#and i would keep occasionally coming back to briefly work on it

[syntheticsymp]

I just read ur krueger/nikto fic and omg I'm imagining how traumatised reader would be after the break in—what If their first instinct whenever they open the door or get themselves woken up is to immediately attack in self defence

Lol nikto would briefly have to deal with some unintended attempts of punches or stabbings now

Tw: aftermath of attempted sexual assault, self-deprecating reader

If you weren't already spiraling from your kidnapping, Krueger had definitely pushed you off the edge. You were finally starting to fall into your role as Nikto's pet, not crying as much and occasionally smiling. Then Krueger had to come along to 'help his friend,' setting that all progress way back.

When Nikto was home, you wouldn't leave his side. You weren't doing it consciously, but in your eyes, he was the one thing in your world that could protect you if Krueger came back. You weren't naive enough to think that you could fight off a trained operative, you couldn't even fight off Nikto, but you needed something. Even if that something was your kidnapper.

The worst part was when he went to work. Working for KorTac, you didn't always know when he would be back, if he would be called away for a mission, or if he had died on the field. You used to take a nap on the couch while he was gone, trying to limit the hours you were awake. You used to think that if you were sleeping, you wouldn't have to deal with what was happening. Your dreams were an escape, the pitch blackness blocking out whatever happened in this twisted wonderland you were dragged into. But as Krueger had proved, that didn't always work.

You started begging Nikto to stay home with you. Of course, he couldn't. KorTac didn't exactly give him days off. But he made sure to set up more weird traps around the house, making sure that not a soul could enter or exit alive. He wanted to give you a weapon, but didn't trust you enough with a knife since you had tried to stab him once already, and yourself after he had given it back. He may be impossible to kill, but you weren't. And he was not going to let you kill yourself to escape him, though he knew you wouldn't.

You were left a lot of time to think while Nikto was gone. These days, you were beginning to hate thinking. Wandering between the same five rooms of the house (excluding the basement you were not allowed to go in) like a ghost inhabiting your own body. It was the same thing over and over. Walking through the events you still remembered to keep from losing them entirely.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were overreacting. Nikto had fucked you many times before, regardless of how you felt. But this time was different somehow. You didn't know if it was how Krueger had startled you, how he had treated you as if you were nothing more than a hole he thought he deserved, or how you imagined Nikto would look at you when he found out. You were worried he would be mad at you, and you couldn't have that. Not when Nikto was literally your entire life. If he hated you, blamed you, like you did to yourself, you didn't know what you would do.

You didn't know what made you sicker. The memory of what happened, or the guilt of not figuring out some way to stop it. You should have fought harder, you should have screamed louder. Then maybe you wouldn't be checking the same five points of exit (two doors, three windows) to make sure they were locked. It was the first time you were checking to make sure you were locked in, rather than if they were left open for you to escape.

Because, maybe Nikto was right. The world outside was dangerous. And maybe you didn't want to leave after all. Not when men like Krueger were somehow left to roam the streets.

The first few times Nikto came home after Krueger tried to assault you, you immediately went after him. You didn't register faces, you didn't stop to take the time see who it was. It didn't matter if you couldn't fight for shit against him, you needed to do something this time around. Your punches were thrown blindly, desperate to make some sort of mark on your opponent. Even if you were defenseless, you refused to go down without a fight this time around.

Nikto, however, was a trained operator. He didn't take kindly to being attacked after coming home from the field. The first few times you attempted to hurt him he quickly disarmed you, just as he had when he first kidnapped you. He grabbed you by your wrists, locking them above your head, and let you struggle for a minute until you tired yourself out, no different than a kitten having no idea how to use its claws. While that method of holding you until you calmed down was effective, you would always end up sobbing, begging just how you had to Krueger for him to let you go. It didn't sit right with Nikto, especially since he thought that you were finally beginning to like your life here.

So, he took a new approach.

The next time he caught you sleeping (which he noticed was becoming unhealthily common) he let you fight him. He was tough, practically impenetrable, he could deal with your punches. It took everything in his power not to let his training take over and incapacitate you. It would be so easy.

But that wasn't what you needed. You needed to burn off that rage, that pain, the fear, he knew because he did too.

The end result was the same. You, breaking down crying. Only this time, instead of begging to be let you go, you were apologizing. Apologizing to him for what Krueger had done, like it was somehow your fault. Then apologizing for if you had hurt Nikto in your blind fear.

Nikto scoffed, fully believing his words as he spoke. "You cannot hurt us, питомица. Though, perhaps we should teach you some good self-defense?"

You had never agreed to anything faster. You knew it would barely do any good, but it would make you feel a little better. A little less helpless.

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

[niilue]

—when you can't resist it and you spank vi—

cw: fem reader, funny and silly situation, drabble, mention of spank, vi ashamed.

ekko's hiding place was relatively quiet, except for the sound of metal tools clinking and the occasional scattered conversation. you’d been wandering around, trying to find something useful to do, but your attention kept drifting toward vi.

she was bent over a table, working on her gauntlets as usual. her movements were meticulous and focused, and the furrow in her brow made it clear she was completely absorbed in her task. her jacket rested on a nearby chair, leaving her fitted tank top on display, highlighting the defined lines of her shoulders and muscles.

but it wasn’t her tank top that caught your attention—it was her pants. vi always wore those long, dark pants, snug and fitted, as if they were made specifically for her. the way they clung to her body, outlining every curve, was almost mesmerizing.

and now, with her leaning over the table, all her weight resting on her arms, the fabric stretched in a way that made everything stand out even more. you couldn’t help but notice how the curve of her backside was perfectly outlined, firm and athletic.

for a moment, a mischievous spark ignited in your mind, growing quickly into a reckless idea.

"why not?" you thought to yourself, a sly grin spreading across your face.

you crept up behind her, careful not to make a sound on the metal floor. vi didn’t even notice your presence, too focused on adjusting some mechanism on her gauntlet.

the opportunity was perfect. without giving it too much thought, you raised your hand and delivered a slap to her backside so loud it echoed across the hideout, causing a few nearby heads to turn in surprise.

the impact made vi’s backside jiggle slightly, the material of her pants rippling briefly from the force before snapping back into place.

“WHAT THE FUCKKK?!” vi shouted, straightening up so fast she nearly knocked over the table. her hand immediately flew to her backside as she whipped around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and rage.

her cheeks, normally pale, were now tinged with a deep red, the flush crawling up her neck. you couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter, bending over as you tried to catch your breath.

“sorry, sorry!” you managed to say between giggles, though your tone was anything but apologetic. “i couldn’t resist!”

vi stared at you, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. she looked as though she was trying to process what had just happened, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t quite find the words. finally, she pointed a shaky finger at you.

“what the hell makes you think that was a good idea?!” she demanded.

“well…” you began, shrugging with a playful grin. “with those pants and that pose, you were practically begging for it.”

vi’s jaw dropped. her hands fell to her hips as she stared at you, clearly caught between laughing and yelling. she opted for yelling.

“begging for it? are you kidding me?! it hurt, you idiot!”

“Ah, come on, vi,” you said, trying to soften the moment. “it was a little token of affection.”

“that wasn't affection! that was a fucking attack,” she retorted, twitching slightly as if the sting was still present.

"i honestly didn't think it would move that much. it was the highlight of my day.” you replied, unable to keep a smile off your face.

“SHUT UP!” vi snapped, her voice cracking slightly as her blush deepened. her hands moved to cover her backside defensively, as if to shield it from another ambush.

“is it still stinging?” you asked, feigning innocence. “or was it just a really good hit?”

vi’s hands slowly dropped to her sides as she narrowed her eyes at you, her face now an unmistakable shade of red. for a moment, you thought she might lunge at you, but instead, she took a deep breath, her shoulders visibly tensing.

“get ready to run,” she growled, her voice dangerously low. “because when i catch you, you’re not walking away from this.”

“is that a challenge?” you teased, taking a step back.

“no,” vi said, her tone chilling. “it’s a damn promise.”

before you could say another word, vi started moving toward you. you did the only sensible thing: you bolted.

your laughter echoed through the hideout as vi chased after you, her growls of frustration barely audible over your hysterical giggling. you knew you were in trouble, but you couldn’t stop thinking about her flustered, embarrassed expression.

totally worth it.

[aliciastarkeyy]

Fools gold

Summary ᯓ★ uncool, typically ‘nerdy’ and unseen by most, your life on the island is pretty simple. Until Rafe Cameron begins to pay attention to you.

Warnings ᯓ★ swearing, the motions of a ‘bet’ being made, wagers, fake love, one sided love, fighting, eventual smut. ! not proofread !

Authors note ᯓ★ title is inspired by ‘Fools Gold’, specifically the version by Niall Horan ♡ this will be a series, hopefully! I don’t want to cram everything into one part ✮⋆˙

Word count ᯓ★ 4,867

part2⟡ part3⟡ part4⟡

Ruth’s bookshop goes unnoticed by many who pass on the boardwalk of figure eight. The quiet, quaint little shop filled to the brim with all different genres, so much so that some are piled on the floor- is a beautiful place to work.

You love it. There’s plants in any places that they would fit, soft Melodic music fluttering around.

And the smell. Gods, you loved the smell. This place is your version of heaven, and the fact that you get paid to organise the books, read them, and serve the occasional customer as they come and go is amazing.

Willow, the bookshop cat, a tiny tabby, is also an extra. She makes for great company when it stretches hours between customers, or when Ruth isn’t in the shop- which admittedly, isn’t often anymore. She leaves you alone to run the shop most of the time, off spending time with her family.

You don’t mind spending most of your time here. After college, a gruelling four years studying literature in California, you welcomed the salty sea air of Outer Banks with open arms. A break, you’d called it.

But since you’d started working in the bookshop, the break had become a little more… permanent. To the displeasure of your parents of course.

‘You can’t work in a bookshop for the rest of your life,” or ‘I spent all my money on your degree and this is what you do with it?’

Your parents weren’t exactly the best, or the most supportive. Years upon years of them barely paying attention to you, shoving you into the arms of a nanny and trying to buy you off with expensive things, college tuition included, did them no favours.

Maybe this was you rebelling. A big ‘fuck you’ to your mom and dad, for feeling like you only existed to them when it was beneficial. Here’s what I’m going to do with my degree: nothing.

Today is an exceptionally slow day, aircon on full blast as willow rolls around on the counter looking for love. You’re nose deep in a book about nature cycles, patting the cat every so often as she rolls her head to the side for your scratches.

You reckon you’ve had around five customers, and the slowness on days like this sometimes makes you wonder how Ruth keeps the shop going. It serves as a gentle reminder that she’s rich, just like your own parents, when she stops by the shop sometimes, adorned in expensive clothing and accessories.

