbing your slickness in with the pad of a finger. “You’re clearly too worked up to sleep at the moment.” 

You’re too drained to argue for your obvious lack of energy and Sebastian’s ministrations certainly aren’t helping.

You’re half-asleep, half-kept-awake by the soft kitten licks he devotes to your cunt, slow and measured, the same way one would lap at an ice-cream cone they really, really wanted to savor. Patience was never a virtue Sebastian possessed,  yet he was managing to exude it with every brush of his tongue, infuriatingly calm and stoical.

“Oh, god—” Your gasp is strangled when he finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. He does it knowing full well it’d make your hips jerk, make you push futilely at his head with weak hands and tired muscles.

“I know, angel,” He pushes you back down against the mattress, folds his forearm over your stomach to keep your hips pinned down. “Relax, it’s alright. Let me make you feel good.”

He tongues at you, slow and deliberate, for what feels like hours, until there’s a wet spot in the linen sheets underneath you and you’re whining his name through breathless pants. He seems content with spending eternity with his head between your legs and dangling you on the precipice of your orgasm with soft, feather-light kisses.

“Please, please...” 

Your hands have long fallen limp over your stomach, too listless to thread your fingers through his hair. You’re a languid mess and he seems to like you like this, dwindling between the lines of consciousness and only kept awake by your desperate desire to come. 

“My pretty baby. So sleepy, hm? Poor thing.” He hums against your skin, and you’re so close it hurts. You’re too limp to press his lips to your cunt with your hands, to rock your hips and chase your orgasm the way you normally would. You just let your head loll back against the pillow and whimper his name like it’s a prayer. 

“You’re so beautiful like this. Just a little longer.”

Only when there’s tired tears pricking at your eyes and the knot below your navel is wound so tight that you feel like your entire body might snap, does he finally push you over the edge.

It’s not the violent, body-wrecking kind of climax he’s pulled from you so many times, not the freefall from the height of a staggering cliff. It’s more of a smooth descent, the drop-off on a rollercoaster that makes your stomach swoop. The kind that starts high and ends low, seeps through your entire body like sticky-hot molasses.

He manages to make it just as slow and drawn-out as the process it took to get you there. He keeps your legs open with his palm spread over your thigh, even as you try to fold into yourself. He groans at the sensation of you cumming against his mouth, his hips rutting mindlessly against the mattress. He blissfully laps at you and rides you through it until you dissolve into a puddle of shallow, shuddering pants.

He places kisses to the inside of your thighs while you tremble, murmurs praises against your skin, “Beautiful. Love watching you come apart for me.”

When he crawls up your body and finally presses his mouth to yours, you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

It’s soft and tender, and his chin is sticky, and it’s all just so good that you feel as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. He smiles against your lips when he realizes you’re too drowsy to even kiss him back properly, beyond pleased with your lethargy.

“Good?”

You’re too incoherent for words, but the lazy little hum of agreement you let out is just as satisfactory. 

He breathes out a laugh. “You’re the most precious thing in the world to me, do you realize that?” 

He kisses you once more before he pulls back to take in the state of your flushed cheeks and tear-damp lashes, still fluttering in their weak attempts to stay open. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier sight.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs through a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Sleep.”

He rights your rumpled camisole that’s been bunched up at your waist and smooths back the stray hairs sticking to your cheeks. You let him adjust you how he sees fit and fluff up the pillows around you until you’re properly swaddled to his liking.

He leans in to nose at your jaw, reveling in how warm you are and stealing as many kisses as he pleases. He leaves whispered promises that he knows you won’t hear, traces vows with his fingertips over the soft expanse of your skin. 

Only after your breathing’s finally steadied out and you’re curled into yourself does he pick himself up from his spot on the edge of your bed. He allows himself a final chaste kiss to the soft patch of skin on your shoulder that’s peeking out from under the covers, before he slips out the door silently. 

In the quiet of the empty hallway, his skin still buzzing from your touch, he makes his way back to his room with a soft, pleasure-drunk smile tugging at his lips.