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fawnhart · 2 days ago

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sugar and rafes first time meeting ! ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭

You remember the moment your whole life started to crumble. It was a Tuesday, you think. Maybe a Wednesday? Doesn’t really matter. The days just blur together when you’re stuck in a house where you’re not allowed to live

You were listening to Jeff Buckley. You had it on repeat for weeks now, hiding it under a loose plank in the floorboards of your room. Your parents would never allow it. Not in a million years. Especially your mom. She’d explode if she ever found out. Everything was so god damn evil to her

But that day you thought you had time. She was supposed to be gone for at least another hour. It was Wednesday. Church group meetings. It was always a Wednesday.

You slipped the CD into your player old and busted up, the kind with the cassette tape thing but with a CD attachment, so it wasn’t completely outdated. You sat on your bed, staring out at the little slice of sky visible through your window, not really thinking about anything in particular just thinking. Then you heard the door downstairs.

“What the hell is that noise?”

You froze. Your heart dropped into your stomach. You thought your mom wouldn’t be home yet. You’d been so sure. You asked Mrs. Maggie to 1000% sure. But she was early. You scrambled to hit stop, but the music kept playing. Her voice, firm and pissed, was coming closer.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your pulse raced. You shoved the player under your pillow just as she stormed into the room, her eyes narrowing. She was already clutching that look the one that meant something bad was about to happen.

“What did I tell you about this?” Her voice was tight and screechy.

“I wasn’t doing nothin’” you said, your voice shaky. You didn’t even believe yourself. You knew exactly why she was upset. But you had to try. You had to try to be normal for once, even if it was just for a few minutes in your own room.

“Nothing?” Her lip curled, disgust in every word. “Baby, you think you can just fill ya’ head with that filth and call it ‘nothin’?’”

You bit your lip, holding back tears. She stepped forward, pointing at the CD player under your pillow.

“This is demonic! I knew it. You’ve been listening to the devil behind my back. It’s not enough that you’re dressing like... like one of those whores at school. But now you want to be dirty on the inside, too?”

Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was racing. What were you supposed to say?

“You’re going to ruin everything I’ve worked for. Everything your father and I have taught you,” she hissed, her eyes wild with something you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t love, not even close.

“it’s just music,” you whispered, too quietly, but she heard you.

She grabbed the player from your bed and yanked the CD out.

“It’s. not. just. music,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s a gateway. It’s corruption to the brain.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that all you wanted was to be normal, to have what everyone else had. a life outside of this house, outside of her rules. But the words never came.

She was moving now, pulling open drawers, emptying them onto the floor.

“all that filth you’ve been hiding from me and I’ve been lenient on is done for. I’m taking it all.”

She tossed your music cds, your makeup, your books. Everything you’d spent months gathering, everything you’d used to try to feel like you were an ordinary girl, was being thrown away.

And then, the worst part.

“Your father won’t stand for this. We’ll have you cleansed”

You faltered. Cleansed? It was such a cold, clinical word. But you knew what it meant. The prayers. The rituals. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t live through that.

Your eyes were filling with tears, your chest tightening.

“I’m sorry!, I didn’t mean to. I won’t listen to that again, okay? I swear,” you pleaded, though you knew it didn’t matter.

But it was too late, she was already at the door

“You know honey, my church group has been just how ungodly you’ve been acting, but I didn’t believe them….. I hate that you proved them right”

locking it behind her with that final click that meant you were trapped.

You pressed your back against the door, the tears finally spilling over. You couldn’t think straight. Your whole body was shaking, your mind was screaming. I need to get out of here.

You knew what you had to do.

You waited for what felt like hours, listening to the muffled sounds of your mom in the kitchen. The smell of dinner wafted under the door, and all you could think about was how your entire life had been planned for you. You were supposed to be a good girl. A good Christian girl. But you weren’t. And you were never going to be.

Finally, when you thought your heart couldn’t take any more, you got up. You grabbed the little bag you’d hidden in the closet. Nothing but a few clothes, and the money you’d saved up from waitressing at ‘sticky’s’. Quietly, carefully, you pulled out the plank in the floor, grabbed the rest of your hidden things, and shoved them into your bag. You didn’t think twice.

You climbed out the window, holding your breath, praying that she wouldn’t hear you.

Once you were outside, you took off running.

You didn’t know where you were going, but it didn’t matter. You had to get out.

You ran for what felt like forever. The night was cold, but you didn’t care. It was better than being to the place you once called home.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You glanced around realizing you were for sure not on the cut anymore, the big tall houses made it clear to you were on figure eight now.

then you saw him

Rafe Cameron.

You’d seen him around, of course. He was one of the rich kids, always walking around with that stupid confident smile, like he owned the whole island. You’d never paid him any attention. You had enough of your own problems to deal with. But when you saw him standing at the end of the street, leaning against his car smoking god knows what, you froze.

You’ve heard the stories about Rafe Cameron. He’s the kind of guy everyone talks about but no one truly understands.

He’s always been a mystery, and he still is. But there’s something about him, something that draws you in, even though you know you probably shouldn’t get too close.

You never really expected to see him again, not after the way he disappeared seven years ago.

Rafe left figure eight right after that night, the night he ended up in jail. No one knows exactly what happened, but everyone has their theories.

Some say it was a huge mistake, some say it was just a matter of time, others say ward himself drove his only son out of town. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him walk away from everything. His family, his life there, his whole world.

He packed up and drove five hours away, living on his own, far from the memories and the mess the pouges he hated had caused.

In the time since, he’s built himself up. People talk about how he’s thriving now, working as a firefighter or something like that. Hard work, steady pay, and no one really bothers him anymore.

It’s like he’s trying to rebuild his life, piece by piece. But even though he’s been gone for so long, when he talks about his baby sister wheezie, there’s this soft, almost protective vibe about him

Now, he’s back in town, just for her birthday. It’s strange seeing him like this, but there’s something different about him. He’s older, quieter, and maybe even a little lost in his own way.

He was looking straight at you, his brow furrowed, like he knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice muffled by his blunt but clear in the quiet night air.

You stopped in your tracks.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step toward you.

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you weren’t alright!. You were running away from your own life, from your own mother. But you didn’t know how to tell him that.

“I... I’m fine,” you said, but even to your own ears, it sounded like a lie.

He took another step forward, still studying you with those eyes that seemed too kind for someone like him.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “You look rough.”

Your breath hitched. ‘Gee thanks’ Yeah, you looked rough. You had been rough for years. But hearing it from someone else...it hit different.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know him. But you also didn’t know anyone who would help you, not like this. So you warily followed him

You stared at him, confused, trying to figure out if he was serious or playing some sick joke on you.

Then it hit you. He was talking to you like you weren’t just the religious girl with the crazy parents. He wasn’t weirded. He wasn’t judging you.

The last time someone came up to you, the whole town heard about it. Your parents tried getting them expelled from school for harassing you.

That was the last time anyone ever talked to you

“I know you know Wheezie,” he said, a little chuckle in his voice as he opened the door. “you can’t be all bad, right?”

Wheezie? then it clicked, the girl with glasses who could down 6 cherry milkshakes in a row, nice.

“Come on,” he said, the smile slipping from his face for a second, a real one this time. “Let me help you.”

You didn’t know if you were ready for help, but you were so damn tired. Tired of pretending everything was okay. Tired of running. Tired of fighting your own heart every damn day.

You took a deep breath and took up his offer.

He didn’t even look like the guy everyone made him out to be. Sure, he still had that wild, unpredictable look to him, but he wasn’t hostile. He just… asked if you needed help. Simple as that.

You didn’t know what else to say. You didn’t know where else to go.

He didn’t press you with questions. He just turned on the engine, his eyes flicking over you like he was checking to see if you were really serious about getting in.

"You're Wheezie's friend, right?" he asked as you climbed in.

You nodded, glancing at him, trying to gauge whether or not you were making a huge mistake. "Yeah... kind of, she’s always at the diner" you added, almost too quietly. You didn't want to give him the wrong impression, what 18 year old is freinds with a 13 year old?

He smiled just a little, but it was different from the smirks you’d seen on his face at school or around town. “That sounds like her” It wasn’t mean. It was soft

You can’t help but wonder what really happened in those seven years, what it was that changed him, but for now, you’re stuck here in the passenger seat of his truck, staring at his side profile as he drives.

Something about being around him feels oddly comforting, even though you know there’s so much you’ll never understand.

The ride was awkward, the kind of silence that felt thick enough to choke on. Rafe had the radio low, some song you didn’t recognize playing in the background.

You focused on the streetlights flashing by, the pavement blurring, but all you could think about was the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You didn't belong in this car, in this moment. You should have been running in the other direction, but... for some reason, you weren’t scared. Not yet.

You had no idea where the hell you were going. That’s when he asked.

“So, do you have anywhere to go?”

You looked at your lap, clutching the bag tighter. You couldn’t tell him the truth, not completely. Not yet. "yeah" you said, your voice barely above a raspy whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first. But then you heard him exhale, like he was thinking it over. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been through but….but you’re safe now,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle, like he’d somehow sensed how scared you really were. “Ok?”

“Ok” You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. He wasn’t wrong. You were scared, terrified even, but for the first time in forever, someone wasn’t judging you for it.

No one in your family ever told you you were safe, ever told you that everything would be okay. You sniffled, the tears threatening to spill over.

You didn't want to break down in front of him.

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you were at a diner, the neon lights buzzing softly. Rafe looked over at you, almost like he was waiting for you to protest or make some excuse. You didn’t. You just followed him out of the car, not saying a word.

Inside, the place smelled like burgers, fries, and cigarettes. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and it made you feel a little safer, like you were stepping into something straight out of a movie. Rafe led you to a booth and slid into the seat across from you. For a second, you both just stared at the menu, neither of you speaking. You didn’t know if you were supposed to order, or if he would. But then he broke the silence.

"What do you want?" He didn’t sound like he was expecting an answer right away. Like he was just making sure you were okay.

You looked at the menu, but your mind was elsewhere. You didn’t care what you ate. You just... didn’t want him to feel like he had to do this.

Like he had to take care of you.

“Just fries and a water,” you said, you didn't even know why you said it. It wasn’t like you had much of an appetite.

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on it. He called the waitress over and ordered for both of you. A burger, fries, and a milkshake. When she left, he turned to you, his gaze softer than you thought he’d ever let it be.

"How are you holding up?" His voice was quieter now, the edge gone. He wasn’t the Rafe Cameron you’d heard about, the one everyone warned you to stay away from. He seemed... almost normal, it was freaking you out.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I don't know," you muttered. "Just tired, I guess."

He nodded, leaning back in his seat, but you caught him glancing at you every few seconds like he was still trying to figure you out.

“What are you running from” he said bluntly, his stare showing no signs playfulness, just a full serious look

you looked away, your tears sticking with your mascara and glitter eyeshadow “Home”

“Been there” he nodded taking in your appearance in, how could such a pretty girl like you be so alone and lost?

The food came quickly, and Rafe pushed the plate with the burger and fries toward you. "Eat," he said simply. “I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

You picked at the fries, not feeling hungry but not wanting to make him feel like you didn’t appreciate it. The milkshake was so cold and thick, and when you took a sip, you felt a small sense of comfort settle in. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As you ate, Rafe kept glancing at you, almost like he was waiting for you to crack. When you sniffled again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve, he frowned. "I already told you, you don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice dropping a little. “You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, considering who he was. But in that moment, you believed him. You really did.

When you finished the milkshake and most of the burger, you felt a little more alive again, but the weight of everything of your family, of the lies, of everything that had pushed you to this point, was still there.

And you still had nowhere to go.

you just had a sparkly sack and a dream.

Rafe didn’t say much after that, just leaned back in his seat, and let you gather your thoughts. But when the waitress came by to take your plates, you stood up, and swung the creaky glass door open feeling that familiar unease creep back in.

"I’ll just go to the docks, the ferry leaves at 6am," you said, Turing around to see rafe as he followed right behind. You were going to take the ferry to the mainland, with the little money you had left. You weren’t sure where you were going from there, but it was something.

Rafe’s expression turned serious, almost annoyed. “No,” he said flatly.

“what?”

“I’m not letting you go to the docks. It’s dangerous, and I doubt you even have enough money to get anywh-.”

“You can’t fix everything!” you snapped, feeling all the frustration you’d been holding back suddenly spill out. "You can’t. fix. everything"

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I can’t fix everything,” he said, his voice firm. “But I can try to make sure you’re okay. I can’t just let you go off like that.”

You glared at him. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his buzzed head. “I know enough.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Your whole world was falling apart, and yet, here was this guy, this person you should’ve never trusted, according to everyone you knew

but then again why does it matter what everyone says? if you’re going by that logic then you would be at the bottom of the barrel.

“You want to runaway right?” he said, voice steady. “I have a place, it’s 5 hours away, that far enough for you?”

“Do you even know how old I am!? Hello, I could turn you in right now for being a weirdo” you asked with sass, anything to get him off of your case

“ ‘sticky’s’ won’t hire under 18.” He said nonchalantly rolling his eyes, “unless you lied or where getting paid under the table? Then I could turn you and your employer in”

You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion in his voice, but something in you cracked. “i didn’t lie, I’m 18” you said your voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you. But no funny business, I will jump out of the freaking car” you said crossing your arms

“Whatever you say, sugar”

Was this a good idea? Probably not. You’re parents would ironically raise hell over this town once they found out their precious daughter had run off with Rafe fucking Cameron

#works!⟡࿔*:･ﾟ #sugar!reader ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭#drew starkey #aesthetic #drew starkey imagine #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe smut

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veritas-scribblings · 14 hours ago

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Euphemia Potter - @into-the-jeggyverse - words: 660

He tries to make himself small so he doesn’t take up space. So he can’t be seen, perceived, heard. She’s sure that he would fit himself into the nooks and crannies of the two-storey house if he could. Vanish himself entirely into the aether if they let him.

He minds his pleases and thank-yous more than her own child does.

Calls them “sir” and “ma’am”.

Keeps his elbows off the tables.

Ensures he’s freshly washed for meals.

Waits patiently to be excused.

Euphemia had heard bits and pieces from James over the years. At twelve-years-old, James had written home about the boy who had arrived at the school and was, disappointingly, “nothing like Sirius at all”. At thirteen-years-old, he’d written home to inform them that “Baby Black” had become the Slytherin Seeker and had described in incredibly lengthy detail how he appears out of “literally nowhere like some sort of apparition on a broom”.

At fourteen-years-old, James had written home to inform her that “Baby Black and his two Slytherin thug friends” were, quite ominously, “causing problems” for them. And had left it at that, no other form of explanation given.

At fifteen-years-old, Euphemia had been informed quite stiffly by both James and Sirius that “that traitorous wretch who shall not be named” was strictly out of conversational bounds. Now, Euphemia tries not to pry. She likes to think of herself as reasonable. Understanding. A hip, cool kind of mum. Yet, although she’d had her hands full with one Black son, she’d found that she couldn’t help but worry. Nor could she suppress the overwhelming urge to storm Grimmauld Place so she might keep both sons of the House of Black in her sanctuary. “The Potter Home for Wayward Runaway Boys”, Fleamont likes to call it.

At sixteen-years-old, James had been shook when this quiet, scowl-y boy had turned up on their doorstep with a trunk trailing after him and such presumptuous audacity that he couldn’t be anyone other than Sirius Black’s little brother. He’d deposited himself in their lounge, eaten their food, slept in their spare bed, and quite literally moved himself into their lives. And it was when she’d caught her son peering curiously around corners to watch the scowl-y boy read, pestering the boy with thinly-veiled invasive questions, that Euphemia had quickly figured out exactly what was happening.

Now that he is seventeen-years-old, Euphemia Potter is watching her son fall in love for the first time. James doesn’t know this yet. He hasn’t yet figured it out. And thank goodness for all of them that neither has Sirius, who is certain that James is trying to be hospitable.

James is building (mending, even) bridges, according to Sirius.

It’s surprising, honestly, because James is really quite ridiculously obvious about it. He follows Regulus into the living room to sit with him while he reads (“I’m just doing my summer homework, Mum!” he'll claim, though James has never done summer homework in his life). He’ll read the same books as Regulus so they can talk about it afterwards (“He’s just so quiet, Mum, but if you get him talking about books, he could go on all day!”). He’ll invite Regulus to help him cook, offer to make his famous Chai for Regulus, invite Regulus to take a peek around Flea’s potions lab, offer to give Regulus a tour of Flea’s garden of potions ingredients, though he’s never shown much of any interest in his father’s work before.