Sometimes you wish she were your mother. She’s always super nice to you, acting in ways your own mother couldn’t.

The bell above the door chimes as it opens and you perk up, eyes over the edge of the book. Willow hips off the counter to see what’s happening, rubbing up against some of the shelves. You see nothing but a tall mess of brown locks disappear behind one of the shelves, and you let your eyes fall back to your book.

If they need you, they’ll ask. The book you’re reading is getting particularly interesting, anyway. You can hear the slight patter of willows feet following whoever is in the store, and they’re getting closer to the counter.

“S’cuse me,” A voice interrupts your reading. It sounds oddly familiar, and you bookmark your page before placing your own book on the counter. A smile traces your lips at the sight of the books placed on the counter.

As long as the lemon trees grow and The Nightingale. Two utterly moving books, ones that had made you cry. A little.

A glance up at their purchaser has you doing a slight double take internally. The guy stood in front of you- of whom you knew you recognised, briefly, now you think about it, is Rafe Cameron.

He was in your year in school for most of the high school life until he suddenly just stopped turning up. And as you look at him now, he looks exactly as you remember. Floppy curtain bangs, piercing blue eyes that you’re sure you’d caught across the canteen a few times- kakis and a polo with a fleece.

Same guy. He grins lopsidedly, head slightly tilting to the left. “Done observing me? Can I pay for my books?”

Your cheeks nod and you grasp for the books, turning them over and fumbling with the scanner. You sure as hell weren’t one to judge but these did not seem like his type of book.

To be honest, he looked like he’d never read a book in his entire life. The memories of being sat in the library and listening to countless tutors trying to teach him simple scholarly lessons flashes for a second as you scan the second book, and you conclude. These are not Rafe Cameron books.

“Your total is fifteen dollars today,” you reply, letting the sentence linger in the air as he searches for his wallet. He picks a twenty dollar bill out, crisp as the day it was printed, and places it on the counter.

“Keep the change,” you nod and push the twenty into the cash register, watching as he picks up his books and begins to walk away. Just like that. One of your weirder experiences with a former class mate, but you’d take the short interaction over a stupendously awkward one anyday.

“Have a nice day,” you call out as he reaches the door, and he hesitates. Your fingers furl around the hard cover of your book as he turns and you immediately regret saying anything. Fuck customer service.

“Yeah, I think I will.” The door bell chimes as he steps out into the heat of the boardwalk, and you’re confused as ever. Certainly an interaction at least.

Ruth messages you at about three o’clock asking how many customers you’ve had. When you respond with six, she tells you close up shop and go and enjoy your day.

How ironic, considering the rest of your day that you’d planned consisted of going home and curling up in bed for a nice nap. You wrap up closing, leaving the till draw in the safe and locking the back room. Willow meanders by the front door, knowing exactly what time it is.

Usually, she’ll follow you all the way home, almost like she’s making sure you get home safe, before wandering off to presumably join her friends. When you open up on a morning she’s sat on the front step of the shop, waiting to be let in and fed.

She meows at you as you do your final once over of the shop, before joining her at the door and crouching down to her.

A scratching behind her ears makes her purr. “You’re excited to go see your friends, huh?” Her eyes glint as if agreeing and you laugh to yourself, standing straight and opening the door. Willow filters out onto the path. You flip the open sign around to say closed and grasp your keys, shutting the door and locking it.

An exasperated sigh leaves someone behind you. You turn, pulling the key out of the lock.

Rafe Cameron. He’s got that cheesy grin on his face again, books held under one arm as the other is reaching back, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Closing?” He asks, as if it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. You quirk an eyebrow, jingling the keys in your hand.

“Yeah. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Returning them already?” You query, causing him to laugh, breathily.

“Uhhhh, no actually, I just forgot one,” his arm falls to his side, waiting. Like you’ll open the store for him again just for one book.

“What, those two very complex and thick books won’t still you over until tomorrow?” The annunciation on the words makes him flinch, despite his best efforts to not show so. You see.

“Okay, okay, no need. They’re actually not for me, they’re for my sister,” he tuts, looking to the side, down the board walk. “You know, it doesn’t matter, I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He turns. Slowly. Like he’s waiting.

“Okay! Bye,” willow meows as you begin to walk in the opposite direction towards your house, and you hear him stutter.

“What? You’ll won’t even open back up for one book?” He sounds incredulous. It makes you giggle, dropping the shop keys into your bag. You glance over your shoulder, to see him a few feet from you, obviously having moved.

“No. It’s not worth the effort of reopening everything. You can come back tomorrow.” Your hands reach up to readjust your toe bag strap on your shoulder, setting a slow pace down the board walk with willow. She pads inbetween your legs, purring and rubbing up against each leg.

Your house is empty when you arrive home. No surprise there. The high ceilings and white marble of the front foyer mimic something of a liminal space, to you at least. There’s pictures on the wall, the few that your parents had taken with you and of you to make the place feel more homey.

It was far from. Since you grew out of the age of needing a nanny, it was mostly just you in the house. The occasional times your parents would be home, they’d be in their bedroom sleeping, or in their offices working.

There was no family here. Your room, in your opinion, was the only room of the house to have any life, any character. Most of the walls were lined with bookshelves, of course, and your messy bed that you hadn’t made this morning sat in the center of the room. There’s two big bay windows right across from the bed, overlooking the beach and ocean that had convinced your parents to buy the house in the first place. It’s a mixture of greens, all walls and carpets and beddings- the only colour in the house.

It was your space. You drop your bag into your desk chair, huffing a strand of hair out of your face as you loosen it from the claw clip you’d had it in all day. Sinking into your bed, it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

The days evens play back in your mind as you drift off.

Your phone rings again and despite your best efforts to silence it, the noise does not cease. A groan falls from your lips as you lift your head from the pillow, hands grasping around the edges of your phone, eyes squinting to adjust to the brightness of the screen.

Maysilee.

She’s ringing, for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you roll your eyes before swiping to answer and bringing your phone to your ear.

“Hiiiiii! What’re you doing right now?” Her sweet, high pitched voice trails through the phone and you pull it away from your ear for a second, before bringing it back.

“I was asleep,” her tut is immediate. Despite being your best friend, the two of you could not be anymore different. She liked parties and shopping and looking like she belonged in money all the time and you liked books, sleeping and pretending you didn’t exist to the world.

“Why sleep when you can come to my house for this get together?”

“Maysi, no. You know I don’t like stuff like that.” A tut again.

“Cmon, you never come! It’s only a few people I promise.” You can hear her manicured nails tapping against a glassy surface of some sort, and that she’s in one of those moods where she won’t take no for an answer.

If you did say no, she’d turn up at your house. That’s just the type of person she is.

“May…”

“Look, no ifs or buts. You don’t even have to drink. Just come and hang out with me.”

You weigh out your options. If you say no, you’re going. If you say yes, you’re going. It’s a lose- lose on your end no matter what.

Reluctantly, you sit up in bed, checking the time on your phone before bringing it back to your ear. “Okay, sure. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

The squeal she makes is enough to shatter glass. “Finally! See you soon babe, love you.” She hangs up almost immediately, giving you no time to change your mind.

Half an hour from now would be seven. Clambering out of bed in the same clothes you fell asleep in, you trudge over to your closet. You weren’t exactly the type to be flashy with your clothes. Or revealing. The most you’d wear is a skirt, but even then it’s a decent length and you have tights on.

You opt for a brown sweater and black skirt, knowing if you turn up in anything else Maysi will be directing your straight to her own closet and forcing you to change.

Once you’re changed, you re clip your hair up and out of your face before slipping into your shoes that you usually wear, a pair of Mary Jane’s. It’s now fifteen minutes until you said you’d show up, and you debate changing your mind and just not going at all.

Maysi would kill you. Like she knows you all too well, a text from her pings on your phone reminding you to turn up or else. A threat. A promise of threatening actions.

Maysilee is not someone to fuck with. The air is slightly colder when you step out of your front door, a breeze sweeping through the trees and bushes that adorn your front garden.

You’re suddenly thankful that Maysi lives a few houses down. When you arrive, there’s a few more cars outside than you expected and a ‘few’ people lingering out on the front garden.

A little get together. You should have known.

Maysi’s house is warm. In the sense that she has lots and lots of family memories around, and the house looks like it’s lived in. It makes you envious. Maysi greets you in the foyer, pulling you through her house to the kitchen, the island in the middle simply stacked to the brim with different types of alcohol.

“Now, I know you said no drinks, but how about one?” She grins at you and beckons towards the extensive array of drinks.

“Maysi, no. I’ll just have some lemonade or something.”

“Boo. You’re boring. You’re lucky I love you though.” She boops your nose with one manicured nail, arm wrapping around your shoulder as she leads you to the soft drinks section of the island.

One lemonade later and an abandonment by Maysilee, you find yourself out in the back garden. There’s a lot less people out here than in the front garden and the house itself, the conversation quiet and mulling along the same level as the best of the music in the house.

You know this garden like the back of your hand, Maysi’s mum loving her garden like a child. It’s full of flowers, and ornaments, and you know there’s a secret little seating area hidden behind the gazebo that you can’t see thanks to the wall of trees.

It makes a perfect place to hide out until it’s an acceptable time to go home.

“I’m telling you man, she’s gonna go right for it. He’s got this irresistible charm with women,” a male voice, slightly chopped through the trees. The guy is stood in the gazebo, and you can see the top of another head stood close by.

It feels wrong to eavesdrop, but you’re not really, if you think about it. They’re having a conversation in a public space and you just so happen to be nearby. And interested.

“Nah man, I don’t think so. From what he’s told me about today, she’s got some wit about her. I don’t reckon she’ll fall so fast.” The other guy responds. You wonder what, or who, they’re talking about.

“You reckon? Well, we know what I’ve bet on,” poor girl. Whoever these guys were, and the mystery third guy who seemed to be playing with some poor girls feelings- you felt bad.

Another third voice calls the two guys away from the gazebo and you wrinkle your nose as they begin yelling, quietening as they further away from the gazebo.

The stars are out tonight. It’s easy to see them here when there’s no light pollution, and they’re beautiful. Having lots of time to read books means you’re quite clued in on a lot of things, and constellations are no exception.

“Pretty cool aren’t they?” You recognise the voice. Rafe stands at the edge of the little seating area, looking upwards too. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple brown shirt, hair seemingly groomed into neat side bangs instead of the unruly ones you’d seen him in earlier.

You take a sip of your lemonade. “They’re not so bad, I suppose.”

Rafe smiles, hands finding home in his front pockets. “Say, do you know any names of those… star configurations?”

You splutter on your lemonade. “Star configurations?”

“Yeah, can’t remember the word.” He quips, moving to one of the seats near your own.

“Constellations, That’s what they’re called.”

“Yeah right. That word. Do you know any?” He grins, pulling a bottle of beer from seemingly thin air.

You point upwards, at a set of stars that look slightly like a sand timer. “That one that looks like a sand timer is Orion. Named after the hunter from Greek mythology.” Rafe leans towards your side slightly, looking for the area you’re pointing towards. A small ‘ohhh’ escapes his lips when he notices it.

“Cassiopeia is that weird ‘W’ looking one. Named after the mother of Andromeda.” You point towards another.

Rafe nods. “Guess you’ve got a lot of free time in that book shop huh?”

You blush, a little. You’re thankful for the guise of nighttime to hide the fact that you’re blushing to begin with.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He takes a swig from his bottle, slightly turning towards you. You notice how much closer he’s really got, and shuffle back on your seat.

“So what’re you doing here? Doesn’t really seem like your kind of place,” you scoff. If only. Why else would you be sat outside on your own?

“It’s not. Maysilee forced me to come.”

“Ah. Makes sense, she’s a.. character, that one.”

A snort slips from you and you cover your mouth of sheer embarrassment. Rafe chuckles, one hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

“You’re half telling me, she’s my best friend. I get that twenty four seven.”

“My condolences.” Rafe expresses, holding a hand over his heart. It makes you giggle, hiding it behind a sip of your lemonade.

“Thanks Rafe, but don’t you have better places to be?”

“No better place than the present.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure those books aren’t for you?”

Rafe raises his hands like he’s been caught. “Got me. Just trying to impress the pretty lady at the bookshop.”

Your heart stutters. Stops, if you must. Your cheeks heat again, and you’re sure if you couldn’t feel the thrum of your pulse in your neck you’d be dead.

You don’t know what to say.

The awkwardness of the situation has you pulling at the cuffs of your jumper, lemonade cup long forgotten on the seat next to you. Like he can sense your discomfort, Rafe backtracks.

“Sorry, sorry. Too forward. I won’t take it back though, cos’ it’s true.” He stands from the seat, chugging the rest of his beer. From where he’s stood now, you can see the glint in his eyes.

Like there’s something else there. The same glint you used to see when you’d catch his eye in high school. When he was doing something he shouldn’t be.

“See you tomorrow, bookshop.” The pet name grates the back of your throat. You’re stuck the suspended silence of the downhill run of the end of the conversation even when you reach your own home, and your room.

Sleep does not come so easy tonight.

Authors note pt2 ᯓ★ phew ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ really enjoyed writing this, did it in one sitting. Hoping to churn this series out I have so much planned pls let me know what you think/ if you like mwah ꩜⋆

[quokkaholic]

Otaku Hot Boys minsung

Warnings/tags: MDNI, smut w/plot, friends to ?poly?, picking on reader, cussing, light degradation, some mxm but like its not the focus, giggly, sweet, threesome with some body worship, oral both, protected👏 p in v, subby!Han bc i can’t stop myself, dom!Lee know the dynamics only extend to the reader, shy/embarrassed reader, weeb slander. This is biased towards Han bc I too am biased towards Han. Lightly edited

Synopsis: At your weekly "otaku club" to discuss all things manga/anime with your two close friends, they seem to be a bit too interested in your recent spike in bl media enjoyment. 

Terms for you non-losers: bl/yaoi- boys love or media centered on gay relationships, gl/yuri- girls love or media centered on lesbian relationships, otaku- person consumed by their interests (typically anime, manga, video games, etc.), fujoshi-means rotten girl, it's typically a girl who is really into bl media

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Tonight is the night. The night you look forward to every week. It's your friends’ otaku club night, the night where you and your two fellow weebs get together to talk about any new media you’ve consumed typically centered around anime and manga. You've been steeped in this type of media since the moment you were introduced to it years ago. So much so that, you even became a part time worker at your local manga cafe/bookstore. Beyond supplying some extra income, the employee discount is unbeatable. At work is actually where you met the guys.

Minho wandered in one day, drawn in by the cheerful anime themes bumping through the speakers and the promise of cute, themed drinks. After ordering a pudding latte, he browsed the isles for what seemed like an eternity, long enough that you actually went to offer assistance, which you never do. Generally speaking, anime lovers aren’t the most comfortable in social situations, and you were no exception. Plus, the type of person that comes to a manga cafe tends to know what they like, or came in for a specific title. 

He had done a few laps around the place before you decided it was enough, you had to say something. You begrudgingly placed down the volume you were enjoying, being careful to keep your spot but not damage the book, as you weren’t intending to buy it. If you bought every volume of every manga you read, you’d be hugely indebted to this place, more than you already are; the owner, luckily, is cool enough to allow you to take some books home and just deduct the total from your next paycheck. Approaching the seemingly lost Minho, you greet him,

“Hi, is there something I can help you find?” your ears heating at simply having to speak to him. 

“Oh no!” he responds surprised as you have pulled him out of his mind and back to reality, 

“I’ve never been here and was just looking around; you guys have a great selection, good mix of the new, classic, and obscure,” he compliments between sips. The nerves have you briefly spacing out on the chunks of pudding rising up the straw, snapping out of it when you notice the silence. Its your turn to talk, 

“Yes, thank you, I’ll be sure to tell the owner, she’ll really appreciate that. Well—let me know if you need anything,” you rush away, retreating back to the stool behind the counter to pick up where you left off. Minho continued to look around for a while, occasionally picking up a book to read the back cover or sample the art style. He remained until he finally checked his phone, eyes bugging at the time displayed. He practically ran out the door, but not before apologizing for not buying anything and promising he would return with his roommate, and he did later that week. 

You three were not fast friends. They, like your typical customer, kept to themselves. Similar to Minho, Han’s first time in the store was spent in awe, walking up and down the same isles trying to take in the entire stock while sucking down the chocolatiest drink on the menu. After that, they were regulars. Visiting at least once a week, buying a few volumes or anime merch each but sometimes just visiting for a sweet treat of tea or coffee.

Though you never talked to them outside of your scripted retail speech, you were always happy to see them in the store. They were admittedly pleasant to look at, but beyond that they were always kind and friendly to you, and it was cute to see the best friends interact. You longed for a relationship like that. You had a few good friends, but none of them shared your interest in this form of media. You could talk about it with customers, but you could never share your unadulterated opinions or gossip about characters with the strangers. On top of being a joy to look at and interact with, the guys actually had good and diverse tastes, not just solely interested in shonen, action, and fanservice. You had actually picked up a few of the stories they had bought from you. Some you had heard of and some were definitely outside of your typical genres, but they were all shockingly good, one of them even making it into your top tier. After finishing their unknowing recommendations, you’d toy with the idea of complementing their choices, practicing what you’d say if you saw them at work. 

Of course, they would never come in on the days where you had built up the courage to say something, and you’d tell yourself you were disappointed, but it was secretly a relief. Then, when they would be there, you’d find some other reason not to say anything, maybe they looked like they were in a hurry, or were too deep in their own conversation, or you’d simply psyched yourself out of it by convincing yourself that they would be weirded out by how much attention you pay to their purchases. This went on for weeks until finally Jisung crossed that customer/employee line for you. He eagerly strode up to the counter, Minho following leisurely in toe, with the first volume of the manga you were currently enjoying at your post by the register, 

“I’ve seen you reading this series the last few times we’ve come in, is it any good?” he’d asked cooly, placing it along with a few others in front of you to ring up. His impassioned energy and deviation from your usual interaction, made your heart race and stomach flip. You didn’t or maybe couldn’t respond, just stared as he minorly fumbled around checking all his pockets for his wallet. You stayed like that for a few moments until Minho finally arrived at the counter, casually reaching into his jacket and pulling out the man's wallet and handing it to him only after bumping him with his elbow in a silent scold for misplacing the wallet for the umpteenth time. 

“Oh— yeah. It’s definitely worth a read; I have my issues with the plot, but stunning art makes up for it,” you’ve probably already said too much. You’re paid to make sales, not to be a manga critic, but Jisung doesn’t make any moves to put the book back. He just hands you his card like always, before asking,

“Really, like what?” That’s where the friendship started. That day, they stayed leaned up against the counter until the end of your shift discussing their recent reads and watches and asking your opinions on the classics to gauge how similar your tastes were, of which they were shockingly similar. Although you were nervous at first, you had built at least a little rapport with them through the months of being their cashier, and talking about a major interest of yours made it that much easier to overcome any sort of social anxiety on both yours and their parts. Even after it was time for you to head home, Minho bought you a drink from the cafe, and you all found a quiet corner to continue your discussion. This became a regular occurrence. If you were there when they came in, and they didn’t have somewhere else to be, they’d spend time nerding out with you. Eventually, they learned your schedule, and made sure to come in on your shifts to hangout. It was never an issue beyond the occasional shush from reading customers when your “friendly” debates got a bit too rowdy.

You never liked the shift manager; they were unsympathetic and rude, doing things like denying time off requests for no good reason and timing breaks just to excerpt any semblance of power they had over the other workers. They even tried to get you in trouble for reading on the job, when you first started, but luckily the owner was able to pick up on the blatant absurdity of the complaint. Since then you didn’t have any more problems with them, but at the staff meeting when they made a “completely general” and “unpointed” comment about ensuring we weren’t neglecting job duties to “flirt with hot boys”, you knew they were talking straight at you. Despite always getting all you work done and then some, you knew you had to put an end to the on-the-clock book club, or it would become an actual problem, warranted or not. 

The thought of not getting to hang out with Jisung and Minho circulated your mind non-stop after the initial embarrassment and anger over getting indirectly called out at work. Not only were you anxious to have a weird friend breakup, you were sad that you could be back to having no one to talk to about your more niche interests. They’d never seemed interested in seeing you outside of work; would this be the end?

You endlessly mulled over how to deal with it until the very second they walked through the door on your next shift, their cheery faces dropped upon laying eyes on your obviously stressed demeanor. They’d whisper something back and forth before speed walking straight over to cautiously greet you.

“Hey guys,” you say, cringing at the thought of what you’re gonna say next, “so I may have gotten in some pseudo trouble and was told I can’t hangout at work any more,” you quickly spat out, trying to get it over with as soon as possible, and they just stared back expectedly, waiting for whatever has you so visibly upset, as if you didn’t just say it.

“That’s it?” Jisung asks as almost simultaneously Minho snarkily remarked,

“It's about time. You don’t get anything done when we’re here.” sending you a mocking disappointed glare. 