And sometimes, when James doesn’t think anyone is watching, she’ll catch James staring, looking so desperately besotted that he might very well float off into the aether at any moment.

James doesn’t realise it yet, but Regulus, bless his soul, is worryingly perceptive. And though he might not yet quite realise the extent of James’s affections, he’s well aware of the attention.

And Euphemia thinks, Regulus is Slytherin enough that he might very well have something up his sleeve.

#work is a shit show I cope by writing #harry potter #fanfiction #myfanfiction #microfics #myjegulusmicrofics #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus x james #sunseeker #starchaser #euphemia potter

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sweetbunpura · 1 day ago

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Filled with Static pt.4

Summary: Yuu was already fed up before coming to Playful Land and now that it's over... She has some very choice words for she has reached her boiling point...

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

The moment they enter the office there is nothing but a cold and sharp silence. Crewel and Trein stand on either side of Crowley’s desk with their arms crossed as they glare at the students. Grim’s also in the room, sitting on the ground with his ears lowered as he refuses to look at anyone.

“Close the door behind you.” Trein speaks with a cold tone.

Jack does as commanded while the silence settles heavy in the ear. For a few moments, no one speaks and the only sounds in the room are the ticking of Crowley’s clock. Crewel opens his mouth and the words that come out are dripping in venom.

“Are you aware of what you’ve done?” His eyes narrow. “Actually don’t answer that because I know you’re going to try and play dumb.” He snaps his pointer against his arm. “Yuu was found outside of my house in distress and tears.”

The named students winced while Crowley looked confused at Crewel.

“She was? Ah, that’s why Mr. Grim is here.”

“Be quiet, Crowley.” Crewel’s tone is sharp and the headmaster’s mouth slams close.

“Now, would any of you like to tell the headmaster WHY she appeared outside of the home?” Trein speaks now as Lucius lets out a low growl.

“Because...” Lilia speaks. “Because we pushed her to her limits. Over her limit, actually.”

“And ignored her warnings.” Trey added in. “We got her and ourselves into serious trouble.”

“So you are capable of thinking after all.” Crewel speaks.”So where was that when she was trying to get you to leave the park?”

“Park?” Crowley inquired. “When did you all have time to attend that?”

The boys were quiet, no one speaking up as they all didn’t wish to speak on the subject.

“You all are pathetic and disobedient dogs!” Crewel snapped. “Tell him!”

“We skipped school to go to Playful Land.” Ace responded as he crossed his arms. “We snuck out before school started and spent all day in the park. We almost got turned into puppets by the leader of the place. Yuu got hurt in the process of the whole thing.”

“Is that it?” Crowley blinked and waved his head. “Well that’s nothing new-”

“Shut up.” Crewel all but growled out at the headmaster. ”The main point was she has to keep an eye on them because you always force her to do that, Crowley. You-” He directed his attention towards the leader and vice leaders. “Should have enough common sense and knowledge to get the younger classmen out of danger and not allow them to do something as asinine as this!”

“His magic-” Kalim tried only to be interrupted.

“You can’t use that as an excuse, Al-Asim.” Trein voiced. “You let yourself get tricked by Honest into believing his lies and ignoring the red flags that were everywhere.” He took a deep breath before speaking directly at Ace. “Not to mention the audacity that you, Mr. Trappola, would casually remind Yuu of her situation here.”

“I forgot! She’s been here so long that it slipped that she’s not from here!” Ace tried defending himself. “Besides, she gets the worst of it from Grim!”

“Don’t throw me in with you!” Grim finally spoke up. “I’m not as bad as the rest of you!”

“You don’t listen to her!”

“And neither do you!” Crewel roared out. “The amount of times she has told ALL of you not to do something and listen to her about something, you all simply ignore her. Because of what? Oh yes, the fact that she’s magicless! She has saved multiple students multiple times and you still show her no ounce of respect!”

“Now, now-” Crowley tried gaining control of the situation. “Why don’t we all calm down-”

“Don’t think you’re exempt from this.” Trein directed his attention towards the headmaster. “Yuu told us how you ignored her calls during winter break where she and Grim were kidnapped.” He paused as a chorus of confusion followed. “Have you found a way home for her yet?”

“I-I’m still looking!” Crowley holds up his hands in defense. “It’s a very delicate process!”

A few moments of quiet filled the room before Leona spoke clearly.

“...Herbivore can’t go home, can she?

“W-W-What!?” Crowley squawked. “Who told you- I mean-”

“Crowley... have you been leaning Yuu on the entire time?” Trein looked horrified. “Is there truly no way for her to return home?”

“I-I mean-”

“When were you playing on telling her this?”

“.....” Crowley looked off to the side.

“Oh my seven, you never planned on telling her.”

As the room erupted into loud arguments, none of them were aware of the camera recording the whole thing and broadcasting it to the intended people....

Yuu paused the feed and exited out of the message Idia had sent her privately. She.... she was stuck here. She would never be able to go home or to see her mother again or to... Her stomach started feeling nauseous as she rushed to empty it before stumbling her way out of Crewel’s home and into the air of the port town. Yuu held her self, mind reeling from the information she just received. Static filled her ears and her mind grew numb to the world around her. So much so that she wasn’t looking where she was going and ran into someone.

“Oh! I’m sorry- Hello? Oh wait, Yuu-chan?”

She raised her head at the sound of her name and was met with Neige looking concernedly at her. Beside him stood a long red haired boy with shining blue eyes and another boy with short blond hair and wide blue eyes. One more boy was with them, a tall black boy with long light brown hair and a green top hat.

“Yuu-chan.” Neige placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Within a matter of moments, tears filled Yuu’s eyes as she started to cry and clench her fists into Neige’s jacket. With a startled noise, the actor held her and looked towards his friends for help. Yuu just wanted everything to stop... just for once, please stop.

#twisted wonderland #filled with static #twst fic #dire crowley #divus crewel #mozus trein #ace trappola #twst grim #leona kingscholar #lilia vanrouge #trey clover #kalim al asim #yuu homura #neige leblanche #RSA oc

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shuenkio · 2 days ago

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Secret Secret — ࣪𖤐 승민 .ᐟ

۫ ꣑ৎ Synopsis: They say, as a gay, never fall for the straight guy who’s affectionate and kind. But what happens when the straight guy finds himself falling for you instead?

۫ ꣑ৎ Paring: Seungmin x m!reader

۫ ꣑ৎ Genre: Fluff. ۫ ꣑ৎ Cw: none.

۫ ꣑ৎ non proof read ۫ ꣑ৎ Eng is not my 1st

۫ ꣑ৎ This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

"Here!" He grabs your palm, place a chocolate bar all of the sudden. Causing you to furrow your brows, bewildered the scene.

"But what for?" You asked, still not recognizing his intentions yet. Today was Valentine's day, where everyone gave gifts or received them, and also the day of confessing their feelings to their loved ones you get it. But one thing that was odd was, Seungmin, the excellent and attractive employee in the company was the one who gave you, out all of the other girls, who had a big fat crush on him yet he chose you instead? Should you be happy or sad?

"idiot, it's Valentine day aigoo" the taller scoffed a heavy sigh before walk off, shove his hands back into his pocket act as if this never happened. You scratch the back of your head, unable to react to such a situation since never in your life receive gifts on Valentine's day.

"....what?" Once Seungmin is gone, all your co-workers beside you suddenly circling around like flies, some scream while some are even more excited than you. Who wouldn't when is THE Kim Seungmin, the nonchalantly blunted guy, out of the blue giving you a gift out of everyone, this should be displayed in the museum for real.

"Yaaaa M/N aren't you so lucky to get such gift??" Once say.

"UGH what did you do last live to live in my dream right now!!" Twice say.

"Gosh I better not hear you reject him, or Imma drowning you in this can" thrice say.

"reject? What reject, this is just a small gift right?" Keeping it low, there's no way he was y'know... Into guy? How is it possible if that was such an outright way to ask you out. Groaning was heard once you responded. Ever since you've been working here for god knows how long together with Seungmin, the latter will always find his way to take care of m/n secretly, giving rides home, act of service, helping m/n when he's struggling and gosh, there's so many. However, you don't think that kind of way, as a hopeless romantic guy from all the way childhood to this age now, you realized that you'll never find love since you're a homosexual. Never experience the high school love nor any kind of relationship ever. So when somebody is acting this way, you thought it was normal, isn't it?

"how dumb are you, Don't you notice how he acts when it comes to you ? You're the favoritesm" once say.

"true true, we get nothing during the new years eve but you got a fucking Rolex watch from him" twice say.

"m/n listen to us alright? If you're not certain about him, go ask him if it was worth the try, that man is not the straight forward one— we know how you feel when this happened but think Abt it, it has been a year now— but if you don't do anything, don't say we don't spare mercy, anything is possible just to make you say one word" thrice say.

Their advice lingers on your head. Face resting on your palm, pouting. Tskk it's actually a pretty serious thing for them and you tho, looking back to all the memories it sounds like you are his favorite indeed, as the time goes on it's far more than his favorite person.

"fine okay... I'll ask him this evening, I have dinner with him though" you stated, and focus on finishing your work. While your co-workers went back to their place with a happy grin spread across their face.

"kiss me~ don't say no—"

A sleek, jet-black luxury car rolled to a stop right outside the building, its polished body reflecting the dim lights in a way that made it look almost too perfect to be real. The engine gave a soft hum, like a low purr, almost too smooth to be true.

Then, the door opened—wide, welcoming. Like it was waiting for you.

For a second, you stood there, blinking. Was this really happening? This was getting a little too real, like something straight out of a movie.

You snapped out of it, stepping into the car with a mix of hesitation and something else—you weren’t entirely sure. The leather seat felt too soft, the smell of clean luxury wrapping around you. It was like you were in a different world, one where all of this was normal, and you weren’t still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers a little more unsteady than they should’ve been. As you finally settled in, you glanced at Seungmin.

His face was relaxed, eyes forward, fingers steady on the steering wheel—but there was that smirk at the corner of his mouth. That little smirk that made everything too damn real.

"All set?" he asked, his voice smooth and casual, like this wasn’t completely out of place.

Before you could even answer, the engine roared to life beneath you. The car glided forward, the world outside blurring as you were pulled deeper into whatever this was—whatever he was.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at Seungmin, his eyes just flicking toward you for a second, that smirk still there, as if he knew exactly what was running through your mind.Yeah. You were definitely in trouble now.

( in third pov )

The soft hum of conversation filled the air as M/N and Seungmin stepped into the restaurant. The warm glow of fairy lights draped across the ceiling cast a golden hue over the Valentine’s-themed decor—roses in crystal vases, flickering candles, and a breathtaking view of the ocean stretching beyond the glass windows. The faint scent of saltwater mixed with the aroma of fresh pasta and wine. It was undeniably romantic. Too romantic.

M/N swallowed, eyes darting around. It wasn’t that he minded being here with Seungmin, but something about the atmosphere made his chest feel a little tight, his heart just a little too aware. And maybe—just maybe—it had to do with the nagging feeling creeping up on him lately.

Seungmin strolled up to the reception desk, hands in pockets, his usual composed demeanor unreadable. The receptionist, a cheerful woman with a clipboard, greeted them with a bright smile.

"Ah, welcome! Table for two? Are you a couple?"

M/N immediately parted his lips to say No, but before the word could form, Seungmin, ever so casual, nodded and replied, "Yes."

The receptionist beamed.

"Oh, wonderful! Happy Valentine’s Day! You’ll be getting our couple’s discount!"

M/N blinked, a sharp inhale catching in his throat. Excuse me?

Seungmin, on the other hand, remained perfectly unbothered, only lifting a brow at M/N as if to say, What? It’s a discount.

M/N’s mind spiraled in a dozen different directions. Was it just for the sake of the discount? Or was this something else? Something that confirmed that inkling feeling he’d been trying to ignore for weeks?

Still slightly dazed, he followed Seungmin to their table near the floor-to-ceiling window. The restaurant was nestled on a cliffside, giving them an uninterrupted view of the sea. The waves shimmered under the soft glow of the moon, the distant city lights twinkling against the horizon. It was the kind of place lovers would dine at, whispering sweet nothings over candlelit dinners.

And here M/N was, sitting across from Seungmin—Seungmin, who was all nonchalance, leaning back against the seat, sipping water like he hadn’t just thrown M/N’s entire world off its axis.

The meal went by in a blur, M/N hyper-aware of every brush of movement, every fleeting glance. Seungmin, of course, was the same as always, his aloof expression unreadable, his voice carrying that low, effortless ease. And M/N? M/N felt like he was malfunctioning internally.

Then, just as M/N thought he was in the clear, Seungmin casually slid something across the table.

A box. Wrapped neatly with a ribbon.

M/N stared at it. Then at Seungmin. Then back at the box.

"...What’s this?" His voice came out quieter than intended.

Seungmin tilted his head slightly. "A gift."

M/N hesitated. He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck, fingers trembling slightly as he tugged at the ribbon. The box opened with a soft click—inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate silver bracelet. The charm attached to it was subtle, but M/N recognized the design instantly. It was something he had offhandedly admired months ago while window shopping—something he hadn’t even realized Seungmin had noticed.

M/N’s breath hitched.

His chest felt tight again, but for an entirely different reason.

"...Do you like it?" Seungmin asked, tone as indifferent as ever, but his eyes—those deep, steady eyes—held something softer. Something patient.

M/N swallowed hard, nodding, his voice refusing to work.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. And maybe it was the dim lighting, maybe it was the leftover adrenaline from earlier, or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that everything was finally making sense.

M/N clenched his fists under the table, gathering every ounce of courage he had.

"...Do you," he exhaled slowly, pulse hammering, "like me?"

Seungmin didn’t blink. Didn’t even hesitate.

He leaned back, exuding that same effortless calm, and said, "I thought that was obvious."

M/N’s heart stopped.

And just like that, everything he had been trying to ignore crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Seungmin watched as M/N sat there, frozen, his fingers twitching slightly against the table. His lips parted like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out. His wide eyes, the way his breath hitched, the sheer disaster of emotions playing out on his face—Seungmin almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

With a sigh, Seungmin leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "You know," he started, voice even, "I figured you’d be like this."

M/N finally blinked, snapping out of whatever internal meltdown he was going through. "...Like what?"

Seungmin tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Hopeless," he said bluntly. "A hopeless romantic who’s spent his whole life thinking love was something out of reach just because you’ve never had it before." He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against the table. "And yeah, I knew you’d overthink this. But honestly? I don’t care."

M/N stiffened, his breath caught in his throat. "You—"

"I don’t care," Seungmin repeated, this time with a slow, deliberate shrug. "Because I already like you." His gaze was steady, unwavering. "And there’s nothing you can do about that."

M/N’s chest tightened.

Seungmin watched him, as if waiting, as if knowing exactly what was running through his mind. Then, with that same lazy, deadpan tone, he added, "So? What now? You gonna run away? Or are you finally gonna admit you like me back?"

M/N felt his heart lurch. He swallowed thickly, mind racing.

And then, finally, finally, he let out a breath and muttered, "...Fine." His voice was quiet, but firm. "Yes."

Seungmin smirked, like he had just won some long-awaited game. He lifted his glass, taking a sip of water, before setting it down with a soft clink.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling like this was nothing new. "Thought so."

M/N groaned, slumping against the table. He was so done for.

A/n: Guy guess what? I'm doing this experiment with Seungmin y'all!! I'm kicking my feet, giggling, & ate some wall while writing this 😋 my favorite so far— I'd love some comments, like really!!! Should I continue or whatever.

Funtalk: I can't help but to post this in advance, because valentines are 4 more days and I can't wait to see y'all reaction, so yeah...

#stray kids #straykids x reader #straykids x you #kim seungmin #seungmin #straykids seungmin #seungmin fluff #skz x male reader #skz #skz x reader #seungmin x reader #straykids fluff #straykids fanfic #kpop x male reader #seungmin x male reader #skz seungmin

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fandomobbsessedb · 22 hours ago

Text

Two Daddies, Two Daddies

(Gi-Hun + In-ho) X daughter Reader

Summary: You’ve got two daddies, they both love you unconditionally and they both want what’s best for you…. Even if it undermines the other.

• Ever since you came into their lives, whether by adoption, or surrogacy, genetic mutation, WHATEVER. You are their pride and joy. Everything they do, use to be driven by survival instincts, but now, everything they do is for their little princess 👑

•When you were just a little thing Gi-hun dotted on you the most. You were stuck to him like glue. He didn’t care if it made him look girly he wore that damn baby chest carrier thing everywhere. In the car he sat in the back with you keeping you entertained while In-ho drove.