“I will not stand for the slander. Maybe from the manager, but not from you. I always get my tasks done while providing satisfactory customer service. It’s usually a race against the clock after you guys leave, but it always gets done,” you drone on, finding yourself getting a little defensive at his jest causing his smirk to widen to a full smile. You’ve grown to learn that Minho enjoys playful arguments maybe a little too much, but you attempt put an end to it before it can spiral,

“Whatever, I don’t need to defend myself to you,” 

“Not me, but maybe this manager of yours,” mocking you for not standing up for yourself. He never poked fun at you before, so you know its a sign of his friendship, but as if on cue, sensing that you are taking the bait, Jisung butts back in,

“Really though is that it? Is that what has you worried?” You were the one staring back in anticipating and stunned,

“Of course I’m upset; I just said we can’t hangout anymore,” you tried to explain calmly, but you were feeling frantic due to their apparent lack of care at the idea of not talking anymore. Ji’s eyebrows knit together in utter confusion before looking over to his best friend who was looking once again disappointed in you with a slow shaking of his head.

“We can’t hang out here while you’re working,” he slows down his speech emphasizing the key parts of your mandate, hoping you can gather why they aren’t worried about the future of your relationship. While you remained confused, Jisung’s forehead relaxes as his face turns to one of realization, mouth forming a perfect O before returning to his just-entered-my-favorite-bookstore smile and shrugs his shoulders to brush off your concern before he offered the most obvious solution,

 “You’ll just start coming over to our place,” he stated, as if it were nothing. He didn’t ask, it was plain to them. You weren’t exiting their life, you were entering their apartment. Minho’s lazy shaking turned to nobbing as if he had been just waiting for you two to finally catch up. That was the end of that. They quickly grabbed what they came for but did stay and chat for a little, but only to make plans for you to come to their place that weekend. 

Such was the inception of your weekly otaku club, meeting at their place once a week or having a group call when schedules got too hectic. With weekly meetings, they quickly climbed the ranks, and have become some of your best friends. This week was the first in person session you had in weeks, and you were beyond ecstatic, stopping at the store to grab drinks and desserts as they were providing the meal and snacks. Upon entering the familiar flat, you remove your shoes and head to the source of the delicious smell and friendly voices. You find the guys setting out the snack and plates for the food Minho must’ve cooked, it looks too good for Jisung to be responsible. 

After the meal, you all follow the cute book club ritual of pulling out the books you have been enjoying, and have a show and tell, even though you all already know what eachother are reading. Jisung is working through a sports drama you had recommended, and Minho explained the convoluted plot of the isekai he just got into. When it was your turn you lifted the brightly colored, second to last, volume of the series, you’ve absolutely flown through over the past week,

“I’m almost done with this romance. It’s kind of short, but I have really enjoyed it, and I feel like they took the story in a new and interesting direction,” you continue to give a brief synopsis of the story, leaving out any spoilers, in case they want to read it after you. They had a few questions about the plot and your feelings on it, but there was one blaring question they really wanted to know the answer to,

“What kind of romance?” Ji asked with an inquisitive expression, but it wasn’t pure, there was just a twinge of mischief in his eyes,

“It's an office romance,” you explain hesitantly, trying not to sound condescending as you just gave the summary. 

“Yeah?” Minho chimes in trying to draw the answer they really want out of you.

“Well the main guys are office workers, so its an adult office romance,” your statement sound more like a question as the last words pitch up and die off. You go on, thinking there’s no way they are this dense, and they aren’t, but you might be. At the mention of the main characters being guys, they share a knowing look, silently communicating something to each other, leaving you out of their telepathic conversion. 

“Don’t make it weird! I read romance about all sorts of relationships,” they have matching stupid grins as they go back to munching on their food, letting you sit in your slight embarrassment at their implicative shared look. Minho gives that look that says, he’s trying to rile you up before askings nonchalantly, as if there are no intentions behind his words, 

“Wasn’t the last series you read yaoi as well?”

“I mean yeah, but Jisung recommended it! It was a good story,” Minho just gives a grunt of acknowledgement to say ‘sure whatever’. Jisung giggles at Minho’s antics, but doesn’t comment. He looks at you with a goofy smile and slight sympathy for the teasing as he searches your face for any signs that Minho is getting to you, but he of course is not. You’re used to banter from Minho, and honestly Jisung too. Maybe being away from you for so long had softened him up a bit, or maybe it was his favorite beer you had brought a case of. 

You thought it was the alcohol that buttered Jisung up, but instead the drinks just opened the razzing flood gates. The “bl lover” schtick continues through the evening. The poking fun is usually spread evenly among you three, and if one person becomes the butt of the joke for the night, it never continues to next week so as to not make anyone the punching bag. They love to tease, but are also very considerate about not crossing the line. The hippocratic taunting continues no matter how many times you remind them of all the yuri, yaoi, and straight romances they themselves had brought to book club. Later, when you play a few rounds of video games, they add ‘fujoshi’ to the normal colorful language they use to curse your name the times you end up winning. Sometimes you guys will pick a show to watch together, and although you guys decided to forgo that tonight in favor of catching up, you still pursue the streaming sites sharing insights to for next week, and they hover over every bl they come across and jokingly suggest it or ask you opinion as if you had already seen them all, or simply just stare in your direction with raised eyebrows. 

Around the time you usually excuse yourself and head home, you are all sitting around the coffee table finishing off the beer and munching on the snacks. You begin gathering your empty cans and miscellaneous trash, and the conversation abruptly halts as Min sternly questions your actions.

“Just wanted to clean up a bit before heading out,” you explain, rising to your knees to reach for some of their garbage since you’re already headed to the kitchen.

“You should stay here,” he says matter of factly shoving another chip into his mouth and gesturing to the empty beers in your arms, taking the rational approach. Jisung, with his sweet round eyes staring up at you, chimes in with the emotional persuasion. They make a great team.

“The couch is really comfy, I promise.”

“I’ve only had four of these beers over the past few hours, plus I took the bus here anyway,” attempting to politely decline. It would be nice not having to make the commute home at this hour, but you’d hate to burden them.

“The last bus is in 20 minutes, you’d have to run to the nearest stop,” Minho makes a good point, but the cringey thought of them having to kick you out the next morning allows you to remain stubborn, but before you can refuse again, Han’s words make your heart squeeze,

“We don’t want you to leave,” now you’re definitely staying. You still take the trash to the kitchen and sort out the recycling before grabbing one more round of beers from their stash upon the guys’ request. You resume chatting over some background music, occasionally singing along. While you are far from drunk, with the alcohol in your system, it's getting harder and harder to ignore how devastatingly good looking your two friends are. It doesn’t help that their frequent whispering back and forth gives you ample uninterrupted time to gawk. They are of course closer to each other than they are with you, but it does seem like they’ve been conspiring quite a bit more than usual. 

A chaste glance from Jisung breaks your trance. He turns back to Minho and it is your turn to look anywhere but at them, studying the rug, reading the nutrition facts on your drink, admiring the wall decor, looking away until you can get your blushing under control. Your efforts were all in vain, as when you finally look back towards the men across the table, you lock eyes with them as if they were waiting for your gaze to fall on them before doing the very last thing you ever would’ve expected. They stare back at you with a look commanding your eyes to remain locked on them as they turn to each other, already closer to one another than the last time you looked their way. Minho looks down to Han’s plush lips just as his tongue peaks out to moisten them putting on a sultry show for you. Minho gives a miniscule nod before they lean closer impossibly slow to drag out your suspense. 

Are they really doing this? Talk about committed to the bit. The moment their lips meet, you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, causing the corners of their connected lips to quirk up. This is exactly what they wanted. The kiss wasn’t long, but to you watching, it felt like an eternity. You tried to look away, but you just couldn't, maybe due to your own curiosity or maybe as to not disobey their silent order to watch. When they pull away a thin string of saliva still connecting them, the slightly raised corners of their spread to full faced grins at the sight of your hands shooting up to cover your flushing face.

“I think she liked it,” Jisung remarks, running his hands through his hair, pushing back the stands that fell out of place during the kiss. His typical silly, awkward self melting away leaving behind his confident, charismatic side you had seen on a few occasions, emboldened by him and his best friends scheme going just as they had hoped.

“I knew it,” Minho adds, even though you haven’t built up the courage to look at them, he sounds closer to you than before.

“She’s a freak just like we thought,” he adds, definitely closer. Once you gather the strength to uncover your face, you find your friends have moved to join you on your side of the table, one on either side near enough to feel the heat radiating off their bodies. Though they haven’t explicitly stated it, their intentions are beyond clear, their eyes hungrily wandering over you,

“Do you want this?” Minho questioned in a low and calm tone, tamping down his eagerness until you give him an answer,

“If not, we can blame this on the liquor and just move past it, pretend nothing even happened,” Jisung assures you, unable to conceal his brimming desire as well as Minho, his eyes locked on your lips as he reaches for your hand for support. Staring down at your intertwined fingers, you contemplate for a moment,

“I do, but—” you start, Minho’s hand slipping into your field to rest on your mid thigh, softly moving his fingers side to side in reassurance,

“What about our friendship? What about otaku club?” your query makes them giggle, embuing you with the strength to look up to their eyes. They are quick to answer, as if they prepared for this exact question beforehand, Jisung talks first,

“Nothing has to change if we don’t want it to,” he speaks into your hair as he leans in to plant a sweet kiss to the side of your skull, when Minho picks up where he left off,

“We really like you y/n, and love spending time with you. Whether we go back to the way it was or forge something new, we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not sure of anything beyond that, and that we’ve wanted this for a long time,” his words make your heart lurch. God you’ve wanted them too, but didn’t want to jeopardize the amazing relationship you had built. You know them. You trust them. You can navigate this together. A small nod of your head has Minho smashing his lips to yours, passionately enough to suck the air from your lungs.

His kiss is powerful and demanding while still being highly cognisant of your response and adjusting his fire to keep you comfortable. Your mingling lips quickly find timing against each other, his tongue gently coaxing your lips to part for him to explore you. Tingles flooding your body when his warm tongue finally touches yours. 

Jisung continues to kiss along the side of your head and down to your ear. He places feathery kisses over the cartilage, playfully nipping at your earlobe, careful to avoid your piercing. He lets out a happy sound when you squeeze the hand he’s still loyally gripping. He trails his kisses down to the soft spot below your ear before peppering your cheek, inching to your lips ready for his turn with your mouth. He gets close enough to catch the corner of your mouth in his before he’s able to bully Minho off you. You’re barely able to take a breath before Jisung’s lips are on yours. His movements are more timid but also more desperate, his need evident in his pace and little groans. This moment is better than you could've ever imagined. Despite Ji’s neediness, you are the one giving short licks at his full bottom lip asking for entrance, which he grants immediately. 