When he drove, I should say, otherwise he was back there making you two follow standard driving laws…. Like how you had to be in a car seat….. and Gi-hun currently had you in his lap….. while he was unbuckled. He had to get you out of this pink onesie! He could see you were uncomfortable and just had to change you so you would be happy! He needs his baby happy.

• In-ho on the other hand did a lot of the more calculated baby stuff. Scheduling your doctor appointments, watching what times you ate exactly at, how much you ate etc. They would switch off whose turn it would be to give you a bath or read to you or put you to sleep.

• If In-ho couldn’t give you his full attention while he did something than that something wasn’t important enough to deem his precious shared attention. You where his everything all the time.

•Inside your shared living space on the island where the only people you would ever need in your life. Appa and Papa. Nothing else in the outside world ever bothered them or you.

• GI-hun was always the parent you went to first. Didn’t matter if he was using the bathroom or trying to eat, he was choice #1. Then would be In-ho. Kinda like a mom and dad dynamic.

• Appa does the silly voices with your bedtime stories maybe even some finger puppets. Meanwhile Papa prefers to cuddle you to sleep, or to brush out your hair, he just helps you calm down by before a more consistent and constant presence. So while Gi-hun is making a show out of showing you how the princess defeated the witch, In-Ho is keeping you in bed, and gently petting your hair and covering your ears when Gi-hun gets a lil too loud.

• Gi-hun wasn’t able to give his first daughter everything she ever wanted, then again, he felt he wasn’t given a fair chance to try and raise her. So with you, he’s doing his best to not spoil the absolute hell out of you while still remaining a bit strict.

• He gives you basic ass household chores and pretty low standards for grades, even though you still excel, and he raised you to be good, so you’re pretty much always on your best behavior. That being said your allowance and earnings are at least x10 that of a normal kid.

• Your classmate got $20 once for doing all the dirty dishes and they acted like they were on top of the world. In your own mind however you were a bit class blind by that. You were so confused why they were only given $20.

• Because of his view on society In-ho doesn’t view your people as “friends”. He see’s them just like the rest of the world and in his mind has made up that your the leader of your little friend group just like how he’s the boss of his workers. So if he were to take you out of that school or daycare he wouldn’t see it as much of a problem.

• Where Gi-hun lacks in restraint and uncertainty, In-ho makes up for it in sterner parenting and guidance.

• One night they’re at the dinner table discussing what to get you for getting straight A’s this last semester. Gi-hun suggests a relaxing vacation, somewhere simple and close to home in Korea. In-Ho immediately over rides that decision and is already purchasing tickets to the Caribbean under the table. First class with a spa and snacks and all your favorite sweets. Ya know what fuck it, he doesn’t want to deal with people right now, we’ll just take the private jet. So what if it belongs to the “squid games” company name, he owns the games.

Scenario

Gi-hun had you by your upper arm pulling you into the apartment, your Papa sat on his chair watching the current games as the two of you stormed in.

“Do you have any idea what she just did?” Gi-hun will question his partner looking as In-Ho sighed and opened his texts to see what you undoubtedly texted your more lenient parent.

“She kicked that bully at her game.” He affirmed without looking up.

“She KICKED the bully AT HER GAME.” He loudly stated. In-ho titled just his eyes up to meet the taller man’s.

“So?” He shrugged. Gi-hun just stood there gapping his mouth like a fish.

“It wasn’t even with the game it was off to the side when the ball rolled out of bounds!” He angrily declared. You just looked exasperated between to two of them before bowing your head to apologize.

“I’m sorry Papa, I’m sorry Appa. I shouldn’t have kicked her” you stood straight again keeping your head down waiting for your father’s understanding punishment.

“Forgiven, go change out of that sweaty gear and get ready for dinner.” In-ho calmly stated, walking over the place a kiss on the top of your head before making his way back to his chair. With a small smile you turned and quickly slipped away before Gi-hun could duel out his own punishment. From the background you could hear them still going.

“She wouldn’t resort to physical violence if someone is upsetting her.” Gi-hun angrily spoke out.

“Mhm” In-ho simply nodded his head before making his own point, “how many other parents complain to you as well about that other kid? Hm? We should be grateful the ONLY thing she did was kick them.” He replied coming to your defense making you cheer internally before he spoke up again.

“If you want to punish her so bad for getting physical with another kid don’t let her go to the next game, her attitude may change but the kid won’t.” He sternly replied heading towards their shared room to fix his own appearance before you all sat down to eat.

• When you start puberty they don’t touch that with a 39 and a half foot pole. Not because they don’t love you. They still do everything the same for you…. GI-hun just brings his friend Sae-Byeok into the picture.

• It’s like the Wild West in the apartment. Her on one side, you on the other, your dads standing in the middle out of the way. Normally they just handed you both a wad of cash and let you go out to do whatever it is you needed to do but this time she said she only had a few minutes and would just stop in.

“Catch” she nonchalantly told you, grabbing the bag from the air you opened it and saw a few different types of…. What is this exactly?

“Deodorant, you stink kid, your bodies maturing and this is just one of the first things.” She shrugs, walking out of the building. The two gays in the corner clutch to eachother in worry at your reaction as you delicately held the bars like they were poison. Within a few sniffs you were taking it to your room contently at your favorite smells.

• Your their favorite person and their your favorite people. Just because you didn’t grow up with a mother figure doesn’t mean you’re not well balanced. They both take adequate care of themselves and you.

AN: Thanks for reading! I’m not sure how accurate this is so if I come up with more ideas I’ll just add em on.

Stayed Tuned!

~ FandomObbsessedB

#x reader #baby #in ho x reader #gi hun x reader #hwang in ho #gi hun #seong gi hun #squid game #squid game imagine #headcannons #daughter reader

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kashimos-hajime · 3 days ago

Text

—a man | s.r.

summary: "what we need, sweetheart, is a man."

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

a/n: for context, inarizaki is being placed in nishinomiya for the sake of this fic | part of the undateable series

masterlist

The lunch bell shrieks and the students all around give a grumble as they pour back into the class room. You’re in the midst of putting your lunch box away, but the question Mina, your near and dear friend, poses you has your face akin to a woman who’s got sliced lemons wedged into her cheeks. “No, no, I’m fine not dating anyone right now. Akio just dumped me—” you count on your fingers— “two, or, three? Weeks ago.”

“Ugh, but that was nothing. You don’t even care, so why not come with me?” she pleads, clasping her hands and leaning on your desk. “I promise, it’s not going to be bad. Just one date. A double date. That handsome boy from Kujirami we saw from the spring party asked me out to see a movie in Kobe, and it’ll be so lame if I have to go by myself. I’m sure he has a cute friend!”

“I guess?” Your voice, tinged with doubt, twangs when you wince and you search for an excuse, glancing around the room as casually as you can. The teacher's behind his desk, re-organizing his papers, and you agonize over the minutes he takes. Couldn’t he cut class conversation short, for once? “But I don’t want to transit to Kobe from Awaji on the weekend. It’s so much time, and I have to work. Maybe if it were afterschool?”

“Would Friday work?”

You try not to curse to Mina’s face. “Maybe… but it’s the end of the school week. I’d, y’know, wanna go home. And Thursday is like... we have homework. And stuff.” At your friend’s crestfallen expression, you quickly add, “I wouldn’t want to third-wheel your date anyway. If I’m there, and his friend’s there, we might end up talking to each other rather than our dates.”

A pout flashes across her face. “If they can't keep us interested, then they’re not good enough for us. Didn't you say on your first date with Inoue-san, he didn't say a single word? And we know how that turned out."

“Well, don’t take a page out of my book. Every time I give a guy a chance, they’re just not…" You don't exactly want to linger on all your failures at the moment. "Well, just give him a chance, and don't look for the bad stuff. You know, sometimes first dates, the nerves get in the way.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, too? 'Cause if you have no luck, I can't imagine what I've got going for me. Ugh, I'm so sick of boys!" Mina shoots to her feet with a new, ferocious light in her stare as she flexes her arm, patting the bicep with a sharp smile. “What we need, sweetheart, is a man.”

“A man,” you snort, laughing. “As if those exist.”

“You never know.” The chair squeaks as Mina finds her seat again. Twisting around, she sends you a wink. “Think about it, won’t you?”

“I will,” you agree. Reaching down into your bag, you feel a shadow fall across your figure, and you crane your head up at the boy standing before you. Suna Rintarou is staring down at you as if you’re the one in his way, but you can't possibly be so, and he's most definitely in the wrong section of the classroom.

“Hey.”

You only straighten up, withdrawing your English notebook and dusting off your desk quickly. “Hi.” Picking out your favourite pencil, you adjust the layout of your desk, and take a quick sip of water before realizing Suna’s still standing there, tapping on his phone, and you look at him again. “Can I help you?”

He withdraws something from his pocket—a cleanly folded piece of paper—but doesn’t even meet your gaze. A flicker of irritation licks at your stomach. “Osamu wanted to give this to you.”

“What is it?”

“From our volleyball meeting.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“He volunteered you to fill our manager spot since Shiri-san won’t be coming back this year. It’s the form.”

Taking it, you open your mouth to ask another question but he’s already walking to the back of the class, and you frown, eyes trailing after the boy who sits down and pulls out his phone, already slouched over and half-hidden by the person sitting in front of him. Ridiculous.

With a huff, you face forward again. The paper crinkles as you see your name already written at the top in Osamu’s slanted writing, but the teacher is calling for the class’s attention (of course, now is when he decides that his paper stacks are straight enough), and the idea is pushed to the back of your head with a firm, resounding answer.

No way.

#fic: the undateable #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x you #suna rintarou #suna rintaro #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou x you #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #my writing

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markleessodalite · 1 day ago

Text

Empty: p.js

content: you bring your bf!jisung to dinner with your parents, which ends up going horribly wrong (yet exactly how he expected). fem!reader x idol!jisung

warnings: lots of arguing, y/n has lots of family issues (particularly mommy issues), very moody jisung, y/n is kind of lowk not that smart, not a heartwarming moment at any point in this lol

wc: 2.4k

a/n: this kind of fic is pretty out of the realm of what i usually enjoy writing (angst and over 1k words lol) but after watching a particular show for the gazillionth time i was inspired to write this (try and guess what show to get nothing)

You fidget with the hem of your skirt before lacing your fingers together in your lap, forcing a smile as you make awkward eye contact with the sour frown worn by your mother. Her eyes move to the floor as she takes a sip of her wine. You look to your father, who returns an equally forced and awkward smile to you.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any second…” you try to brush off the rigidness of the moment, this setting, the same rigidness you’ve always felt growing up in this rigid house with your rigid parents, but the slight tremble in your voice gives your concern away. Jisung was supposed to meet you at your parents’ house tonight to meet them for the first time– after you begged him for hours on end until he reluctantly agreed.

He had heard plenty of horror stories straight from your own mouth about how cold and unforgiving your parents were. How they never uttered a kind word to you, or placed a comforting hand on you. Rarely looked at you unless they were scolding you for not sitting properly or for talking too much or laughing too loud. Jisung’s jaw was on the floor when you told him that you couldn’t even recognize your father until you were 8 years old because he was always at work or in his home office, and you could only recognize your mother out of fear instinct. You told him how they were ashamed when you couldn’t hack it at your expensive private high school, disappointed when you graduated from a trade school instead of an ivy league university, and how any success you experience that you share with them is met with condescending confusion and passive-aggressive comments about your wasted potential.

So Jisung was more than completely lost when you insisted that he come with you to dinner at your parents’ house. But after you explained that they’re still your parents, and this was important to you, and so on and so on, he promised you he’d be there.

But he didn’t mention that he would be an hour late.

Surely he remembered you warning him about how easy it is to leave a bad impression on your incredibly high-strung parents, right? You told him the exact time he’d be expected there, and even watched as he set a reminder on his phone.

Your father looks out the window, the white blankets of snow seeming a lot warmer than the stiff couch you were sitting on. “He’s probably stuck in this awful weather. I swear, it snows the tiniest bit and suddenly everyone in the area forgets how to drive.”

“A little bit of traffic wouldn’t cause anyone with a working brain to be an hour late.” Your mother sets her wine down, the clink of the glass on the coaster making you wince.

“I’m sure he’s rushing to get here, mom.” You rummage through your purse, looking for your phone. “Maybe I should call–”

“Do not call him, y/n,” your mother scolds you, “if he is driving, you should not distract him with a phone call. It’s dangerous.”

“Sorry.” You place your hands back in your lap. You then remember that he’s taking the subway anyway, so you could call him if you wanted to. But you decide it’s not worth trying to correct your mother.

“Honey, I’m starving.” Your father pours himself another glass of wine.

“We are not eating until y/n’s guest arrives, that’s rude.”

“He’s already an hour late, so I’ve already been hungry for an hour more than necessary.”

“We do not begin eating a meal before the guest arrives, dear.”

“Well I certainly don’t want to wait another hour!”

You ignore your parents bickering and pull out your phone, just to double check if Jisung texted you or tried to call, but it's just the same vague message he sent before.

Practice ran long, frustrating day, might be late

Just as you toss your phone onto the couch, you hear the doorbell. You ignore your father’s muttering and your mother scolding you for rushing to answer (apparently, a lady never rushes).

You open the door to see your boyfriend, although you almost don’t recognize him with the deep eyebags and uncharacteristic frown he’s sporting.

“Ji? What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“I just wanna get this over with.” He walks past you without another word, or even a glance in your direction.

After you get over a few seconds of being stunned by your boyfriend’s behavior, you shut the door and walk with him towards the living room. “Jisung, what’s wrong, honey?” No response. You lace your arm in his, which is usually a surefire way to get a smile from him. But now, nothing.

“Ji.” You pull him against the wall before your parents spot you. “I know you had a bad day, and I’m sorry about that, but just… take a deep breath and refocus, okay baby? Because you definitely can’t meet my parents looking this pouty.”