Minho has moved to your neck, sucking and kissing, his arm snaking around your waist pulling you closer to them. Arching into them, your hands slide up to rest on their built chests, and you can feel them both smiling against your skin. Your chest is heaving from the lack of oxygen and immense lust thick in the air.

“We should get off the floor; I fear if we don’t do it now, you’ll be bent over the coffee table,” Jisung suggests causing Minho to let out a hushed laugh. Despite knowing full well that is where the night is headed, you can’t help your coyness at his words. It’s hard to believe this is actually happening. Both men rise and extend hands to help your ascent, which you are more than grateful as the heady desire coursing through your veins has you feeling unsteady. They guide you to the hallway, shooting glances between one another, having one of their classic silent talks, but this time it seems more like an argument as you all stand at the point of the walkway where you have to decide which path to take to each of their rooms, knowing you will probably end up sleeping in whichever bed you land in. They attempt to make you choose, but you refuse to pick sides, both rooms are lovely and each bed equally comfortable. You just want to be with them. Minho makes the decision for you all when he drags you towards his room, just tired of trying to get two indecisive people to make a simple choice. 

Minho’s room is just as you remembered, simultaneously minimal but full of little pieces that make it full of character. There's no time to look at the new photos on the mirror or trinkets on the desk before you're playfully pushed towards the bed urging you to jump on, crawling to the center in order to make room for them, expecting them to follow you. But when you turn your back to the luxe pillows, you find yourself alone in the big bed with a cheek cramping grin on your face that melts when you see them removing their shirts and tossing them to the corner before approaching the end of the mattress staring down at you. Your mouth slightly agape as you take in their tan skin and sculpted builds, 

“This is so fucked up,” you strangle out of your drying throat, shaking your head in disbelief, and they just chuckle and move to join you. You sit legs outstretched in front of you, and they’re each on their knees sitting back on their ankles. They get you high on love, taking turns passing your lips back and forth, as the other plays with your hair, or rubs your shoulders, or simply lets their hands roam your torso. It is impossible to tell how long this went on, the only moments of clarity being when a gentle hand would guide you off one with a brief second for you to fill your lungs breath before connecting to the other. However, the makeout session is punctuated by the tug you feel on the bottom of your shirt to which to instinctively raise your arms for its removal which immediately follows, causing Jisung to groan, annoyed he had to release your lips before he was ready. 

Much to your dismay, neither pair of lips return to yours once you’ve been disrobed, the men just lean back to drink in the sight, causing your skin to burn impossibly hotter, your exposed chest flaring with redness that their eyes seemingly can’t be pulled from. If this is actually going to happen, you can’t be mortified the whole time,

“I swear, if you guys keep embarrassing me, we’ll have to stop. I can’t take it,” you half confess and half warn the pair, but it doesn’t shake their gazes.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Jisung offers his apology but continues defiling you with his eyes.

“We’re just as shocked as you, jagi, just let us savor it,” Minho defends their staring while lightly scolding you right back. You start to feel cold from the lack of touch, but luckily, Jisung cracks, diving into the crook of your neck licking down, across your collarbone, to the crevice between your breasts before kissing up the swells. Minho takes a different approach. He shifts his seating and leans down. He pulls the waist of your pants just enough to expose your hip bone that he gives a hard open mouthed kiss before working his way up to meet Han, worshiping your tummy and waist. They meet at your chest, quickly going to work with their hands and mouths. Jisung’s more needy palming is juxtaposed by Minho's firm, but cautious grasping, as they work in tandem to kiss every inch from the base of your neck to your shoulders to your sternum before finally landing on your sensitive buds with just the most gentle of kisses causing the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding to release in a sigh. While they both had distinct styles, Jisung using wilder, sloppy strokes and Minho more direct and teasing, they were both gentle and attentive, causing your abdomen to tense, barely raising your shoulders off the cushions you rest against, and soft moans to pour from your lips.

When you compose yourself enough to look down at them, you once again find them staring at you, up through their thick lashes, pure adoration in their faces. The sight causes your head to fall back with a groan, mostly due to the absolutely errotic vision and feeling, but also partly at being tired of them being so damn perfect. Maybe you really were the pervert they imagined; this has to be some sort of hyper realistic wet dream. You have all been too consumed by lust to talk but Minho speaks up for the first time in a bit with a snarky remark,

“We can’t stop embarrassing you, if everything we do makes you embarrassed,” he chides against your velvety skin. Causing you to giggle and place your hand on his cheek and try to push him away in retribution, but he clamps down not hard enough to hurt, but when you start to push his head, it tugs on your nipple, hissing as your hand to fall limp at your side for him to continue his torture. 

At your submission, he lets out a sound of satisfaction and resumes his pilgrimage back the way he came, moving back down your body, hooking his fingers in your waistbands, and you rise for him to rid you of your final pieces of clothing. Jisung’s passionate tonguing winds back down to loud kisses and then to slightly shaking his head side to side, ghosting his softly smiling lips over the bud, pulling whimpers from your swollen lips. After a quick kiss, he shuffles around, to sit amongst the pillows, slotting you between his legs. Turning your head to the side, he gives a loving kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around you, holding you to his front and lazily kissing up and down the column of your neck and shoulder. 

You between Jisung’s legs and Min between yours, the beautiful man is covering your hips and thighs with wet kisses. You gaze down and see Minho’s bunny pink lips inches from where you need him, hot breath fanning over your slick core, using his fingers to spread you, just admiring. You lean your head back to rest on Jisung’s shoulder to brace yourself for the incoming rush pleasure. As you anticipated, Min’s first probing lick already has you arching into his mouth, gasping, pushing back into the warm chest of the man behind you. All of the foreplay combined with the months of yearning have you reaching an unprecedented level of sensitivity; it won’t take much, especially with Minho’s skilled movements. He gives an arrogant huff against your cunt at the way he already has you squirming on his tongue sending delicious vibrations that only make you squirm harder. He skims his index finger up your thigh as a sign of what he is about to do, not wanting to shock you when he slides the finder inside just to the first knuckle. He slowly plunges it in and out while sucking mercilessly on your clit, drawing noises from you that will haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future.

Jisung is checking in regularly to which you always respond positively, but still Minho pumps the brakes for a brief moment to allow you to calm down a little. He moves to kissing over your silken folds before giving small, soft licks to either side of your clit, giving the perfect amount of pressure and teasing. Your eyes are screwed shut, and the breath is caught in your chest as you feel your climax barreling towards you. Pulled from you blissful rapture by Ji’s voice,

“Breathe, baby. Look at Minho; doesn’t he look so pretty?” His words alone could have made you cum, but when you peel your eyes open and raise you head to see the cat like man giving you the most seductive eyes, his nose and lips glistening in your essence, white hot pleasure explodes through your body with a flood of curses out of your lips. You lie there, panting, weak in Jiusung’s arms as he lightly drags his fingers up and down your arms and across your chest soothing your involuntary tremors. The sound of the condom wrapper being torn open reminds you of where you are. You see Minho finishing rolling on the protection on his flushed cock, and he shoots back a faux guilty look, like you’d caught him in a naughty act, he giggles before asking one last time,

“You want this?” He asks with a cheeky smirk, half confirming consent and half teasing out your desperation. You respond, over feeling bashful about your desires,

“So bad, babe,” with a grin, he grabs your hips and twists them, encouraging you to flip over on to all fours over Jisung who is smiling massive and genuinely up at you before puckering, asking for more kisses. Minho is kneading your ass probably the roughest he’d been all night, as he lines himself with your entrance. He teases you with the tip, dipping it in once, twice, and then rubbing it through your slick lips, causing you to whimper against Jisung. When he goes to enter, he takes it painfully slowly, inching in while raking his fingers down your back in a sign of affection, loving the way it makes you shiver,

“Minho you feel so—so good,” you sputter out, complimenting the way Minho makes your brain go fuzzy. He just gives a cocky hum back in response, trying to act cool, but truthfully he doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak. Your lips reconnect to Jisung’s as you reach down into his sweats to give him some well deserved attention. He lets out a long groan against your lips, bucking up into your hand. Minho’s fighting his moans, but they escape out in strangled grunts. His slow thrusts gain in speed as he grips tightly to you hips, but he remains fucking impossibly deep, leaning forward to kiss your shoulders and upper back, pushing you back to your climax. You and Jisung are trading sounds of pleasure into eachothers open mouths, pumping him in time with the thrusts, he’s lost in the pleasure, until his realizes his orgasm approaching at lightning speed, shocking him, and he begs for you to stop the twisting of your wrist,

“Please don’t make me cum. I want to fuck you so bad, please,” he's thankful when your hand flies from his cock to land on beside his head to you steady your shaking body. When he is sure your orgasm is passed, Minho frantically frees himself, ripping off the condom, and coming around to face you, kneeling, pumping himself to keep himself on the edge. Jisung shimmies out from under you allowing Minho to scoot closer looking at you with pleading eyes. You open for him and he is instantly in your mouth. You take him as far as you can, causing the saliva to build in your mouth to slick him up. You find your rhythm, occasionally focusing on the tip and swirling your tongue around it before returning to taking all of him. He is no longer holding back cries, groaning and hissing at your moves. He runs his fingers through your hair, before dragging his fingers down your cheek to caress your chin, staring down at you,

“So fucking gorgeous, feels so good,” your pattern of sucking and licking is harshly interrupted when you hear spitting and feel warm liquid slide down your cunt threatening to drip off before Hans’s flattends tongue licks a broad stripe up you slit, forcing a muffled shout to revererate from you and you to lurch forward in surprise. You lightly gag around Minho, catching you both by surprise. The motion causes Minho to paint your throat with a string of whines,

“Ah, ah, aaah—” You swallow, loving his taste. He dramatically falls to the bed with a look of pure bliss plastered on his face. He moves to you to bestow a few passionate kisses laced with gratitude to your puffy lips before rolling off the bed. You are too distracted by the euphoria flowing through you to see where he goes as Jisung is devouring you, every lick, languid but methodical, wanting to gather every last drop of your essence. It's messy and hot, and when you look down, between your legs, you not only Ji’s angry cock oozing precum, but the growing pool under you of your juices and his spit drooling off your pussy. You plea to him. You don’t want this to end, but you are so dumb on pleasure and needy, you want him inside you,

“Hannie, I need you inside, please,” but he doesn’t budge. He might be wanting to draw yet another orgasm from you, but it's more likely that he is too pussydrunk and is just hypnotized by your addictive taste and filthy sounds,