Jisung sighs, then plasters a lazy, disingenuous smile on his face. “Okay.”

~~~

After uncomfortable introductions and Jisung offering an apathetic apology for his tardiness, you were sat at the dinner table across from your boyfriend, who clearly would rather be anywhere else right now and was too exhausted to hide it.

“So, Jisung,” your father breaks the ice, “y/n says that you’re a dancer.”

“No, dad, I said he’s an idol.”

Your father just stares at you.

“He’s an idol, he’s not just a dancer.”

He keeps staring at you, now furrowing his brows as if you’re speaking a foreign language.

“So he also sings, and raps, and goes on tours and a whole bunch of other stuff, dad.”

“I do dance, though. So I can be considered a dancer.” Jisung finally contributes, although it feels more like he’s correcting you than chatting with your father.

“That’s nice. I’ve always admired dancers. I, for one, don’t have a rhythmic bone in my body.” Your father laughs at himself.

“Well, it's nice for a hobby.” Your mother’s fork scrapes across her plate, and you see Jisung’s eye twitch at the grating noise. “So what are your career plans?”

Jisung looks over at you, silently pleading for your help. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“You do have a career in mind, don’t you?”

“Mom–”

“Well, my idol career is going pretty great, and I don’t see it ending anytime soon.” Jisung tries to smile, but it bounces off your mother’s tight-lipped grimace.

“Yes, but dancing–” she says the word as if it's a vulgar swear– “isn’t really a career. Surely you have an actual prospect lined up.”

“Mom, we just had this conversation. He does a lot more than dance, it's not just a hobby.”

“Does he make decent money?”

You look at Jisung, noticing how he’s consciously refraining from rolling his eyes. “Yes, he does, and that is a totally inappropriate question, mother.”

“It certainly is an appropriate question, y/n,” your father scolds you, “if this man is intending to be serious with you, then we must make sure he is good enough for you.”

“Good enough?” Jisung echoes your father, not breaking eye contact with you.

“It's no offense to you, Jisung, you understand. She’s our daughter, it's our duty to ensure she has a stable, comfortable life.”

“And that’s worked out well up to this point, hasn’t it?”

Your breath catches in your throat, completely shocked at the sarcasm dripping from Jisung’s voice.

“Well we certainly tried, but she was never exactly receptive.” Your mother’s tone is just as condescending as ever, but you’re too busy staring at your boyfriend in disbelief to notice. “We gave her everything she needed growing up, yet still, she was always getting into trouble. Staying out past curfew, skipping school with those hoodlum friends of hers, bringing home substandard boys…”

“Mom.”

“Clearly that hasn’t changed.”

“Mom! Stop!”

“Substandard. Wow.” Jisung laughs under his breath.

“Oh, excuse me one moment–” your father rushes to answer the phone ringing in his study– “I need to take this call.”

“How could you make a comment like that, mom? You don’t even know Jisung!”

“I know your type, y/n.”

“You know him? You asked him a single question, refused to understand his answer, and you somehow decided that you don’t like him? You know nothing about him!”

“I don’t need to, I know you. You always go for these types, boys who have no manners, don’t know how to have a conversation, and haven’t put a single thought into their future.”

“That is not anything like Jisung!”

“Isn’t it? He shows up an hour late with no warning or explanation, he sits there pouting as if he doesn’t even want to be here, and he lets you do all the talking for him, when he’s not muttering to himself like a moody child.”

“It's been, like, 10 minutes, and you’ve already decided you don’t like him. I think that’s a record, even for you, mom.”

“Honestly, y/n. Don’t you see how this is embarrassing for us? For our daughter to keep making mistake after mistake, constantly making a fool of herself, acting as if she’s had no discipline her entire life?”

You turn to look at Jisung, and that’s when you finally realized he snuck away at some point unnoticed. “Mom, I don’t care. I’m leaving.”

“For once, y/n, you should think about how your decisions make your father and I look!”

You ignore your mother’s ranting as you gather your coat and purse, walking out the front door without a goodbye. You step into the driveway to see Jisung, leaning against the hood of your car, hands in his jacket pockets, snow melting into his hair.

You approach him, rubbing his arm gently, but it elicits no response from him.

“I’m so sorry, Ji. I hate that they treated you that way.”

He looks you in the eye, but doesn’t say a word. His eyes meet the ground again.

“I really… I don’t know. I thought after all these years, after them always trying to decide things for me, and me always going against it, I thought they could finally see something good happen to me and just… be happy for me, you know?”

He still doesn’t say anything. Just nods, so little you almost miss it.

“I really am sorry. I had no idea they would do that to you–”

“Oh come on, y/n, yes you did!” Jisung tears your hand from his arm, moving away to stand tall next to your parents’ tacky topiaries. “I didn’t even want to come to this stupid dinner, but you insisted, and you just let them treat me like I was too dirty to even enter their house or something!”

You stand still, your legs feeling like they’re made of lead. “Why are you yelling at me? It's not like its my fault–”

“It is your fault! God, just think for a second, y/n! You were the one warning me about how horrible your parents are and how they’d never accept me, you can’t act shocked when they behave the exact way you knew they would.” He runs a hand through his hair, now refusing to even look in your direction, or at anything other than the asphalt under his feet. “And I told you that I would probably be tired after practice today anyway, but you still made me come here. And I had a really shitty day, practice ran late because of me being an idiot and not getting the choreography, and then I had to rush in the stupid snow to get here and listen to two people I don’t even like tell me how inadequate I am. As if I didn’t already know that.”

“Jisung–”

“I think I’m gonna stay at my parents’ house tonight.”

You cross your arms, trying to swallow back the sobs that were forming in your throat. “You’re not coming home?”

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t really wanna face you right now. I don’t wanna face the guys either after I ruined their days too. I just need to be alone I think.” He finally looks at you, his jaw tight, eyes glossy. “Can I leave now?”

You nod, which shakes a few tears loose from your eyes, but Jisung turns around too fast to notice.

“Ji, let me give you a ride, its freezing.”

“Its fine. I survived taking the subway here, I can do it again.” He calls back to you, without even turning to look at you. You just stare at his back as he walks off, his steps looking heavy on the icy sidewalk.

You hear the front door open behind you. “He’s leaving?” Your mother’s voice has never sounded so ugly to your ears. “He throws a fit and leaves. How fitting you would find a boy so similar to yourself.”

Before you can retort, she hands you your phone, which you didn’t realize you had left on the couch in your rush out the door. “You better get going, the snow is going to get worse. I’ll tell your father goodbye for you.”

Your phone feels like a brick loosely held in your hand, now freezing from the gentle attacks of snow flurries. Your mother shuts the door while you watch Jisung’s shadow walk further and further out of reach. You climb into your car, adjusting the hem of your skirt as you sit in the driver's seat, noticing just how empty it feels without Jisung in the passenger seat. How empty your home is going to feel when you enter without him. How empty your bed will feel when you try to sleep without him. How empty the home you grew up in always was, no matter how many people were in there. How the night you met Jisung at your friend’s house party, and you talked in the empty backyard alone for hours and hours, was the first time in your life you didn’t really feel empty anymore.

Your mouth feels dry. You grab the water bottle in your cup holder, but it's empty. As you drive the long way home, you contemplate if you should make a stop to buy some water or just wait until you get there, when you spot Jisung walking down into the subway. His posture exhausted, his expression completely empty.

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prael · 18 minutes ago

Text

Day 12: Three Shades of Sin

Le Sserafim Kazuha & Yunjin & TripleS Xinyu

words: 11,736 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Look, you know this story starts with the way Xinyu has her fingers threaded beneath Kazuha's jaw, her lipstick smeared off in bits and pieces, but that’s not actually how it ends. It’s a slow descent; watching your girlfriend kiss someone new is a beautiful disaster that never really loses its lustre, and the truth is, there’s no moral at the end of this tale - the closest you’ll get to something cathartic is this:

Yunjin grinning at you, sunshine-bright and wickedly gorgeous. “You gonna invite us in, or what?”

First things first: the bar is packed - oh, it's always packed - but especially so on the nights when Kazuha performs. It's not a burlesque club, not really; in theory, it's not all that much more than an upscale lounge for yuppies with more money than they need, trying to pretend they're living sophisticated lives with a splash of debauchery on the side.

It's packed, obviously, because they're getting a little more debauchery than expected tonight - but all the familiar faces are there: the grad-school crowd who treat this club like the neighbourhood dive bar; the pretentious A-list types who claim to hate this kind of thing but always seem to show up anyway; the trust-fund kids and their vices and habits; the semi-locals, like you. They’re the mainstay: you know their drink orders, what they’re into, whether you’ve gone home with them before. You know who is dating who. Who's got a looser distinction between romance and just fooling around. Who got fired. Who's always fucked up beyond all help. You know the girl sitting at the end of the bar nursing a cosmo and waiting for you, alone.

She'd come to see Kazuha perform like everyone else.

"You missed my boyfriend," Xinyu says to you, just shy of winking. She looks beautiful - she always does, of course, but this time: she's wearing black leggings and a crop top that shows off the cut of her waist, her toned abs. The skirt is so small it's basically an accessory to how she's got her dark hair pinned up into something half-bedroom, half-backstage-chic, hoop earrings that dangle just above the slope of her neck.

"Did I?" you reply, coy. It's not flirting - or maybe it is, you're not sure.

She tips her head, cheek resting delicately on her knuckles. You end up staring at her mouth; the words coquettish and prurient and absolutely, unquestionably fuckable are swirling around your brain. "Yep," she says, and her lips curve beautifully. "You did."

Xinyu turning up the dial until she's impossible to resist is pretty much standard-operating-procedure here- it's sort of like this place runs through her blood. She's claimed ownership of it for herself.

"It's too bad," she says, drumming acrylics on the countertop. She shoots you a look that's all bedroom eyes: that drowsy, liquid-lidded kind of want that tells you she'd have her head tilted back against your pillows in less than a few minutes if you asked. "I think you would've really gotten along."

"Guess I'll just have to settle for his girlfriend." You lean closer to her, conspiratorial. "This is fun. What else are we doing tonight?"

"Oh, yeah, you know." She stretches long and languid, satisfied. "Same as usual." That means dancing - some partying, probably lots of drinking, flirting. You're going to take her home and pin her wrists to the pillow above her head. You don't mind any of that - it's become your life, these last months, too. You know the routine here like you've known it for years.

"Want something to drink?" you ask her, and Xinyu considers you. Like she's going to pounce.

"Not really," she says, and then her chin fits into the dip between her thumb and pointer finger. You get closer. "Think I'm thirsty for something else." There's nothing left of the distance between you, and you're not kissing her yet, not yet - but the tension is making a point of shuddering and cracking.

All that promise of something more.

"Don't let this go to your head, but." Xinyu reaches out a hand. You play into the script; you take it and bring her knuckles to your lips. Her wrist smells like the perfume you bought her a Christmas ago. You kiss there, too - for a split second. "I love my boyfriend. He's great." Your eyes dart to hers again - she's always watching, waiting for the attention to come back her way. "But sometimes girls just hit differently, right?"

"See anyone in particular?" you say, still nonchalant, while Xinyu hooks a fingertip onto the neckline of your shirt.

"Oh," says Xinyu. Her grin is devilish, dangerous: like she'd carve right through your throat. "That's cute of you. Like, you really wanna know, hm? I have a list."

"How long is it?" You raise an eyebrow, feign boredom. She likes the challenge.

"Depends on the night."

"But I'm at the top," you continue, unabashed - your usual brand of charming. "Right?"

Xinyu laughs; it's a delight, musical and precious. You'd listen to it for hours if you could.

"You already know, honey." Her nails skim your neck; they catch in your hair. The strands fall over the silver around her fingers. "Top of my list, and everyone else's, too."

"Nope." You lean even further over the bar, stealing the inches, taking them for your own. "Not tonight."

"I don't share." Xinyu taps your nose, prim, smirking. Her eyes are shining, brimming with energy - you can't look away from her. She's intoxicating. She's beautiful. "He wouldn't like that anyway."

"Oh, come on. That sounds like a 'him' problem. Right?"

There's a raucous chorus of laughter from across the floor: people coming in from the cold, wanting to see the show, see a gorgeous girl in next-to-nothing strut her stuff up onstage. You watch as Xinyu's eyelashes flutter, delighted - she's waiting for something to begin; this is a ritual that repeats, the fervour starting low and ending high.

And it starts, and it ends, always, with you looking at her.

"We'll see," sings Xinyu, and she twirls on her stool, one leg neatly hooked over the other. The bar erupts into thunderous applause - the lights dim, and Kazuha emerges onstage.

See, the club isn't normally about stripteases - sure, some girls dance - but this is still a place with bottle service and $18 cocktails, not one where dancers make a show of stripping out of their lingerie. And it's not like you care much for how people try to make themselves seem better than they are, really: if you wanna be trashy, fine. If you want to keep up appearances, put on some kind of show like you're worth a dime more than anyone else out there, great, fine, do that. This place may be the latter, but in the end, it's all the same; everything falls apart once the night sets in. Everything stays messy, no matter which box you paint yourself into.

That's a long preface to say: you're just not expecting her in the slightest.

To be honest, most nights aren't all that exciting - there are people to remember, drinks to mix up, tabs to close and mouths to kiss, sometimes - but mostly, there's not a lot worth mentioning. When people come into the bar - the people who are new, the people who think that this is an opportunity for the night to turn interesting - you look up, size them up, wonder who they're going home with, if you're interested at all. More often than not, it's none of the above.

"Hi," says the new face as she slides up to you on the stool. Well, okay, so this part is different.

Xinyu stepped out earlier - said she had someone else to find, said you'd probably like who she had in mind, but whatever. You'll see when you see. You're not picky. You were ready to dick around on your phone until your girlfriend figured out which plaything you were both in the mood for tonight - you're not opposed to another addition, not at all - but then-

Then the girl sits at the bar, leans on her elbows over the polished surface. Rakes her fingers through the wisps of dark hair at her forehead, pushes it back, and -

And meets your gaze dead on, and doesn't break it. Not even a bit.

Okay - so, she's blindingly, impossibly stunning. A textbook fucking ten.

"Hi," she says again, firmer, like she knows what you're thinking. "Do they serve anything here that isn't blue or tastes like putting your tongue to a nine-volt?"

It's such a shockingly mild opener that you immediately laugh at her. It just spills right out of you.

"Yeah," you say, leaning against the bar, mildly amused. You call over the bartender, order in duplicate - you're pretty sure that's how this works, you have to get the drink in front of her, not even mention it, just let her know that you're calling the shots here - and then fix her with another look, eyebrows quirked. "New in town?" you ask. Small talk. Sure.

"No," she replies, "just new in here." She tosses her silky red hair over her shoulder. Reveals the halter-neck of her blouse and the deepness of the dip. Her collarbones are out. You barely even notice. "Also," she continues, "this place is a fucking zoo."

There's no patience to her. She's harsh, no filter. Your drinks arrive, and she hardly reacts when they do.

"It's a bit crowded." You're trying somewhat to stay diplomatic. "It's the girl on stage," you offer, and you gesture vaguely towards Kazuha's figure: long legs and curves in all the right places, raven-black hair falling to her waist. Everyone looks at her like she's a gift sent down from heaven. She's dressed in something gold, sequin, and she knows that they're pretty much right.

"Well, I guess that explains it."

"Everyone's hoping she'll take off more clothes." You shrug your shoulders at your new companion. "But she never does, so I'm not quite sure why everyone thinks tonight will be the exception."

"No shit," the girl drawls, her tone entirely blasé - she's so painfully disaffected, the disinterested, entitled type; your heart skips a beat. "No offence to you, man, but I think most of the guys here are either idiots or creeps." The redhead wrinkles her nose. "Or both."

"A fair assessment, honestly," you muse. Sip your drink. It's bitter. She hasn't touched hers. "You think I'm any different?"

The corner of her mouth ticks up. "No," she says.

The room seems to tilt sideways, and everything gets fuzzy: it feels like you're supposed to be talking in code or perhaps just reading between lines - there's a whole secret conversation happening beneath this surface-level, meaningless banter. You're making contact, making plans. She knows where this is going. You're right there with her.

"The girl up there is cute," the redhead says after a while, thoughtful. "What's your deal with her? How come you haven't turned into one of the animals in the horde yet?"

It's an obvious line of questioning.

"She's nice," you admit, "but I've already got something good going with someone. No need to push my luck with anyone else."

At this, she raises an eyebrow, curious, cautious, wary. "Nice, how?"

"I mean, she's beautiful," you say, "very pretty." Easy things. Surface things. These things anyone could list off. "Cute voice."

"Nothing in particular, though, huh." Her eyes flick back to the performer onstage - Kazuha's walking the catwalk, kicking her heel out at the men closest to her; her skirt rides up, and everyone goes absolutely wild for it - and then returns her focus to you. "Not your type?"

You've been in this seat - or one just like it, at least - watching Kazuha's ass onstage for countless nights. You're well aware of her appeal, but you can't figure out a harmless way to say your mind is giving you three images of a palm-print burning across the same expanse of skin at any given moment.

You shrug, ambivalence feigned. "I guess not."

"It's funny." She props her chin on her palm, her nail polish glittering against her jawline. She's barely touched her drink. "The girl's normally such a doll, right? Kind of girlish. Could barely hold a conversation with a boy when I met her. And now she's all that. On stage."

"Hmm," you reply, like you can't imagine it. "Is that right?"

"Oh yeah," she tells you, half-smiling. Her lipstick leaves marks on the glass as she takes her first sip. "Years of ballet school will do that to a girl. Though maybe something about performing just became second nature."

"Explains the legs," you mutter, feeling the look she levels with you; dangerous. "And the gracefulness," you amend quickly. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you raise one right back; it's a power struggle, and when her fingers curl across her chin, you almost choke on nothing.

"Legs and grace," she says. "That's about it for her, huh?"

You nod, your voice quiet, soft.

"How do you know her?" you ask gently.

"Oh, honey," she croons. Her face is halfway to laughter, mirth perched like a threat in her voice. She puts a palm flat on the counter and slides it forward so her manicure scrapes at the varnish. Leans into you over the edge of the bar and presses her lips to your ear. "I'm fucking her."

Everything in your brain stops, and starts; everything crashes down around you; everything rearranges.

"You know," the girl continues like she's explaining something casual, something innocent, "she's real fun on her hands and knees. Can't get enough of me." She tilts her head, contemplative. "I suppose she is beautiful," she adds, almost thoughtfully, and then reaches out her fingers. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "And graceful."

All you can picture are those gorgeous, creamy thighs marked up by nails like razors: bruises shaped like fingertips, angry scratches that would leave scars if pushed hard enough. Things for her to return to.

You swallow. You blink.

"She's very lovely," you say, careful, careful.

"Listen." The girl leans away, sweeps her red hair back over her shoulder, fixes you with her heavy-lidded eyes again. "We don't have to pretend we're in love or anything." Her voice is velvet, husky; the words catch at your eardrum and melt there, dripping down the bones of your skull like liquid seduction. "She's busy, clearly. So, I'm looking for a little company tonight, and I think I've found it."

"And your girlfriend?"

"Can't make it." She smiles, wolfish. "Which, if you don't mind me saying, is very lucky for you."

"Girlfriend, who you fuck into the mattress," you clarify. "She'd have no problem sharing?"

"With a pretty thing like you?" Her eyelashes flutter - the way they sweep low makes shadows across her cheeks, delicate. "No chance she'd object."

Your mouth twists to the side. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," she purrs. "Just: I'm going to go to the bathroom, and I think you could follow me there in five minutes, tops. Sound like a plan, handsome?"

Oh.

Okay. You think vaguely that Xinyu's probably got a hand in this, somehow. Doing this on purpose, leaving you here to fend for yourself - and it's a very Xinyu kind of move, really: setting you up with some stranger, letting her proposition you, and waiting for it to escalate past the point of return. Sending you right up to a pretty pair of vices, telling you to chew them down to size. Maybe if you do good - you already know how she wants you to perform - you'll get an actual reward later. Another girl for you to fuck, or maybe Xinyu herself. Or both. Your brain is spinning in circles. You really, really can't think straight with her breathing right onto your pulse.

"What, you've got something better to do than fuck two girls tonight? The girl seems to weigh something out in her mind; watches you through a side-long glance. "You really can't drop everything to play around for a little bit?"

So maybe it's not Xinyu's handiwork - this is a little too far-fetched, even for her - but you can't lie. When she goes ahead, drags her fingers on your shoulder as she glides by and doesn't bother looking back, the way your cock throbs makes it easy to decide that it doesn't matter.

You get lost a bit on the logistics. (That'll actually be a recurring theme.)

There's a pair of single-occupancy toilets in the back of the bar, ostensibly family washrooms; for mothers with children, wheelchairs, sloppy bathroom sex with god-blessedly gorgeous strangers, that sort of thing - but they're occupied. Both the handles spun up; red tags flipped up to indicate engagement, a motif, and symbolism in spades. Something heavy-handed and easily ignored.

"Maybe I should just get on my knees right here," she suggests eventually - like a joke, but she'd do it. You're pretty sure.

"Absolutely not," you counter, only a little bit scandalized. She grins and presses a palm flat to your abdomen.

"Just problem-solving." She's totally blasé. "Critical thinking."

"Careful with that," you warn her, sorta unreasonably given where your fingers are on the cut of her hips.

She pretends to think about it, fingers tapping thoughtfully on her lip, a comical exaggeration, and you just roll your eyes. You think about getting her name, maybe a number - you could just leave it at that, save her contact info under tall, great ass, (fuckable) lips and pray to hell it never comes up as recommended when someone else texts you.

Yeah, right. It's better to just bury yourself in this until it all dissolves - stick to the immediacy of it. Get your mouth on every part of her body and lick her clean, and then be gone before the sun rises. Right?

She pulls you down by your neck and slots your lips together again, slow, agonizing, her lips slipping over yours like they're made to be there. She kisses like it's an art form - something you can perfect, practice - and her tongue darts along the seam of your mouth like she wants to coax you open. There's the bite of cherry lipstick, sweet and candied; her fingertips into your belt loops, then yanks you toward her with her nose scrunched and a wicked smile.

"I can't believe you'd let me fuck you with your back against the wall like this." Her hips bump forward into yours - she's playing at bashful, coy and innocent. She's failing miserably. "What if someone sees?"

"I think you'd like that," you answer.

"Mmm," she agrees. She's tipping her head back, sliding her tongue across her upper lip, baring her neck to you. Her eyes flick back up, dragging like a blade. "Letting someone walk by, seeing you pushing into me, knowing I was about to make you lose control...yeah. Sounds hot, honestly."

"Shut up," you murmur, leaning closer.

"Make me," she kisses back, eyes flashing; oh, if you didn't feel it before, this is definitely how you know you'll see her again: you recognize the power in her stance, the firecracker-red blaze in her glare - it's like looking in a mirror, that domineering aggression. It's the promise of a rivalry; something you'll want to tame.

A wayward thought lingers: oh, hell - your mind is rapid on the recall, an endless, eager, addicting memory loop - how she kisses, too. The silky sweetness, the enthusiasm - the way her hands bury in your shirt and her pitched, muffled sounds of appreciation spill right into your throat. How she's such an obscene daydream, and the filthy, filthy things she tells you with her hands in your hair - the shock of that, her bold, pretty mouth telling you what she's fantasizing about right now and the fact that those fantasies line up with yours in nearly every sense. Her very presence is a contradiction, her mismatched gestures: tender kisses and wandering hands; how, for every inch given, she'll take five more.

You get your fingers under her skirt, pull her legs up to your waist; she wraps her palm over your cock; smiles against your lips, almost smitten but too arrogant for it: a villainous grin. You hitch one of her thighs over your hip, her panties damp against your slacks. Oh, how good she is - how perfect the feeling, how beautifully her teeth sink into the soft underside of your lower lip like you belong to her: a piece of property.

"That's it, sweetheart," you groan, kissing the apple of her cheek, letting the blush seep right under your tongue. Your hand hovers near her inner thigh. "God, you're so fucking sexy."

"Touch me," she hisses into the skin of your cheek.

"So demanding," you hum.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she moans, arching into your chest - but her eyelashes flutter as your thumb ghosts across the fabric of her underwear, teasing. "Ah-ha..."

You'll justify it later, somehow: a cheat night, maybe - Xinyu's so used to getting other girls all to herself, you should have a few all to your own - and this one doesn't count as one, really; she belongs to someone else anyway, the raven-haired girl with the siren voice, long legs in silk stockings and pearls across her neck and high-heeled boots clicking across the pavement. And Kazuha doesn't even have to know: she's busy, probably; off with another guy or two or three. No reason to tell her what happens - you certainly won't complain. One orgasm and the redhead will be out of your hair.

There's a side door, some stairs. Nobody stops to ask who you are or where you're going, or even so much as bat an eye as you spill out into the alley - where people go to smoke or fight or vomit; she kisses you outside in the cold air, sliding her hands into your pockets and pushing up to the tips of her toes. There's a smile on her face like you're her best idea ever. It's cold out; she doesn't appear to care.

"God, I'm wet," she breathes, and you don't have to believe her.

"I bet I can help with that." Your jacket slides across your shoulders, off onto the concrete. You're leading her around a corner and against a brick wall. It's dark here. Dark enough for mistakes. Dark enough that you can press her spine to the bricks, slide your hands to her sides and lift her up, taste the lipstick across her jawline-

"Oh my god," comes a voice - softer, sweeter, a total siren lilt. "Please, fuck, that feels so-"

Both your heads swivel.

One streetlight illuminates Kazuha with her back pressed to the bricks and her hand curled tightly in all this black hair, panting, pleading: a perfect fucking masterpiece. She's got her eyes screwed shut, her lips parted; she's absolutely lost.

"Huh," says the redhead, dispassionate - and her fingers curl loosely over your forearm, drumming rhythmically. "Looks like she got distracted after all."

The hand between her legs is fucking her up and doing it fast, snapping sharp wrist motions accompanied by these rhythmic, throaty gasps from Kazuha as she holds onto the edge of a dumpster lid, clawing at metal. There's a muffled string of curses as the woman crouches, leaning forward - shoving her tongue inside. "Fu-uck," Kazuha manages, two distinct syllables - and her grip tightens around her waist, her spine. You catch the light shining off her gold earrings like a flash-warning, and you fall short of a breath.

“Xinyu?” you sputter. “What’re you-”

Xinyu extracts her hand from Kazuha’s cunt, licks her fingers clean and turns to you, not at all guilty - but she isn’t sorry, either. You blink hard.

“Oh, hey,” says Xinyu, cheery as anything. She brushes off her dress. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“Neither did we,” you choke, dry-mouthed. “Are you…”

“We’re making use of some downtime,” offers Kazuha, smoothing down her hair, wiping off her smudged lipstick. The makeup is so precise that it doesn’t look smudged at all - or maybe that’s just how used she is to covering it up. “Is there a problem?”

“No, none-” Your mouth snaps shut as Xinyu meets your stare and gives you an impish little shrug, biting back a smile. She saunters over to where you stand, keeping a respectable distance.

“Look at this, babe," Xinyu says. She gestures to the girl you were making out two seconds ago, casual. "I found him first. Isn’t he handsome?”

“You’ve got weird taste,” replies the redhead, not unkindly, tilting her head back against the wall and exposing all that gorgeous skin. You can see her chest rise and fall in ragged breaths. Xinyu walks a hand up your torso, palms your collarbone with a suggestive smile - it's a little possessive, but then again, you realize you’ve forgotten to let go of the other girl's hand.

“You would be into him,” retorts Kazuha. She laughs softly. “Hi, Jen,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Hey,” Yunjin says, wiggling her fingers, lazy. “Loved the performance."

"Shut the fuck up," snipes Kazuha, rolling her eyes, but she's flushed, halfway to an orgasm that's not gonna happen because everyone is apparently choosing now to puzzle this one out. "Could see you flirting with him the entire time, idiot."

"He's super fucking hot," says Yunjin. "Oh, speaking of which-" She tugs you closer by your wrist - you're stuck, standing still, trapped between three gorgeous women ready to argue over who saw who first.

“Wait,” you manage, breaking free. Yunjin huffs. Xinyu frowns, blinking. Kazuha leans back against the wall.

“We didn’t plan this or anything,” explains Kazuha. “Xinyu just likes what she sees sometimes.” There’s a practised ease in the way she says this - like this has all been rehearsed before between the two of them. "Or, well-" Kazuha lifts a shoulder, delicate, polished. "A lot of the time, I guess."

"Yeah," Xinyu says, not defensive. "So?"

"Well," you say, after a long moment - your mind working furiously to process, reconcile, synthesize - this scene where you're being pulled in six directions at once, trying to put this story together before any more pages flip.

"That's your girlfriend," you say to Yunjin, finally - and point a finger towards Kazuha.

"And yours," says Kazuha, one hand on Xinyu's hip. “Hi,” she adds.

"Yep," says Xinyu. "How about that."

She steps up close to you and bats those dark lashes. Behind her, Kazuha’s gaze catches your glance; it takes you a solid ten seconds to realize she’s trying to place where she’s seen you before - it clicks for her all at once, though it's a lot quicker for you - and then it all slots neatly into place, every cog and screw lining up in an easy motion.

“So.” Yunjin chews idly at the pad of her thumb. "What, you guys met once at the mall or something?"

"Yeah," you reply, realizing exactly how you and yours have come to fall for two of the same type. "We met at the mall."

If you'd like to imagine that this goes smoothly after that - it doesn't. Not really. It's more accurate to say that Yunjin looks at you, your blank stare, the panic - and the three girls just dissolve into laughter, giddy and conspiratorial like they've just pulled off the world's greatest coup.

"C'mon," says Yunjin. She's so good at reading social cues - like, oh, you being totally stunned-silent by the sheer amount of sexual energy suddenly coursing through this alleyway. "You said it yourself," Yunjin reminds you, gesturing at Kazuha, "beautiful, very pretty, nice legs." She brings her lips to your cheek. "You didn't lie about that."

"What?" says Kazuha.

Yunjin just smiles, brushes a lock of red hair behind her ear. "We have taste," she tells Kazuha, confident and poised - and then to you, hushed under her breath, "I'd watch you rail her," she murmurs. Her tongue darts out, pressing wet and warm into the shell of your ear. "Would you like that?"

"That's-" you start. You stop. Xinyu looks over at you, a devious flicker lighting up her eyes - oh, god; if that doesn't spell disaster, nothing does -and the grin she gives you is so downright evil you wonder why you ever dared dream you stood a chance. She looks back over at Kazuha, reaches out a hand to clasp gently at that impossible waist, pulling her in close.

"Sweetheart," Xinyu drawls, tracing a thumb over her jawline. "Doll," she continues, letting the nickname linger. She leans up, pecks a kiss against Kazuha's mouth - but her eyes don't leave yours for a second. She bites down gently on Kazuha's lower lip, tugging lightly at the skin before letting it snap back.

"You know I wouldn't ever get jealous over sharing something with you," Xinyu murmurs. She says it like a proclamation; something binding, solemn - a pact signed in ink, wax-sealed and pressed into the skin of Kazuha's collarbone. They're practically the same height. It makes your throat run dry. "You get me," she says.

Yunjin laughs, but not meanly. "It's cute how you pretend you aren't selfish," she says to Xinyu, rolling her eyes. Her lips curve upwards. "Tell me something I don't know." And then - you feel her fingertips trail delicately over your waistband, slipping her thumb below the hem of your jeans. "Hey, Kazuha?"

Kazuha drags her focus off Xinyu with visible effort, snapping back into the conversation.

"Wanna ride his face?"

Xinyu is grinning like a lunatic, gorgeous and predatory.

Kazuha gathers her hair off her neck. “He seems like the type who would want to eat pussy for hours."

"I wouldn't complain," you croak out - and Yunjin laughs. It’s genuine, unpracticed, the sort of thing that shakes her shoulders; it fills you up.

"Why don't you sit back down against that wall," she tells you, nudging at your ribs. Her touch feels electric. "Relax."

Oh. She says it like an order, and you realize that she knows full well what it'll do to you. She's still smiling, though it's sharper now, sharper, hungrier - like the glint of fangs that'll tear you apart. It's really no wonder you ended up exactly where she wanted you - but then you realize Kazuha's looking at you, and you realize that you're not entirely sure whose team you're on or if there even are any teams here. It's not like you can complain. The most you can manage is a grunt of acknowledgement, sitting down slowly, trying not to trip over your own feet and ruin everything.

"Good boy," Yunjin quips, quiet enough to feel private, intimate. You blink up at her, still holding her hand in your lap as you sit down, staring like she holds the key to all seven wonders of the world in her palm. "Kazuha," Yunjin calls over her shoulder, patting your arm. "Get over here. Come meet my new friend."

And that's sorta how you wind up in some kind of...what-the-fuck situation? Some otherworldly thing you shouldn't even hope to explain - some alternate dimension shit with two beautiful women pressing you back against some dirty-ass brick wall in the alley behind your usual haunt, a third one laughing hysterically at all four of you. You feel like the dumbest motherfucker alive, especially when Xinyu whispers something in Yunjin's ear, and it earns a resounding laugh, but mostly just because your girlfriend's hands are everywhere and Yunjin's sitting back and watching like it's prime-time television.

That - and also because Kazuha's decided she needs your face buried in her cunt ASAP, and frankly, you can't even muster up the energy to disagree.

First things first: the bar is packed - oh, wait, no: it's always packed. But especially so on the nights where you're trying to navigate this stupid situation, you got yourself into where three fucking goddesses have you on rotation, like clockwork.

You're collecting coats and closing tabs, doing your absolute best not to bring any more attention to how Kazuha's wobbling on both legs because she can't quite walk straight anymore.

Yunjin - your current distraction, clad in the most perfect shade of red lipstick, clinging onto your favourite girl like a lifeline - keeps leaning over to Xinyu, whispering frantically in her ear, and it's like the more they talk, the more amused Xinyu gets.

"I told Yunjin your apartment's the closest," Xinyu says to you, eventually, a small smirk forming on her face. "Think she wants you alone for a while. Sounds like she thinks you could really, uh-" She nods toward you, gesturing pointedly towards your belt. "Blow her back out, is how she phrased it."