“Jisung, please,” you try again, as Minho enters again, holding waters and towels. After placing the goodies on the nightstand, he crawls back into bed beside you, admiring the salacious scene before him and your sweet sullied expression before nudging Jisung,

“Give the girl what she wants, before I do,” Ji releases your pussy with a wet pop and once again, your hips are grabbed, guiding you to flip over, this time having to aid you a bit more as your muscles are starting to give out. Jisung gives your forehead a kiss before aligning himself with your entrance, but is interrupted by the flying condom smacks him in the chest and falls to land on your stomach. He swiftly tears it open and rolls it on, embarrassed that he almost forgot, caught up in the moment as Minho shames him under his breath. Minho holds your chin to face him as Jisung slips in, watching you intently since he didn't get to see your face when he had his way with you. He holds your gaze, and when you try to close your eyes, he gently taps your cheek reminding you to return his gaze. Jisung is savagely pounding into you. He has been waiting for so long, as much as he wanted to be sensual like Minho, right now, he just couldn't hold back,

“You’re perfect, baby. Shit, i’m not gonna last,” he mumbles, thrust already getting erratic. Minho frees you when Jisung falls forward onto his forearms to cage you in, attacking your mouth with desperate kisses, the kissing shifts to just moaning and whimpering into each other as you both reach your highs, Jisung mumbling your name on repeat, looking almost as wrecked as you, giving a few final powerful thrusts before collapsing down to your other side. The room is quiet besides the heavy breathing as you all bask in the lustful aura, Min breaks the silence,

“I can speak for Jisung on this, when are the vows?” he chuckles out, causing you all to burst into breathy laughter. After cleaning up and hydrating, you all lay in bed together rolling around snuggling and kissing in the post-sex lovey state. Minho goes to the bathroom to complete his night time routine leaving you in bed with Jisung where you two giggle and take turns tracing imaginary patterns on each other's skin. When Minho returns dewy faced and in neat pajamas, Jisung leaves your side to do the same. Minho holds you tight against his side, your head resting on his chest as he hums, lips pressed into your hair. Jisung offers up some of his boxers and Minho provides a tshirt for you to sleep in, and then you too go wash up and brush your teeth and hair, trying not to get existential or horny while you stare at yourself in the mirror recounting the evening’s events. 

When you return, Minho is already under the covers on his side of the bed. He’s prepped the other side for you, pulling back the covers, giving you some extra pillows, and placing your water and a snack on the nightstand, but Ji is just sitting on the edge of the bed. When you approach he stands and opens his arms for a hug,

“I wanted to wait to say goodnight,” he offers. You can't help the look of disappointment,

“We all it fine on the bed earlier, so couldn’t you just stay? Is that okay?” you ask timidly, that embarrassment you’ve been able to shove down all flooding back since the emboldening lust has been quelled. Jisung doesn’t respond, simply pulls you into a tight embrace. You guess he wasn’t okay with that suggestion, but before you could tell him that it's fine to tell you no, he is tackling you onto the bed, and pulling the duvet up over all three of you causing Minho to give an exasperated sign. 

Breakfast was sure to be interesting, but as you lay curled around Jisung, his thick hair tickling your cheek with Minho pressed to your back, a strong arm slung over your waist resting on Ji’s side, the one thing you know is that you could definitely get used to this. Figuring this out was tomorrow's problem. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

pic creds x x x

A.n- Thanks for reading. This is a bit of a longer one. The longest thing I've written in fact. I just hava lot of felling about this. I hope it's not too niche/reaches the right horny nerds

-mo :)

Masterlist

[dannyriccsystem]

CHAPTER ONE — SERIES INFO

WARNINGS: Claustrophobic setting, Y/N usage, reader is mean, written in 2nd person

PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Ballerina!Reader

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Meeting the infamous Oscar Piastri in a hotel elevator, and then later at your own show!

NOTES: This series will be written as a SMAU. However, the first few chapters will have some written parts to build story! I hope everybody enjoys :)

NEXT CHAPTER >>>

SATURDAY - MARCH 15TH, 2025

7:00 P.M.

You worked your whole life to appear as poised and elegant. Dance was apart of who you are since you were born, and that fact has stretched itself taut over your twenty-three years of life. unlike the various girls who participated in dance studios just for the sake of having a hobby, you knew it would be an eventual career of yours.

And you were right.

Walking through every town and big city you performed in was like a dream. Soaring billboards were painted with images of you, dancing with extravagance. Skyscrapers had your face displayed on enormous screens, restaurants had meals named after you, and people recognized you no matter what place you stepped foot in. You were everywhere.

That changed when you came to Melbourne. You still saw yourself, yes, but you were no longer the highlight. Orange painted the city that was your final tour destination, and the same face watched over you at all times. Oscar Piastri, a famous Australian Formula One driver.

It was hard to keep your jealousy at bay. You had a permanent frown etched into your skin as you loaded the elevator of your hotel, taking up the empty compartment to silently sulk. All of that effort just to be replaced by someone who drives a fast car? You scoffed at the idea of it.

Snapping out of your gaze, you realized that the elevator was coming to a stop at the first floor. You desperately wanted to avoid any interaction at the moment, still peeved with such a predicament, but it was impossible at this point. The metal doors pried open, and…

That damn bastard was standing there, looking all too polite.

Your jaw immediately clenched, and your fists balled up when you saw his devilishly friendly smile, along with a polite nod of his head. He loaded into the elevator, just one bag held over his shoulder. Some big shot he was. Both of you were silent, stood on opposite ends of the elevator to avoid each other for your own respective reasons: He was simply polite, while you wanted nothing to do with him.

The lights flickered, and your ride came to a screeching halt— A sound that made your heart drop into your stomach. You grabbed the railings of the elevator with one hand, the other clutching your belongings as you desperately thought, no, no, no, no.

There was momentary silence as one of the lights above you came on, leaving you in a softly lit ambience. Finally, Oscar’s breath hitched and he spoke, “We’re stuck.” Stating the obvious. You couldn’t help the cold glare you shot him. He flinched, just slightly— But enough for you to notice. You stormed over to the buttons, aggressively tapping the bright red one labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

An alarm briefly rang, before the sound of a phone ringing played over the speakers. Oscar sat back, patiently waiting for you to finish alerting the front desk of such an emergency. A crackling voice boomed over the speakers, making you jump briefly. “Security!” They informed curtly.

“The elevator is stopped! We’re stuck in here.” Your tone was laced with frustration, evident in your crossed arms and sassy pose. Oscar smiled softly, eyebrows furrowed together. How dramatic you were… It was endearing.

“Help is on the way. It should be 15 minutes to an hour.”

“An HOUR-?” The call abruptly ended, leaving you both to sit in silence once again. You held your head in your hands, walking back to your things and sitting down in the corner, your back against the wall.

It was a silent wait, aside from the occasional curse words under your breath.

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren and others

oscarpiastri Met some fans, took some pictures, qualified P2… Got stuck in an elevator with a stranger for an hour. First week back and things are already interesting 😂

tagged dancarter_

—

quadlock - Our home hero 🫡 💙

♥︎ by author

username1 - Oscar army!!

username2 - Oh the oscarlings 🥹

username3 - Bro casually got stuck in an elevator 😭

username4 - Our nonchalant king.

username5 - GO OSC! Australia needs you! 🧡🧡

mclaren - Papaya domination 💪 Try not to get stuck tomorrow, though. Big day

♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri - I’ll do my best 😂

your.username

liked by lilyzneimer and others

your.username Australia has been wonderful.

tagged bhamroyalballet

—

bhamroyalballet - Happy to see our star happy ⭐️🩰

♥︎ by author

your.username - ❤️

username6 - “Happy” when she’s never smiled before in her life 😭

username7 - Always so polite and pretty 🥹🫶

username8 - Can’t believe I get to see Swan Lake tomorrow!!

username9 - Break a leg!

your.username - Break a leg is for actors. Merde is for dancers.

> username9 - Oh. Merde!

♥︎ by author

username10 - F1 season start… Swan Lake season end… My two worlds colliding

username11 - Y/N and Oscar, Melbourne’s two icons atm

username12 - It would be crazy if they met

> username13 - Lily’s a big fan apparently! Maybe they will

MONDAY - MARCH 17TH, 2025

9:00 P.M.

It was closing night, and it had been one of your best performances yet. Everything went smoothly without any major mess ups or problems on stage. Melbourne was always a fun place to perform, especially to end the tour as a whole.

Everyone congregated together backstage to discuss the show, but you weren’t one for conversing after such a long night, even if you were the lead. You were ready to return home and take part in your nightly routine, and then finally get some well deserved rest. You had a few more days to spend in Australia, and then you’d have to return home to London to get started on the next performance immediately.

Still in your leotard with your hair still slicked back, you began to leave the performing house with your bag slung over your shoulder. You composed yourself, hoping to escape without running into any crazed fans— Unfortunately, that proved to be futile.

“Y/N!” You heard a soft voice call out. You turned around quickly, your jaw clenched in silent rage. You were so close— So very close. It was a young woman, about your age, dressed so refined. Trailing behind her…

Your brows furrowed in a quick flash of rage. Oscar Piastri.

“I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you,” Her accent was thick. British, if you weren’t mistaken. Something you were familiar with given that your studio was based in London. What was she doing here? “My name is Lily. I’ve been a fan of your work for ages. You’re a beautiful dancer,” You tried to soften up at the compliment, but it was hard. You had heard these words again and again— Nothing special. “Could I get a picture with you?” She grinned, and you felt obligated to say yes.

“Of course.” You forced a smile, and she took her stance beside you. You wrapped your arm around her in a friendly manner, and she did the same, the pair of you smiling and posing for the picture, which was taken by Oscar himself, who had appeared as rather quiet during the whole ordeal. Once the photo was taken, you were ready to bolt, but again… Futile.

“I’m sorry if this is overstepping, but could I maybe get your phone number? I’d love to talk about dance sometime. It’s a passion of mine.” She seemed like a sweet girl. Maybe a bit shy, rather mysterious. You could understand why a guy like Piastri would be friends with this girl.

Unfortunately, you didn’t like overly sweet people.

“Sure,” You spoke between gritted teeth, a forced smile on your face. You dug around in your bag for a business card, taking her hands firmly and encapsulating her fingers around the piece of laminated paper. “Our little secret, okay? I rarely give my information out to fans.”

She seemed awed, and nodded with acceptance. Lily retreated back to her friend, who showed her the picture with a smile, before planting a kiss to her forehead. You turned around and made a beeline for the exit, letting disdain paint your face once more. So they were together? Not that you cared.

Everybody was simply an obstacle to keep you from achieving your dream.