Oh. Well, then. Yeah, no, you'd be perfectly okay with that.

When you glance back over at the rest of your - you don't have a word for it - entourage, all three pairs of eyes are locked on you, expectant and eager. Jesus fucking Christ. You make brief eye contact with Yunjin; her smile grows impossibly wider. This was meant to be a casual night, wasn't it? A nice outing at the lounge bar where you down drinks and enjoy the scenery - that was how it started, right? Then Yunjin had shown up, demanding all your attention like you owed it to her just for existing (and honestly? You kinda do). It'd been an excuse to look at Kazuha's tits, and then another to press your mouth all over Xinyu's - but the way your girlfriend's looking at you makes it abundantly clear that that ship's already sailed.

Kazuha raises a water bottle to her lips, looking cool and confident as ever (oh, you know better).

"Didn't mean to invite everyone over, but." Xinyu preens, adjusting the hem of her skirt and checking for signs of wear. She knows exactly what she's saying, exactly what you're thinking - there's an intentness to her words. "You wouldn't mind, right, baby?"

"Yeah, sure," you agree, glancing up at all of them with a nod. You've never moved faster in your life; your coat's over your arm, keys in your pocket, the whole ensemble. They're watching you, waiting patiently. Xinyu raises an eyebrow. "Lead the way?"

She beams. She turns, slips her purse strap over her shoulder. "Alright," she chirps - and the four of you take off into the night.

It's funny, you think: Xinyu's also had a weak spot for Kazuha, probably since the first time she saw her perform. (That's the part that sticks out in your brain.) But then again, maybe Kazuha knew about Xinyu too; they seem pretty damn cosy for this being their first interaction with each other, though you suppose you can't judge - you were practically aching for Yunjin within an hour of meeting her, weren't you?

But whatever. Your cock is in Yunjin's hand, and your mind is very much not present right now. That's the important thing.

By the time you finally unlocked your front door, all four of you stumbling in - everyone tipsy, aroused, dying to get their hands on someone's skin - Yunjin immediately glued herself to you, pushing your coat off your shoulders. She'd gotten your zipper undone in record time. It's not the first time, obviously: she's got this ghost of a grip around your cock already, a knowing stroke, this way of handling your arousal that feels almost proprietary in its control.

There's an island in the kitchen; you're washed up on its shore. Fingers spread across the marble sand as the edge presses against your lower back. "Drinks are in the—"

"You can skip the fanfare." Yunjin is stroking you, her other hand at the nape of your neck to pull you down, kiss her; your mouth meets hers, hot, messy, too hard. Pick up where you left off sort of thing. Some unheard conversation must have planned this, on the street or in the hallway or the elevator—they'd figured out some secret plot, who got what, how they would split up, and it starts here.

It's in your periphery that you see them cross, hand in hand, watching you come undone by the vixen in red. Xinyu is taking the lead, and you can see her mind working overtime to figure out what would drive you the most insane right now. She stops at the couch, centre-view, perching herself on the back of it to pull the other girl against her. Kazuha giggles in the high pitch, something that sounds too sweet to come from someone whose job it is to get men going—and maybe she does that on purpose: the look over her shoulder accompanies a feigned innocence.

Xinyu looks past her, gaze falling over Yunjin first: red dress, blood red lips, hair like a hearth-fire, and the hand moving on your cock in your unbuckled jeans. "A head start? How unfair." She rolls her eyes with all the mocking derision she can muster, but her smirk betrays her. She's pushing Kazuha by the shoulder, putting the dancer down on her knees. Even in the most compromising position possible, she looks immaculate: she sinks, legs together, ass perched on her heels. There's not a strand of hair out of place, and even in her lust, Xinyu strives to maintain the fact, so she takes care in the way she pulls Kazuha between her thighs. A gentle, fingertip hold, as she spreads her knees to frame her.

You watch with rapt attention; you can hardly look away. The whole thing is artfully posed.

Yunjin says your name, the first word you've heard from her, and you've only missed it a little. Your gaze moves to her. You expect another comment, snide, but her mouth parts, like the words have been stolen right out of it.

"You good?" You're trying to be a gentleman, if not an asshole—and it works, too; it spurs her back. She bites the corner of her lip and hums.

"Yeah, you know." A half-shrug accompanies her words as she lets you slide a strap from her shoulder. "Still waiting for you to blow my back out."

Oh. You laugh, hoarse. Yeah, that's—that's on the agenda, for sure.

It's just—the show, right across from you, has started.

Kazuha, in her performance, has Xinyu's skirt pushed up around her waist, face against her thigh, breath hot on her skin, fingers splayed over her knee to press her legs even wider. The most natural seduction; the effortless allure that laces every part of her. Her lips against skin are soft and pink, moving against the curve of the muscle, mouthing up higher. You know how that feels—travelling the vast expanse of Xinyu's long legs in search of something to bury your face in.

"She's in for a treat," Yunjin whispers.

"So am I," you return, placing a hand on Yunjin's now strapless shoulder and putting just enough weight into your hand that she knows she's going down.

"Can't promise I won't bite," she warns, in the tone that makes your throat dry, in the way you think she just might. But you've also had the image of Yunjin's head bobbing in your lap the whole cab ride home.

If there's a heaven, you'll find it in a mouth like this one: soft-lipped, warm and wet, tongue on you. You reach for the back of her neck, feel the silk of her hair under your palm as she sucks hard enough to make your hips jerk. Then there's the gentlest of grazes—her teeth on your shaft, and it makes your jaw tighten. She's all smirk and smoulder, eyes coming up to see what kind of face she's making you pull.

"Oops," she laughs.

"Fuck," Xinyu gasps, the loudest sound in the room. There's the slightest shift of Kazuha's shoulders, the way her back bows when her tongue drags from slit to clit; nose pushed up tight.

Xinyu, still leaning over the back of the couch, turns her gaze toward you, then, heavy, desperate, and dark: an intensity that hits right in the base of your stomach and twists like a dull knife.

Xinyu trades pleasured gasps for a coy remark. "Look at her go. Eats pussy like she'll starve to death without it." It's like she needs to comment on it, all casual, as if there weren't someone between her legs, making her thighs tense.

Yunjin pulls back just long enough to say, "Tell me about it." Then she goes deep enough that you see your cock hit the back of her throat. No warning. You cough out an obscenity. It's good, and it's better because of what you're looking at.

"Yeah?" Xinyu says. "Be pretty easy to cum like this, you know?" The implication hangs in the air, unaddressed.

Just like Yunjin before you, you agree. "Tell me about it."

Your girl, on the couch, her body twists again. Kazuha is making her work to keep the upper hand in all this, if there's such a thing, and she has to put conscious effort into keeping her words steady. Her focus is on you, on your face, on how your mouth opens every time Yunjin sinks her mouth to the hilt.

"Do you wanna cum like this?" Yunjin says to the underside of your dick, her hot breath against your length.

You look to Xinyu for a final answer: her head's back and her chin tilted high in a groan that fills the room, an arcing note in a rising song that starts between her thighs. Her hands grip the cushions.

"She's close," You say off-handedly. An easy observation. It doesn't answer her question.

"Could finish you so easily," Yunjin hums. You feel her words against the crown. She swirls her tongue, and you clench your fists.

"Faster than Kazuha?"

"Much faster." Yunjin grins like she's just thrown down a challenge. And you get why it works: competitive to a fault.

"No chance," Xinyu manages. There's sweat on the skin that shimmers with highlight, her chest heaving with every laboured breath, "absolutely—" Kazuha presses forward, and the rest comes out a curse. She grits out the words. "Impossible."

"Bet?" says Yunjin, her nails dug deep enough into your skin that it leaves little crescent moons.

Xinyu's head lifts. There's a smile on her face that's just shy of wicked, "I'd say winner takes all."

There are very few bets that Xinyu won't take and fewer stakes that she won't gamble with, but she's got confidence in Kazuha's ability, and time is a-ticking. Even with how wound up Yunjin's got you, watching them, it's still an even race at this point. Kazuha has a lot to prove: this is a test to see if her pretty lips and clever tongue can get her girl to the finish line faster than anyone else.

And, oh—she can taste it, can't she: Xinyu dripping wetness to her chin, her folds spread and cunt eager. The dancer's a performer of many skills: her fingers slide inside, her mouth locked in place and sucking hard until Xinyu is fucking her mouth with the back and forth of her hips. In a moment of indulgence, she presses Kazuha's face deeper, harder. It's rougher, meaner: she pushes her up tight enough that her air might just get cut off, if it weren't for the moans that slip from the singer's mouth. "God—" You think she says, and then nothing but sharp inhale and the jolt of her hips that has Kazuha's nails in the flesh of her inner thighs.

Yunjin's picking up the slack on you. Maybe to wipe the smirk from your girlfriend's face, or maybe she just really wants your cum down her throat. That's fine. You're not opposed.

Mouth briefly replaced by hand, strokes hard and tight, so she can talk and please. "Better cum in me soon. You'll lose." She winks. She's not wrong, and she sucks in her next breath like she knows it. That mouth on you again.

Let's be real. Let's not get it twisted. You win. You always win.

Xinyu will cum first. It's one of those facts in life. Death, taxes and Xinyu's climaxes.

It starts in her chest—a hitch that becomes a heavy rise and fall, a moan from deep in her throat. Her body follows it: every limb taut like strings in a bow. Tension: her head back to the sky and the arch in her back like a crescent. Her legs start to shake. It's there that you feel your blood thrumming, the adrenaline that starts that climb before your fall, and Yunjin takes her cue to speed things up on her end as Xinyu tumbles over on hers. Her thighs tense, tight, trembling.

"Oh—oh fuck—Kazuha." Xinyu moaning another woman's name always has a certain kind of kick to it, even more so with you down Yunjin's throat. She's never shy about this. Never timid. Always, unabashedly, the way it is with you and how she'll scream and cry for it, for the orgasm that wracks her like an electric current.

Kazuha has no interest in easing her down: the pads of her fingertips work her open, pumping inside, tongue flat to lap against the pulsing heat, riding her through each wave and crest, drawing them longer, higher. Xinyu's shaking with the overstimulation, hands in hair, but not pulling back.

"God. Fuck, Kazuha—" This time, there's the edge of desperation to it, so close to pleading for it to stop.

There's a moment when you lock your eyes. Xinyu looking through the strands of her dark hair that stick to her cheeks, and the sweat that glosses her forehead, the flush on her skin, her lipstick smeared in places. And that smile, her wicked grin in full bloom. Her breath coming in shallow heaving puffs. Kazuha is slowing. Stilling.

You've been teetering close to that razor's edge, the precipice of it, but there was only ever going to be one winner. Yunjin pulls her mouth from you and she has no idea just how close you were, just how cruel the denial, as she stands.

You say her name as a question: why would she ever fucking stop?

Her mouth to your ear, and you feel her smirking again, her teeth against the shell: "You lost," she murmurs.

"You lost," Xinyu echoes from across the room. She pushes Kazuha away, legs still unsteady, as she slides from the couch to her feet and straightens out the fabric of her dress. You watch as Kazuha touches the gloss of her lip and sucks it off her finger. Her smile is soft and warm when she gets to her feet. It's like a stage; everything posed: Xinyu and Kazuha, standing side-by-side and arms entwined.

"Second place," says Xinyu, looking you right in the eyes.

"I get it," you say. Your cock stands at full mast. "You don't need to remind me."

"Oh," she grins, leaning against the dancer, "I absolutely do." Her hand touches Kazuha's chin and lifts, kissing her deep, tongues dancing against one another's. When Xinyu's teeth drag along her bottom lip, you know she must be able to taste herself. "She's real good. Though I do wonder what her girlfriend is like," she whispers as she eyes Yunjin.

Kazuha speaks up. "She can definitely make a girl cum." She speaks with such nonchalance as if she's discussing the weather or what brand her shampoo is and not the way she's had Yunjin eating out of her cunt.

Kazuha is a professional; it's no surprise to hear she knows how to get a girl to see god, and it's no surprise that anyone she lays with has to be on top of their game. Xinyu knows, too. She grins, and she laughs, and she holds her waist like Kazuha's some sort of prize, and it's just so Xinyu, this display. "Lucky us." She touches a hand to the dancer's hip. She says to Yunjin, "We oughta try her out."

"You're going to leave him hanging?" says Yunjin, running a hand down your chest dangerously low before taking it back, a gentle press of lips on your jaw. "That's not very fair."

"He can help you out, right?" Xinyu offers, gesturing in your direction with one of those looks in her eyes. You know that one. "Make us cum." And her hand slips to the swell of Kazuha's breast, groping greedily. It's a demand that comes out as a suggestion.

Kazuha whispers something inaudible to Xinyu's ears and it must've been good because the woman hums, intrigued, the smile on her mouth turning wider and more mischievous by the second. They both take a step, both reach out, Kazuha takes your wrist and Xinyu takes Yunjin's. Wordlessly, they take you away from the kitchen and to the window: the massive wall of windows that line your apartment with the city behind.

"I want the world to see," Kazuha explains. "To wish they were you."

"Sounds a little cheesy," you quip.

"Sounds hot," Xinyu retorts as she places her hands on the glass. She bends forward so that the swell of her ass pushes out against the hem of her skirt, and against Yunjin, who is standing right behind her. "Don't you think, babe?" she teases Yunjin.

"Very," Yunjin says. She moves her fingers along the seams of Xinyu's body, finding their way underneath her top. You hear Xinyu breathe out through her mouth. Yunjin moves closer to Xinyu's ear and bites it. "But the only ones that'll actually get to touch you, to taste you... that'll be us, huh?" She moves her fingers along the waistband of her skirt.

Xinyu turns her head back at her, smiling. "They'll be able to see how well I can take it, too. You'll let them see, won't you?"

Kazuha perches in front of you, spreading her fingers out against the glass, lowering her shoulders, arching her spine and lifting her ass to the sky for your taking. In an instant, you're on your knees and appreciating her for everything she's worth. "You don't need to be a gentleman. Just go for it. You already had the courtesy earlier," she tells you as you move closer.

"Can't I take a moment to appreciate you first?" you reply.

"Do you have to?" Her laugh is half a moan, and she's pulling up her own dress. "Are you so infatuated by the sight of me? Because, believe me—" and her words are cut off as you sink your teeth into her cheeks, your fingertips pressing tight into the skin at her hip— "you've seen more than most get to."

You run a hand up the expanse of her thigh. "Savouring every moment," you hum into her skin.

"How romantic," she laughs. There are the smallest noises in the back of her throat that come with your touch as you caress her ass. Fingers into flesh, gentle pressure until you feel her roll against it. The perfect ass. The kind people would kill for.

You hear Xinyu gasp, the sharp breath: Yunjin's got her face pressed hard between Xinyu's spread thighs from behind. "Y'know—" your girl manages between moaning pants, "wasn't sure what to expect. This isn't how we usually do things." She's trying to hold the conversation together while Yunjin works to make a ruin of it. Xinyu braces herself against the glass. "Two girls at once is a pretty good score."

"I'd call it that," you hum in agreement as you pull Kazuha's delicate panties down her thighs.

"The two of you do this often?" Yunjin asks between licking Xinyu's dripping cunt and then slapping an ass cheek hard, enough to sting. It leaves an angry pink imprint on the flesh of her. Xinyu hisses, her fingers curling against the glass as she struggles to hold herself steady. Kazuha arches her spine to give you better access.

"See them all the time," Kazuha gently laughs, the breathiest moan breaking her sentence up, and she rocks herself back against you. "Taking someone home before my show even ends."

Xinyu's eyes open, and her vision is clear. She looks over her shoulder. Her hips are slow, riding the tongue that pushes deeper inside. Her voice is steady, and she's trying hard not to let Yunjin catch her completely, though the pressure on the glass betrays her. "Been keeping an eye on us, hm?"

You're dragging your tongue against Kazuha, circling around the wetness between her legs. You taste the sweet musk of her, and then you drag the flat of your tongue along the folds. She hums with a laugh that sounds a little breathier, more strained. Your tongue moves deeper, dipping into the parting of flesh, to taste the soft, velvet feel of her, the slick heat that comes with her arousal.

"You're not exactly subtle. Hard not to notice."

You push a little firmer, face into her ass, tasting the deepest parts of her and as she shifts on her knees, she lowers a hand to your hair and grabs a handful of it, keeping you where she needs you, fingers curled around the strands and the sting that follows. You hear the noise she makes, the way she shivers under your attention. It feels good.

"We have a fan," Xinyu jokes, but her laughter is cut off by a moan as Yunjin sucks harder on the soft folds between her legs. "Maybe two." There's the sound of skin hitting skin, and then a gasp. You know the sounds of Xinyu when her skin is slapped, or her flesh is bit.

Yunjin's hands roam her body freely. They're everywhere: touching, teasing. Her nails scratch and drag, and Xinyu groans when teeth meet her inner thigh again.

Kazuha is dripping against your chin now. Every lick sends another jolt up her spine, and every circle against her sensitive clit has her moaning. You squeeze her ass. She rocks forward. "Mhm..." Her lips part, and her jaw goes slack.

"What a pretty fucking mess," you hum against the wetness.

Xinyu takes Kazuha by the chin, pulling her into a kiss, and there's no way for anyone else to appreciate how beautiful they look against each other. Xinyu runs a hand up into Kazuha's hair, and her hips are still grinding, still pushing down onto Yunjin's mouth. "I'm gonna cum if she doesn't stop."

"Cum with me?" Kazuha says. It sounds desperate, almost needy in its demand: an urgency to share this. To do it together.

It doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