[princessbrunette]

walking in on gooner step bro rage jerking himself off with your panties

˖⁺‧₊🍥𝜗𝜚

you weren’t aware that rafe was even home, which is why you shocked to walk into your bedroom to find the back of your step brother, stood with his feet apart at your dresser.

you freeze, eyes wide and doe like as your lips part, coming to grips with what you were actually seeing. small groans and huffs of exertion leave him, as his arm flexes with each quick pump of his fist around his cock. he was jerking off, it was clear as day — but the next question that lingered your mind was why in your bedroom? it was only then you notice the fabric laid open on top of the dresser at his crotch-height — a pair of used panties that had been snatched from the basin.

you suddenly stumble forward like you can’t control yourself, marching over to his side in humiliation at the fact he was even seeing your lightly used underwear, splayed open in daylight. there’s a moment where he simply turns his head, lips still parted in concentration and continues to pump.

“rafe… wh — what are you doing?” you stress, and he only licks his lips. you go to snatch the panties away from him, but as you lean forward to do so he grabs you — overpowering you easily to slam you down onto the dresser in a bent over position. “rafe!” you squeal, your breath hitching in your throat as you fight him for a moment.

with his free hand, he yanks your arm behind your lower back, keeping you still. briefly, he unhands his cock to yank up your skirt. “you’re right, what am i doing huh? using these panties when i got a live subject right infront’a me. spread ‘em baby i gotta big fuckin’ load comin’.” he drawls, nasally and perverted as he kicks your legs open — aiming his tip at the growing wet patch of your panties, occasionally brushing his tip against where your hole would be.

you whine, knees buckling — barely even caring that the bedroom door was still wide open, a straight shot into the room from the hallway to any on lookers. as he groans, coming up on his orgasm — you ooze into your panties, soon feeling him bust hot ropes onto the fabric, seeping through to caress your puffy, sticky folds as he holds you down. “fuckfuckfuck—fucking shit—” he grunts, the tight grip around your comparably frail wrist burning your skin making you wince tearfully — letting your step-brother empty himself on your covered pussy and bare ass cheeks.

he eventually stills, catching his breath. “god damn.” he pants before admiring his work, loosening his grip on your wrist to slap the side of your ass that he left unpainted before pulling your skirt back down, sure to stain the inside material. he lets you go, and you stand up shakily to watch him stuff himself back into his pants, eyeing you over. “good shit baby. gonna keep our little secret right?” he licks his lips, zipping up his zipper with a little shuffle of his feet. you’re without words, so you simply nod.

at your compliance, he drops you a kiss on the forehead before swaggering off to the door. “s’what i like to hear.”

˖⁺‧₊🍥𝜗𝜚

[lyn31]

Your Touch

Summary

A lighthearted yet intimate experiment in withholding touch backfires when Zayne proves just how much he’s come to crave your affection—leading to a playful battle neither of you really mind losing.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader College AU, fluff, kiss, I got distracted again (suppose to go up the same time as on ao3) but hey here it is!

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You and Zayne are not the type of couple that does PDA. Maybe some light touches here and there, sharing food—things you'd do with a friend. But in private? Neither of you hold back.

You’re always the one reaching for him first. Whether it’s poking his cheek to get his attention, linking your pinky with his when you’re sitting close, or running your fingers through his hair when he’s studying—it’s just natural. And even if Zayne doesn’t initiate as often, he never pulls away. If anything, he leans into it.

You’ve noticed the way his shoulders drop when you absently run your fingers down his back, how he subtly tilts his head into your hand when you play with his hair. The rare times you pull away too soon, he gives you that barely-there frown, the one only you would recognize as sulking.

Which is why, when you come across a trend online—

Stop touching them for a day and see how your partner reacts!

—you just have to try it.

You expect Zayne to notice quickly. Maybe even call you out immediately. But what you don’t expect is how quiet he gets.

You’re in his dorm, sprawled on his bed while he sits at his desk, flipping through his notes. It’s the usual scene—you talking, he half-listening, occasionally humming in response or throwing in a deadpan remark when you get too ridiculous.

“—and I’m just saying, if I were a medieval queen, I’d absolutely have a secret escape tunnel. None of that ‘trapped in a tower’ nonsense.”

Zayne barely glances up. “You’d get lost in the tunnels within five minutes.”

You gasp, placing a dramatic hand on your chest. “Excuse me?”

“Excused.”

Normally, this would be the part where you reach over and flick his forehead. Or poke his cheek. Or, if you’re feeling particularly clingy, lean onto his shoulder despite his halfhearted protests. But today, you simply huff and fold your arms, keeping your hands firmly to yourself.

Zayne’s pen stills on the page.

It’s subtle at first. His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to his notes. A few minutes later, he shifts in his chair, glancing at your hand when you gesture—but you don’t reach for him. He rolls his pen between his fingers.

Another few moments pass. You keep talking, but you catch the way his shoulders rise, then drop, like he’s suppressing the urge to fidget. His fingers tap against the desk. Then stop. Tap again. Stop.

Then comes the first glance.

Then another.

By the fifth one, it’s not subtle anymore.

You bite your lip, fighting back a smile. Oh, this is getting good.

Feigning innocence, you turn to him. He’s still sitting at his desk, but at this point, he’s fully facing you, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers tapping idly against his knee.

“What?” You keep your tone neutral.

Zayne studies you for a moment, his usual unreadable expression giving way to something more thoughtful. Then, with a quiet sigh, he pushes himself up from his chair and moves to the bed beside you. He doesn’t touch you—not yet—but there’s a crease between his brows, his lips pressed together like he’s working through a puzzle.

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re mad at me or not,” he says. “But I can’t remember anything I did that might’ve upset you.”

Oh. Oh no. He looks genuinely concerned. For a second, guilt flickers in your chest.

You blink, forcing your expression to stay smooth. “Of course I’m not mad. Why would you think that?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers to your hands—resting neatly at your sides instead of reaching for him like they normally would.

And then, wordlessly, he shifts.

The mattress dips as he leans in, his head lowering until it rests against your lap. The movement is so natural, so easy, like it’s something he doesn’t even think twice about.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets. Stay strong.

“Oh? What’s this?” you tease, biting back a grin. “Does my boyfriend need attention?”

He frowns at you. Then, as if deciding he’s not getting enough from just lying there, his arm loops around your waist, and he buries his face against your stomach instead. His hold on you is loose, but there’s something unmistakably stubborn about the way he presses closer.

You hear a muffled murmur against your sweater.

“Hm? What was that?”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, brows drawing together slightly. His grip around your waist doesn’t loosen. “If you’re not mad… then what is it?”

Oh no. He’s pouting. Well, technically, no—but for Zayne, this is as close to pouting as it gets.

You inhale sharply. Don’t laugh. Don’t break.

This would be a great time to come clean. You should just tell him. But he’s still clinging to you, half-curled into your lap, waiting for an answer with a look that’s entirely too cute for his own good.

So instead, you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

His gaze sharpens, suspicion flickering across his face. His grip around you tightens slightly before, without hesitation, he reaches for your hand, takes it, and places it firmly on his head.

You gape at him. Excuse me?

His fingers linger against yours, his touch slow, deliberate. He even strokes your palm once—almost absentmindedly, almost like a silent plea—before murmuring, “You’ve been avoiding touching me.”

Okay. Definitely time to tell him now.

…But.

Wouldn’t it be a waste not to enjoy this just a little longer?

So instead of confessing, you slowly run your fingers through his hair, reveling in the way he immediately leans into your touch.

“Did I?”

His eyes snap open. His body tenses for a second before he abruptly pushes himself up, face now inches from yours. His cool breath fans against your skin, his nose brushing yours.

His gaze drops to your lips for just a second before flicking back up. His fingers flex slightly where they rest on your waist, like he’s suppressing the urge to just pull you right away.

“You’re playing a game,” he says flatly.

Your grin slips out before you can stop it. Your hands find his shoulders, playing with the fabric of his shirt.

“If I say I did,” you hum, “what are you gonna do about it?”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. “Then I suppose it’s game over.”

“What—” You notice the way his fingers flex against your waist, his eyes dip to your lips, lingering there just a heartbeat longer than before. Your breath catches. “Wait—are you—”

He moves before you can finish. His lips crash against yours, stealing the rest of your sentence, the air between you evaporating in an instant. His hand on your waist tightens, pulling you flush against him, while the other cups your cheek, tilting your head just right. The kiss is firm at first—decisive, like he’s making a point—but it softens as he deepens it, his lips moving against yours in a slow, measured rhythm that makes your breath hitch.

You don’t even realize you’re sinking back until your shoulders meet the mattress. He follows without hesitation, pressing into you, his weight grounding, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you deeper. The heat of it curls low in your stomach, leaving you dizzy, breathless—your hands gripping his arms, unsure if you’re holding on or pulling him closer.

By the time he pulls away, you’re both panting, your chest rising and falling in sync with his. His forehead rests against yours, his thumb grazing your jaw in slow, absentminded strokes.

“I thought you hated losing,” you manage, your voice slightly hoarse.

Zayne exhales. “It’s your game over, not mine,” his thumb tracing slow circles on your hip. His voice is even, but there’s something undeniably satisfied in the way he says it.

You frown. “That doesn’t make sense—”

He cuts you off with another kiss. It’s brief this time, but no less deliberate.

You try again. "But that’s not even how—"

Only to get cut off with another kiss. “Mm, your loss,” he murmurs against your lips, punctuating each word with another quick kiss.

You blink, still a little dazed. Okay, well. This is very cute.

You suppose one loss is fine.

Grinning, you loop your arms around his neck, giggling between his kisses. He hums in response, the sound vibrating against your lips as he presses a few more slow, deliberate pecks to your mouth, like he’s savoring his victory. You didn’t expect this reaction, but honestly? It was absolutely worth it.

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Notes

Fluff fest. this week so far ahahahaha but I mean how can I not?

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: College AU list ✨

[elikajinnie]

P: Obsessed Bff!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Obsession, Implied Stalking, Mentioned Murder, Dark Themes, Blood/Injury, Manipulation, Jealousy, Ambigious Ending.

Synopsis: School was exhausting—early mornings, endless classes, and a future resting on grades you couldn’t bring yourself to care about. The only thing that made it bearable was Ni-ki, your childhood friend who had been by your side for as long as you could remember. But that was the problem. He was always there. You only had him, and now you wanted some space away from him. But Ni-ki had other plans... After all, he wasn’t about to let you go.

a/n: i had jason dean from the heathers in my mind during this :3 now fun fact! i was spacing out during work and the plot just came to me :3

now playing: nowhere to go by bad omens | stalker by badflower | lil demon by future

Watching the clock on the wall tick away the seconds had been your only source of entertainment for the past few minutes. Your eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion, as your arm singlehandedly kept your head from fully surrendering to sleep. The droning voice of your teacher faded into the background, blending with the faint scribbling of pens and the occasional cough from a classmate.