"Not stopping," is the last thing Yunjin says as she continues to feast. You think she might have a point to prove, but if that means she wants to eat a pussy that good, then so be it. Your mouth works Kazuha faster: you spread the folds with your fingers and go to work on her clit. Your teeth catch the sensitive flesh, and she shakes with it, thighs threatening to tremble and tense, a strangled cry falling from her lips that she smothers by moaning it right into Xinyu's lips.

The taste of Kazuha on your tongue is something you'll never get tired of. Her sweet juice spills over, and when she arches, she cums harder, cries out louder until finally, her knees start to shake. That's how it starts, and with her orgasm comes Xinyu's too. There's a moment when the two are tangled together, when the sounds that fall out of them echo each other's. Their voices meet, their moans mix, and their tongues clash in their kiss, like they can't bear to keep any distance from one another. It's intimate, even amidst the other mouths on them. Even as Yunjin and you coax them through it. When it passes, the two cling onto each other, holding each other up, both of them trembling with the aftermath of a shared bliss.

Kazuha falls first: with a slow slump she sinks down to the floor, falling away from your hungry mouth and onto her hands and knees on the hardwood. She pants, heavy breaths, her head bowed, her hair in her eyes. There's a contented hum to the room as it all begins to settle down. Kazuha turns to you: there's that gorgeous smile, as she pushes back hair from her face. Her makeup is smudged. Her lipstick's a mess.

Xinyu follows after, but not without first stroking Yunjin's hair and kissing her, thanking her. Xinyu falls into Kazuha's embrace, the two of them holding each other up on the floor. Their heads are on one another's shoulders.

You lose your balance to a hard push. Your ass hitting the ground hard, sitting flat on the hardwood.

"Your turn." Yunjin grins, a hand pushing at the centre of your chest, keeping you from rising.

"You're going to do that right here?"

She grins at you. "Right now."

From here on out, it's just an inevitable, sordid decline into depravity. There is no message here, no moral, no meaning beyond the mindless, the reckless. There's nothing profound about the way Yunjin slips the other strap off her shoulder and pulls the material down to her waist to expose her braless chest. There's no wisdom in the way she moves into your lap, arms hooked over your shoulders.

No revelations come from how her bare pussy slides against the head of your cock. No matters of the world solved by the way you grope her tits in your palms. Nothing poetic about the sound that slips between her pretty red lips when you enter her cunt. This is just the way things are. This is barely a footnote on the night, not an epic climax. It's not a resolution or a denouement. Just another impending orgasm. You're just lucky you're at the centre of it all.

"Give us a show, won't you?" Xinyu murmurs.

Yunjin's got a smile on her lips that says, sure, sure, I can do that. She puts her hands on your chest, pinning you against the ground, her hips lifting and rolling as she slides you in and out of herself. "You think we should thank them? The people in the toilets?"

"Why's that?"

"Well, we'd have gone in there." Yunjin pushes her hips down hard onto you to punctuate her sentence. "We'd have fucked." She's taking control here: riding you in the centre of the hardwood floor. "You'd have cum." Another roll of the hips. "In me. On me." She gasps, moans. "That would have been that." It's all being said so nonchalantly. "But now, it's like this."

You laugh a little as you watch the woman ride you for all you're worth. "It's fitting," you say as you push yourself up from the floor, sitting face-to-face with the woman riding you. "Because you deserve so much more than a quickie on a dirty toilet." You wrap an arm around the small of her back. "And I'd much rather take my time with you." You buck your hips up into her, commandeering the rhythm as your pace starts to climb. You drive into her, pounding hard, as you bury your face between her breasts.

There are the smallest of noises that break free from Yunjin: the whines that get trapped behind her throat and the moans that slip between her teeth. She lets you handle her, and the only sound she makes is that soft whimpering and that sharp hiss when your fingers grip tight at her skin, and when her body slams down against your cock, you feel her tense and then shake around your shaft, squeezing and clamping down hard. She stifles her sounds.

"You good?" you whisper. She doesn't answer. At least, not at first. She gives herself a moment to catch her breath, as her nails drag across your shoulder blade.

She moans out a reply. "Oh yeah. So good. I'm so—" her words trail into a hiss of a breath.

You push her onto her back, pinning her to the ground as she laughs, arms above her head and eyes on yours, as you pick the pace back up again. "Show's still on," Xinyu says, somewhere on your peripheries.

"He fucks like a..." Kazuha whispers, unable to find the right words.

"I know," Xinyu laughs, before leaning in to kiss at Kazuha's jaw. "Doesn't he just?" The words are barely a whisper in her ear.

There's this shift in your periphery, Xinyu taking a place on the floor, her hand behind Kazuha's head as she spreads her legs again. It's rare you've found anyone who can keep up with Xinyu, but tonight's proven to be the exception. Kazuha's on all fours, leaning in for another taste. The sight has you groan.

Yunjin laughs at that, pulling your face back to hers, her legs wrapping around your hips, locking behind your back as she pulls you into her. "Don't get distracted now, honey," she says. Her fingertips trace along the muscles in your shoulders. Her lips curl up into a smile as her body shivers underneath yours, and you can feel it: that sweet clamping down of her pussy around your cock, and you know that she's close to coming again.

"Got an idea," you whisper.

"Wait, wait—" Yunjin claws at your back, holding you closer, tighter. "Just let me—" and you feel it. Her wet heat coating your length, pulsing. You roll her into it, feel the slick mess as her hips twist against the hardwood. She shakes, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut, and lips parted. "There we go. Now, idea?"

"Come here." It's seamless, the way you move her around and behind Kazuha, positioning her face right against her girlfriend's ass. "Doesn't that look so good?"

"Beautiful," she says.

"Bet you eat that ass every chance you get, I know I would."

"Me too," Xinyu chimes.

"Yeah?" Yunjin says as she traces her hands along Kazuha's hips and curves, the lines that make her. She touches her thighs, and then she moves her fingertips to the cheeks of her ass. "Well." A kiss on the flesh of it. "You know. She does have such a pretty ass," she whispers.

"You both do," you reply as you mimic Yunjin's touches on her own ass.

She smiles into the skin, pressing more soft kisses along it. Her fingernails dig in gently as her mouth presses a little harder against it. Yunjin drags her nails over it, making marks. Yunjin moans softly, burying her mouth deeper between the cheeks. Kazuha arches with a moan of her own, rocking back. Yunjin sinks deeper, eating her girlfriend's ass like it was the last meal she'd have for days. The sounds are wet and hungry. Her moans are muffled as her mouth does its work. "God..." Yunjin groans into the flesh. Her hands roam up to Kazuha's sides, and she digs her fingers in and holds her, rocking the woman's hips against her face. It's like she can't get enough, and the taste must be so fucking intoxicating.

You're back inside Yunjin, the end of the train. She shivers again, moans again. Her nails drag up the small of Kazuha's back, marking the line of her spine with the gentle red trails. Her teeth scrape against Kazuha's skin, and she presses the pad of her tongue between her asscheeks again.

Yunjin's dress is still bunched at the waist, you bunch it and then hold it firm: it pulls tight across her toned stomach and gives you a handle, a grip to hold. You thrust into her, hard. She groans into Kazuha, and in turn, Kazuha gasps into Xinyu.

You hear Xinyu moaning, a note that arcs and echoes and then tapers off again. Kazuha is humming, soft and quiet, and Yunjin groans deeply. When the three of you all start to sync up, to fall into one steady beat, it feels right. It's everything falling together. Waves on the sand.

Xinyu is gasping; her head is back, and her throat is exposed, and her body is writhing with pleasure. She has her fingers buried in Kazuha's hair, clutching at it desperately, as she rocks back onto her tongue, onto her mouth, her hips bucking erratically. You're fucking Yunjin in slow and deep thrusts that have her moaning and shuddering, her fingers gripping hard into the dancer's thighs, and she's eating that ass with hunger, her own body responding to each motion of your hips in a ripple of a wave that runs up her spine, one after the next after the next.

This was never meant to last. There is no way.

You're on edge. Xinyu's on the precipice, and Kazuha is shaking.

There is no way, you say it again, and that's how your mind feels: unsteady, untethered, and it's in that haze that you slip your free hand to Yunjin's hip and guide it under her, have her press two fingers into the slickness that's so familiar, that she knows so well. You tell her. "Make your girlfriend cum." It's not an order. You've no authority here, in the mess that this has become, but she does, doesn't she: she's the only one who could get someone to sing for the world to see.

It's just seconds after when she slips the digits up inside that the woman is shaking, her back arching, and she's moaning in tandem with the way her hips roll back on you. Yunjin's fingers plunge deeper inside, and Kazuha shivers in delight. And then there's the smallest cry of a sound, and she's spilling wet onto the hand that keeps pushing her down. "You're so beautiful, Kazu," Yunjin murmurs, the words muffled by how she's buried her face between those cheeks, she's so damn close to her own climax. Kazuha is trembling, shaking. She moans out her release into Xinyu's wet cunt.

Thighs clamp hard on Kazuha's head. "Yes—" Xinyu cries out, as her hips rock upwards, bucking on Kazuha's mouth as she rides the orgasm hard, hands at her own breasts, groping greedily as her tongue drags her bottom lip under white, teeth bared: it's like a growl, almost, or a snarl, her eyes open wide, but staring right through everything.

And that's what pushes you over. You grab hard onto Yunjin's hip, the bunched fabric of her dress. Your fingernails drag against her flesh as you rut into her, hips thrusting again and again. She can't help the gasp, the sound, as your nails scrape deep into her thigh. She's so sensitive. The skin so soft and so receptive to touch. That noise turns into a moan. You know the sounds of her now. She doesn't need to tell you. You know. The pace of her breathing changes, and you hear the breathy little whimpers. When she gasps and when her cunt flutters, you can tell that she's close. And you know, when she cums because of the shuddering that runs up her body, the tensing of her muscles and that moaning that starts low and quiet before it grows, and then it explodes out of her in a sudden burst, like fireworks.

Xinyu's curling a finger. A beckon. You have a place to take, kneeling over her, and a finish that she demands.

"You know what to do, don't you?" she teases, a laugh on the tip of her tongue: that sharp and mischievous smirk, and the eyes that gleam in the light.

"I do."

She turns her gaze on the couple on the floor, the girls who've sunk onto one another. You can hear Yunjin laughing. Kazuha's fingers trail over her face, tracing the outline. "Go ahead," Xinyu says to you: not permission but expectation.

She presents her face as if it's a canvas and, yeah, sure, maybe you've done this more times than you can count, but you've still got your hand on your dick and the other on the back of Xinyu's neck, rubbing like it's the first time, and—

There it goes.

"God," Yunjin groans, "that's pretty."

Kazuha's contented hum agrees. They both reach a hand out to run their fingers across the mess of your cum, spreading it across the smooth expanse of skin, painting their art of Xinyu. There are no lines, no patterns, just the abstract swirl and the smearing that follows.

"Should take a photo," Kazuha suggests. "For posterity's sake."

"Too late," Yunjin mutters as she leans in to lick at the slick of white on the woman's cheek.

Soon, they're both at it, cleaning your girlfriend like she was the world's finest delicacy. And she basks in the attention. The centre of it. She's used to that kind of spotlight, though you don't think anyone shines as bright as her.

Yunjin takes a mouthful, opening to show the white on her tongue, and then her lips collide with Xinyu's. The cum is passed, tongue-to-tongue, a kiss shared. They share it with each other, a kiss that is truly sordid. You hear Kazuha's moan of excitement before you even realise what's happening: she joins in, making the kiss a trio. Three mouths passing your cum back and forth and the sound of their soft moans of delight.

It's hard to fathom that this is only the beginning. It's almost as difficult to comprehend just how far it's already gone, and the truth, as you see it, is that it doesn't need to make sense. Some nights are destined for excess. Nights like these. With a trio like this. You're not asking for any answers: all you're asking is that the four of you sink deeper, lose yourself to it.

The girls break the kiss, and Xinyu says, "You know, he has this walk-in shower. The big kind." You can hear the smirk in her tone like she knows just the kind of trouble she'll cause with her words.

"Yeah? I bet we could all fit in it," Kazuha hums, and there's that look of hers again, a little devious but mostly playful: a look of a girl who just wants to please everyone she comes into contact with. She can't seem to get enough, and she's just dying for a taste of more. Her hands slide along both women's waists, pulling them in a tighter embrace. Xinyu looks at you.

"You did always say—"

"I did."

"And, honestly, there's no better—"

"I know," you tell her, climbing to your feet and holding out a hand. "Come on."

#Yunjin smut #Kazuha smut #Xinyu smut #lesserafim smut #triples smut #male reader #kpop smut #m reader #Kazuha x reader #praelmas #smut #kpop fanfic #Yunjin x reader #kazuha x yunjin #xinyu x reader #xinyu x yunjin #xinyu x kazuha #it's a hot mess #partner swapping

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myimaginationplain · 2 days ago

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Everyone has a right to their own headcanons of course, but any Arcane x Harry Potter AU where Jayce & Viktor aren't both in Ravenclaw is immediately bunk to me. If you think Jayce is a Gryffindor, then you're being misled by his muscles & bullheadedness & generally Superman-esque aura. Jayce nominally cares about chivalry, sure, & he is certainly brave, so it's not like Gryffindor is ill-fitting per say; but Jayce, without a doubt, prioritizes his curiosity & learning/discovering for the sake of it over those. I think "scholar whose theories are so beyond the pale that he's branded insane only for him to have been completely correct," is definitely a Ravenclaw-leaning archetype. Basically I think Jayce would do for Ravenclaw what Cedric Diggory did for Hufflepuff (make the stereotypical nerdy loser house look cool).

Viktor is so stereotypically Ravenclaw that I don't even need to say anything about him, really. I maybe see the Sorting Hat considering him for Slytherin for just a moment, because he is ambitious & cunning. But Viktor funnels nearly all of his ambition & cunning into learning, his ultimate end goal, so he gets Ravenclaw in T-2 seconds.

Mel is a Slytherin. Like, "the Hat pronounces her Slytherin before it's even fully touched her head," Slytherin. But she's definitely more of the "laying in wait & keeping her opinions close to the chest" type than she is the "loud & proud bully," type. She makes herself, known, of course; she'd be a prefect, & everyone in the school can put her face to her name. But ask anyone what he actual opinions on anything are (especially where Wizarding politics are concerned), they're gonna come up short.

Caitlyn & Vi are both so Gryffindor that it's painful. Very Hermione & Ron, actually, although with their blood statuses reversed. Cassandra Kiramman was a Slytherin, so obviously there's a lot of tension over it. Especially once she brings home a muggleborn girl (Vi).

Jinx & Ekko could both very easily slot into Ravenclaw...but I actually prefer them in Slytherin & Hufflepuff, respectively. Jinx is like Viktor in reverse in this regard—she's extremely intelligent & creative, but to the end goal of protecting herself & her own. She's sly & deceitful & slippery; she's that once-in-every-few generations miraculously muggleborn Slytherin who somehow exemplifies the traits of the house better than any of her peers do.

Ekko is just so community-oriented & warm at his core; if pressed I think he'd definitely say that he prioritizes kindness & togetherness over anything else, & sees his own intelligence as more of a tool than an end goal in & of itself. The Firelights hideout also reminds me of the Hufflepuff common room in a way; I just know Ekko would love herbology. Like Jayce, he'd also be a real Cedric Diggory type.

Now for the secondary & tertiary character gauntlet: Kino, Elora & Lest can all be Slytherins because they all lowkey revolve around Mel & I can't imagine them anywhere else (although tbf, we know next to nothing about Kino's actual personality, so he could go anywhere you want him to honestly). Likewise, Sky can be in Ravenclaw because besides her shyness, the only two character traits we get from her are that she 1) has a crush on Viktor & 2) is a fellow nerd, so to Ravenclaw she goes (plus it suits her name). Claggor & Mylo both go to Hufflepuff because at the end of the day, it is kind of the cast-off house, & I don't necessarily see them fitting in anywhere else (Claggor is also an herbology-lover). Maddie is a Pettigrew-style Gryffindor. Vander & Benzo are old guard Gryffindors. Silco is lowkey a squib to me, but if he weren't he'd be in Slytherin, 100%.

EDIT: Actually I was thinking about it, & considering Silco's whole spiel about loyalty & how fastidiously he sticks by Jinx, it might be more fun for him to be a particularly duplicitous Hufflepuff, lol.

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elpeadro · 2 days ago

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I diagnose the Jentry Chau vs. The Underworld gang with QPR (queer-platonic relationship). It is so blatant and I love them so much.

Jentry-Michael: childhood best friends who haven't seen each other for half their lives after one of them accidentally burned down half the town (including her best friend’s home) with her magical fire powers and got sent away to Korea. Hit it off like nothing ever happened the day Jentry gets back in town. Gugu teases her about him because Jentry is not subtle at all. Protagonist girl x stereotypical love interest boy. Get to bond over being pressured to be someone they’re not by parental figures and being lied to about their powers. He dreams about her at night. (Don’t worry it’s not creepy.) She nearly kills him while he’s at work. Dating life stop-starts like 5 times because of shenanigans and poor communication and also maybe because their relationship isn’t meant to be romantic in nature.

Jentry-Kit: shapeshifter-adjacent demon who stalks, flirts with, seduces, lies to, threatens, and makes and wears a skin-suit of his mark only to fold after one (1) conversation, when she suggests he already has a soul, because he is that desperate for love and validation. Oh, and he’s working for the main villain who killed her parents, her great-aunt, and is actively trying to kill her. Protagonist girl x cool aloof bad boy love interest. Get to bond over being manipulated into fighting their authority figures’ feud/war. Lowkey is responsible for her almost killing stereotypical love interest boy. One kiss is enough to make him crash out when she rejects his advances afterwards. He falls for the oldest trick in the book, which is falling for your mark. He nearly dies distracting Cheng so that she can save the day (fuck you canon; you can’t take him away from me). He does this by wearing his Jentry skin-suit. They share the most homoerotically-charged scene in a TV-PG show while he’s building and putting on said skin-suit. Him nearly stealing her qi is so intimate and also please don’t do that without her consent sir 💀.

Michael-Kit: did you not SEE episode 5? They’re the nastiest parallels to ever parallel, to the point that their narrative energy warps reality and makes the lunch lady go on a comically direct lecture about how they need to choose for themselves what they want. This lecture is somehow about their identity issues and entire life’s course, and also about what they want for lunch. It is entirely unprompted. Kit nearly got him killed at work. They’re two-thirds of a love triangle, and a triangle can only be a triangle if it has 3 sides. (You get what I’m saying?) They were brothers-in-arms at the Alamo. They’re both incapable of not lying. Michael dreams about him the same number of times he dreams about Jentry. (Don’t worry it’s still not creepy.) They somehow avoid the stereotypical “high school love triangle drama” plot points between the two of them only because they’re busy fucking up their relationships in even bigger ways. Oh, and he prom-posed to Kit.

Michael-Stella: walking cliche of the high school “it” couple that was doomed the moment they set foot on the show. They were going to go to college together ffs. They dodge love triangle cliches regarding Jentry because they both think she’s that cool. She makes him protein bars. (Which suck, but it’s the thought that counts.) Football player x comphet lesbian. No seriously, she’s the most comphet lesbian to ever comphet lesbian. They have cliche “romantic chemistry”, but then they break up because he lies to her about wanting to be a shitty flute player over a superstar wide receiver recruit (except it’s not really a lie, but also it is), and they move over the “awkward exes” period and are much better characters and friends. He dreams about her at night as well. (Again, still not creepy.)

Jentry-Stella: the girliest girl friend duo in the world. Stella helps her adjust to a new school in a way that is so nice and sweet that it’s one of the more unrealistic parts of the show. They have a scene in Jentry’s bedroom. Their male love interests fumble them at roughly the same time, and then they do spirit week together and are having the time of their lives. She braids Jentry’s hair. They’re both so cool, but also so lame in their own ways. Also there’s no way Stella doesn’t have somewhat of a crush on her because 1) Jentry is that cool and pretty and awesome, and 2) Stella is a certified girl lover.

Kit-Stella: look they didn’t really interact in canon, but he’s on her shit list. She’s got her eye on him at all times, because Jentry may have forgiven him, but she’s watching out for her friend. She 100% gave him the shovel talk. Things get REALLY awkward if Jentry and/or Michael aren’t there, because these two are easily the weak link of the QPR.

Also all four of them are some form of queer.

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practical-hearthcraft · 2 days ago

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As someone who has existed within varying degrees of the homemaking community online for several years, I have my hills I am willing to die on. The most important one being this:

Skillsets are not gendered. Domestic skills are invalable lifeskills and everyone should know the basics.

I don't give a shit what your pastor tells you on Sundays, everyone should know how to cook, clean etc. It's no one person's place to be at home, and certainly not due to something as arbitrary as gender.

This past weekend I woke up horribly ill with a sinus infection. Woke up early anyways and went through the motions of getting my daughter up for the day, despite having been unable to sleep through due to fever. The routine is that my husband gets a lie in on Saturday and I lile in on Sunday. Fine. As soon as my husband comes downstairs and sees the state I'm in, I get sent straight back to bed with a cup of tea and medicine, and he tells me he's got it, I just need to rest. Without me needing to check him, remind him or ask him to do anything specifically, he knew exactly which chores needed to be covered for the weekend, got it all done, and didn't have to ask me once for any clarification. This included ensuring my daughters school uniform was cleaned and ironed ahead of monday, taking her into town to buy new clothes post growth-spurt, baking some sandwich loaves for the week ahead. He cooked dinner on Saturday using leftovers I'd put aside for that reason, without needing to check in as he knows the system. He cooked again on Sunday, and specifcally cooked something he knew would create plenty of leftovers, so I wouldn't need to cook again for a few days while I recover. All of this, he knew how to do, and did without complaint, despite us existing in, what is at surface level, a "traditional marriage".

And by the way, nothing my husband did this weekend was a surprise to me. At no point did I think this was a pleasant thing for him to do, and aren't I so lucky? Of course I expect him to know how to keep our household running for a weekend when I'm sick. The man is nearly 40. I should bloody hope he knows how to do laundry and cook a full meal.

If you want to do the majority of domestic tasks in your household, go for it, knock yourself out. But you need to ensure your partner knows how to do it as well. Don't allow yourself to enforce bullshit patriarchal nonsense and exist as a glorified bangmaid.

If you're on the other side of things and you find yourself doing the minority of domestic tasks, why not see how you can develop those skills? Maybe see if you can allocate one night a week where your partner gets the evening off, and you commit to cooking dinner. Maybe ask them to write down their routines so if for whatever reason they're unable to do their regular tasks, you can support them and pick up where they've had to stop.

#rant #homemaking #homemaker #sahm #nontrad homemaker #nontrad housewife #can you tell I was raised in the church and still feel a certain kind of way about that #I accidentally saw some stay and home girlfriend content tis morning and it had my blood boiling #it's 2025 for gods sake can we let this nonsense fucking die already

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wonyqt · 1 day ago

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kinda cute read!? little argument. happy ending! <3

—

jungkook’s family has always been welcoming, treating you like one of their own from the moment you and jungkook started dating. so when his mom invites you to a family dinner, you don’t think much of it—just another warm, comfortable evening spent with the jeons. except, this time, the kim family is joining. and with them, their daughter, yuseo.

you’ve heard about her before, in passing. a childhood friend of jungkook’s, someone his family adores. you never had a reason to think much of her. that is, until tonight.

jungkook is seated between you and yuseo at the dinner table, his hand resting on your thigh under the table as he leans in to whisper things only you can hear. sweet things. his attention is fully on you, making you feel secure, wanted—like you’re the only one in the room. but that security starts to falter when yuseo keeps trying to insert herself into the conversation, laughing a little too hard at jungkook’s jokes, touching his arm every chance she gets.

“jungkook, do you remember when we used to walk home from school together?” yuseo chimes in, tilting her head as she looks at him.

jungkook glances at her, nodding. “yeah, we were kids.”

“and we had the biggest crushes on each other,” she adds, giggling. “we even dated for a little bit, remember?”

your stomach churns at her words, at the way she looks at him like you aren’t sitting right there. like she’s trying to remind him of something you have no part in. jungkook only hums in response, not giving it much thought, but that doesn’t stop the way irritation builds in your chest.

and then she does it. she reaches out, fingers brushing through jungkook’s hair thats touching his forehead , pushing them out of his face like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he doesn’t react—doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop her. it’s innocent, at least to him, but to you, it’s anything but.

your grip on your fork tightens, but you keep your expression neutral, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his parents. still, the heat in your chest is undeniable, and the smirk tugging at yuseo’s lips lets you know she’s fully aware of what she’s doing.

when dinner is finally over, you can’t wait to leave, but jungkook is still taking his time saying goodbye. you watch as yuseo steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that lingers a little too long. her hands rest on his lower back, fingers pressing lightly as she whispers something into his ear, her lips nearly grazing his skin.

jungkook, completely oblivious, simply pats her back before pulling away, flashing her an easy smile. “it was nice seeing you, yuseo.”

you, on the other hand, are fuming.

the car ride home is silent. you don’t say a word, staring out the window with your arms crossed, jaw clenched. jungkook, on the other hand, is completely relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his lap like nothing happened. like yuseo hadn’t been all over him all night. like you hadn’t just sat there and taken it because you didn’t want to make a scene in front of his family.

when you finally get home, you kick off your shoes and go straight to the couch, plopping down with a heavy sigh. jungkook follows behind, watching you carefully.

“you okay?” he asks, tilting his head.

“mhm,” you hum, not even sparing him a glance.

he narrows his eyes. “you sure?”

“yup.”

jungkook sighs and sits next to you, draping an arm over the back of the couch. “alright, what’s wrong?”

you huff, crossing your arms tighter. “what’s wrong?” you repeat, turning to face him. “yuseo was flirting with you all night, and you just sat there and let her.”

jungkook blinks, clearly caught off guard. “flirting? what are you talking about?”

you scoff. “are you serious? she was all over you, jungkook. laughing at everything you said, touching you, bringing up how you two used to date—”

“she was just being friendly,” he cuts in, shaking his head.

you let out a bitter laugh, staring at him in disbelief. “oh, friendly? so you just let anyone push your hair out of your face? let anyone whisper in your ear like that? reminisce about how they used to date you while your girlfriend is sitting right there?”

jungkook’s jaw tenses, his relaxed demeanor shifting. “y/n, come on. it wasn’t like that. yuseo is just a friend, she wouldn’t—”

“oh, she wouldn’t?” you interrupt, voice rising. “jungkook, she was being so obvious, and you did nothing about it. you just sat there and let her act like that right in front of me.”

jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you’re being dramatic,” he mutters.

your mouth falls open, anger bubbling over. “dramatic?” you repeat, tone sharp. “you think i’m being dramatic because i don’t like watching another girl throw herself at my boyfriend while he acts like it’s nothing?”

“because it was nothing,” jungkook argues, his own frustration growing. “i wasn’t flirting with her, i wasn’t even paying attention to her half the time. you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

you shake your head, standing up from the couch, the heat in your chest making it impossible to sit still. “forget it,” you mumble, walking away, leaving jungkook sitting there, running a hand down his face in exasperation.

you storm into your shared bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest. you don’t even know why you came in here—you just needed to get away from him, from the argument, from the way he’s making you feel like you’re crazy for being upset.

but jungkook isn’t done. he follows after you, shutting the door behind him with a frustrated sigh. “y/n, seriously, why are you acting like this?” he asks, his tone edged with irritation. “it’s like you’re just looking for something to be mad about.”

you spin around, glaring at him. “are you even listening to me? i’m not looking for something to be mad about, jungkook. i’m mad because you let another girl put her hands on you and talk about your past relationship with her like i wasn’t even there.”

jungkook lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “and what? you think that means something? you think i want her?”

“i don’t know, do you?” you snap.

his jaw clenches, and he exhales harshly, clearly trying to keep his own temper in check. “y/n, you’re acting like you don’t trust me.”

“this isn’t about trust, jungkook. this is about respect.”

he scoffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “or maybe it’s about you being insecure.”

the second the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. but it’s too late.

your face drops, the fire in your eyes flickering out into something much softer, much more painful. it’s like the fight drains out of you in an instant, replaced by an ache so deep you can’t even breathe.

“insecure?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungkook’s expression changes in an instant, his frustration melting away into something that looks a lot like regret. “baby, wait, i—”

but you just shake your head, blinking rapidly as your eyes begin to gloss over. “you think i’m insecure just because i don’t like seeing another girl flirt with my boyfriend?”

“no, that’s not—”

“forget it,” you mumble, pushing past him toward the door.

he reaches for you, but you step out of his grasp, grabbing your keys from the dresser. “y/n, wait—”

“don’t follow me,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. “i just… i need to be alone.”

and before he can say another word, you walk out, leaving jungkook standing there, his chest tight with regret as the sound of the door closing behind you echoes through the apartment.

it’s past 2 a.m. when you finally stumble through the front door, the world around you spinning. your fingers fumble with the doorknob, your blurry vision making it almost impossible to get the key in. you never do this—never drink to the point of losing yourself—but tonight was different. this was the worst fight you and jungkook have ever had. you couldn’t sit with the weight of it, so you drowned it in alcohol instead.

as soon as the door creaks open, you see him. jungkook is on the couch, still awake, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together like he’s been sitting there for hours. waiting.

his head snaps up the second you step inside, and in an instant, he’s on his feet, coming straight toward you. “where the hell have you been?” his voice is laced with worry, his brows furrowed as he takes in your disheveled state.

you roll your eyes, still feeling spiteful despite the alcohol coursing through your veins. “none of your business,” you mumble, trying to brush past him.

but jungkook doesn’t let you. his hands come up, gently but firmly gripping your arms to steady you. his brows knit together, his eyes scanning your face. “have you been drinking?” he asks, his voice softer now, but filled with concern.

you blink up at him, and suddenly, everything crashes down on you at once. the fight, the anger, the hurt, the words you both said to each other. the way he called you insecure. the way you left.

your bottom lip trembles, and before you can stop it, a sob breaks past your lips. “jungkook…” you hiccup, clutching onto his shirt as your knees nearly give out. “i’m sorry.”

his arms wrap around you instantly, holding you up as you bury your face into his chest. “hey, hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, his voice gentle as he rubs slow circles into your back.

you shake your head, gripping onto him tighter. “no, it’s not,” you slur, sniffling. “you were right. i was being dramatic. i was being insecure, and i—”

“stop,” jungkook says firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. his hands cup your face, thumbs wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. “don’t say that.”

you look up at him, confused, your vision still hazy. “but—”

“you were right,” he says, his voice thick with guilt. “y/n, you were right to be mad. you were right to feel the way you did. i should’ve shut that shit down. i should’ve listened to you instead of dismissing your feelings.” he shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “and i should’ve never called you insecure. i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t. i was just frustrated and being a fucking idiot.”

more tears fall down your face, and jungkook wipes them away as fast as they come, his own eyes glassy with regret.

“i’m so, so sorry,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “please don’t ever think you need to apologize for feeling the way you did. you’re valid, baby. always.”

you sniffle, your body still shaking, but you nod against him, letting him hold you, letting his warmth ground you.

“can we go to bed?” you mumble weakly, exhausted in every possible way.

“of course,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “let’s get you ready for bed, love.”

as jungkook helps you into the bedroom, your steps are wobbly, but his hands are steady. he holds you close, guiding you with so much care that it makes your chest tighten.

once inside, you stop and look up at him, your fingers weakly gripping the fabric of his shirt. “are you sure?” you whisper, your voice small.

jungkook furrows his brows. “about what, baby?”

“that i was right,” you mumble, eyes glossy as you search his face. “that i wasn’t just… being dramatic.”

his expression softens instantly, and he cups your cheeks again, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look at him. “yes, i’m sure,” he says firmly. “y/n, you were right. i should’ve listened to you the first time. i should’ve seen what was happening and done something about it.” his thumb strokes your cheek gently. “i hate that i made you feel like your feelings weren’t valid. i hate that i hurt you. i’m so sorry, baby.”

your lip trembles again, but this time, it’s not from sadness—it’s from relief. you nod, and without another word, you lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his lips.

jungkook exhales into the kiss, his hands holding you like you’re something fragile, something he never wants to break again. he kisses you back just as softly, just as tenderly, letting the moment stretch until you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his.

“let’s get you ready for bed, yeah?” he murmurs.

you nod, letting him guide you to the bathroom. he sits you down on the counter, grabbing a makeup wipe before carefully running it over your face. his touch is gentle, like he’s trying to make up for everything with each soft stroke.

“you don’t have to do this,” you mumble, your eyes fluttering shut as he removes the last of your mascara.

“i want to,” he whispers.

once he’s finished, he helps you change into something comfortable before leading you to bed. the second you both lay down, you curl into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you impossibly close.

the room is quiet, just the sound of your breathing and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. then, in a soft whisper, jungkook speaks.

“i love you.”

a small, tired smile tugs at your lips. “i love you too.”

and with that, you let sleep take you, safe in the warmth of his arms, knowing that no matter how bad things get, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

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