Your only solace was the fact that class was almost over. Your second was that Ni-ki sat beside you, taking notes that you’d probably copy after school. Your third—perhaps the most important—was that if you did end up dozing off, he’d cover for you without hesitation.

That’s what you liked about Ni-ki—he could read you like an open book. After years of friendship, he knew exactly what you needed, when you needed it, and what you liked without you ever having to say a word. He was the one person in the whole world you trusted without hesitation.

So, when he subtly nudged your arm with his elbow, not even glancing your way, you knew it was his way of saying, Stay with me, class is almost over. His notes continued to fill the page in his handwriting, and you briefly wondered if he was even paying attention or just writing for the sake of keeping busy.

You let out a quiet sigh, blinking away the exhaustion, but the weight of the day clung to you stubbornly. Your head tilted slightly toward him, and without a word, he shifted his notebook a little closer to your side of the desk, making it easier for you to read.

A silent agreement. If you weren’t going to stay awake, at least you wouldn’t fall behind.

After all, it was you and Ni-ki against everything. You had him, and he had you. No matter what happened, no matter how hard things got, you both knew that there was no one else who would stick by your side the way he did.

When the clock finally ticked down to the last few seconds, and you both gathered your things. Ni-ki glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"Copy my notes later, yeah?" he said, his tone teasing but warm.

You nodded, a small smile forming despite yourself. “You always know what I need, don’t you?”

Ni-ki’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark. “I’m practically psychic.” His voice was light, but you could hear the affection hidden beneath.

“You should charge for your services,” you teased back, gathering your books as you stood.

“Yeah, I’d make a fortune,” he said, his voice laced with humor. “But then I’d miss out on all the fun moments, like this one.” He nudged you lightly with his elbow, with a soft smile.

As you both left the classroom, the usual chatter and laughter of your classmates filled the air. You stopped by your locker, pulling out the books you needed for the next class while Ni-ki leaned against the locker beside you, his arms crossed, casually watching the hustle of the hallway.

It was then that Hyunwoo approached, his presence slightly more formal than the usual, his expression serious but friendly. “Hey,” he greeted, nodding towards you. “Got a minute?”

You turned to face him, giving a small nod. "Sure, what's up?"

“I wanted to see if you could meet me at the campus café after classes today,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We need to go over the presentation for the class project we’re working on together.”

You thought for a moment, then agreed, “Yeah, that works for me.” Hyunwoo smiled, offering a small wave and as he turned to leave, you watched him walk off.

But you weren’t the only one watching him.

Ni-ki had gone still, his attention fully on Hyunwoo’s retreating back. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the usual ease in his posture seemed to shift into something more guarded. You could feel the subtle tension in the air, the way his focus remained locked on Hyunwoo as if he were analyzing every move.

“Is something up?” you asked casually, trying to sound nonchalant, but noticing the way Ni-ki’s gaze lingered, his jaw tightening just a little before he finally looked back at you.

“Nah,” he said after a beat, shrugging like it was nothing. “Just didn’t know you and Hyunwoo were getting all buddy-buddy now.”

You rolled your eyes, shutting your locker with a soft click. “We’re partners for an assignment, Ni-ki. It’s not that deep.”

He hummed, unconvinced, shoving his hands into his pockets as the two of you started walking. “Still. You sure he’s just interested in the assignment?”

You shot him a look. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ni-ki glanced at you from the side, his expression unreadable for a second before he smirked, his usual teasing demeanor slipping back in. “Nothing. Just saying, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hyunwoo suddenly starts asking you to ‘study’ more often.”

You scoffed, nudging his arm. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m not! I’m just looking out for you,” he said, raising his hands in mock innocence. “If he tries anything weird, let me know. I’ll handle it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re being dramatic.”

Ni-ki let out a small huff, but there was something serious in his expression as he looked at you. “I just want the best for you,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “I know how people are. They act nice, like they care, but most of the time, they just want something from you.” His hands were still stuffed in his pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You sighed, already used to him being like this. Protective. A little overbearing sometimes. But it was just Ni-ki—it was how he was. So instead of arguing, you simply stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

His body tensed for half a second before he melted into your embrace, his arms circling around you tightly, almost as if he was afraid to let go. His chin rested lightly on your head, and he closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of your perfume. His fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your shirt, holding you close.

He knew you didn’t see it—didn’t see him for what he really was.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t just protective.

He was possessive.

And he knew exactly what he was doing.

You trusted him. Relied on him. And that was exactly how he wanted it to stay.

So as he held you in his arms, his grip tightening just slightly, his thoughts weren’t on Hyunwoo anymore.

They were only on you.

Ni-ki didn’t let go. He held you just a little longer than necessary, his fingers subtly gripping the back of your shirt like he was grounding himself in the moment. You, oblivious as ever, simply leaned into him, used to his warmth, his presence—used to him.

If only you knew.

If only you saw the way his eyes darkened whenever someone else got too close to you. The way he kept track of the people you talked to, the ones who lingered too long in conversations, the ones who looked at you like they thought they had a chance.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the scent of your perfume, the steady beat of your heart against his chest. It was moments like this that reminded him why he did what he did. Why he always kept an eye on you, why he made sure no one got too close—no one but him.

Because no one else could protect you the way he could. No one else knew you the way he did.

You pulled away first, giving him a small smile, completely unaware of the storm in his mind. “Thanks, Ni-ki,” you said, as if his words had been nothing more than friendly concern.

He forced a smile back, shoving his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, feigning nonchalance. “Just don’t forget it, okay?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I won’t.”

But he knew you didn’t understand.

Not yet.

Ni-ki watched you walk ahead, his jaw tightening slightly as his eyes followed your every step. You were so carefree, so unaware of the way the world worked—of the way people worked. It wasn’t your fault, of course. You were just trusting like that. You always believed the best in others.

And that’s why you needed him.

As he fell into step beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mind was already working through the situation. Hyunwoo was a problem—one that needed to be dealt with. Nothing drastic, of course. Not yet. But he would start small. He knew how to turn people against each other, how to make sure someone like Hyunwoo quietly backed off without you ever realizing why.

You glanced at him as you reached the staircase, your expression curious. “You’re quiet all of a sudden,” you noted.

He snapped out of his thoughts, forcing an easy smirk onto his lips. “Just thinking,” he replied.

“Thinking about what?”

Ni-ki tilted his head, as if considering his answer. “You,” he said simply, watching as your face scrunched up in mild suspicion.

You nudged his arm playfully. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You still keep me around though.”

“Of course,” you said without hesitation. “You’re my best friend.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, but it was gone before you could catch it. Best friend. That’s what you always called him. That’s what you believed he was.

And for now, he would let you believe it.

Because as long as you thought of him that way, you would always need him. And as long as you needed him, he could keep you safe.

Hyunwoo wouldn’t be a problem for long.

Ni-ki would make sure of it.

After classes ended, you made your way to the campus café, weaving through the late afternoon crowd of students chatting and studying. The scent of coffee and pastries lingered in the air, and the sounds of conversations filled the space as you searched for Hyunwoo.

It didn’t take long to spot him—sitting at a small table near the window, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. He looked up the moment you walked in, his eyes lighting up as he quickly straightened in his seat, offering you a small, somewhat shy smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm.

You slid into the seat across from him, setting your bag down beside you. “Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“No, not at all!” He shook his head quickly, almost a little too eager. “I—I just got here, actually.”

You smiled, amused by his nervous energy. You had always known Hyunwoo to be the quiet, thoughtful type, but seeing him like this—fumbling slightly, his fingers tapping against the table—was kind of endearing.

“So,” you said, pulling out your notebook. “The presentation. Did you have any ideas on how we should split the work?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, his gaze flickering down to his own notes. “I, um, wrote down a few ideas, but I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I thought maybe we could decide together?” His voice was gentle, uncertain, as if he didn’t want to overstep.

You nodded. “That sounds good. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As he hesitantly pushed his notebook toward you, his fingers brushed against yours slightly. It was barely even a touch, but you felt him freeze for half a second before quickly retracting his hand, his ears tinged red.

You pretended not to notice, not wanting to fluster him even more. Instead, you focused on the notes, nodding as you skimmed through them. “These are really good,” you complimented, looking back up at him.

His lips parted slightly, as if surprised by the praise, before a small, bashful smile formed. “You think so?”

“Yeah, you’re really thorough. This is gonna make our work a lot easier.”

He ducked his head a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I didn’t want to mess anything up. I know you’re really good at this kind of thing, so I wanted to keep up.”

Something about the way he said it—so earnest, so quietly admiring—made warmth bloom in your chest.

“You don’t have to try to ‘keep up’ with me, Hyunwoo,” you reassured him. “We��re partners, we’re in this together.”

He glanced up at you then, eyes soft, for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he simply nodded, that small, shy smile still lingering.

As the minutes passed, you and Hyunwoo fell into an easy rhythm, bouncing ideas off each other as you worked through the presentation. The initial nervousness he had at the start slowly melted away, replaced by a quiet excitement.

“I didn’t know you were so into this topic,” you said, watching as he animatedly explained one of his points, his hands gesturing as he spoke.

Hyunwoo laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I just really like researching stuff. It’s kind of fun when you get into it, you know?”

You nodded, resting your chin on your hand. “It’s cute.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized what you had just said, and Hyunwoo practically short-circuited in front of you. His face turned bright red, and he immediately dropped his gaze to the table, suddenly very interested in the corner of his notebook.

“Cute?” he echoed, voice a little higher than usual.

You chuckled, amused at his reaction. “I meant the way you get excited over things. It’s nice.”

He swallowed hard, nodding quickly as if trying to process your words. “Oh. Um. Thanks.”

Neither of you noticed the tall figure standing outside the window, watching. Cause Ni-ki had followed you. Of course, he had. He wasn’t going to let you wander off to meet Hyunwoo alone—someone had to supervise. And that was all it was supposed to be. Just making sure nothing happened.

But now, standing outside the café, watching through the glass as Hyunwoo looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, Ni-ki felt something snap.

He had seen that look before.

Had seen the way people got too comfortable, thought they had the right to be close to you—to be near you the way he was.

And he had dealt with it before.

His fingers curled into fists, his jaw clenching as he watched you laugh, completely unaware of the way Hyunwoo practically worshipped you with his eyes. It made his stomach churn, his mind race. That was supposed to be his job.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Ni-ki was pushing open the café door.

The bell above the entrance chimed, but you were too caught up in the conversation to notice—at least, until a shadow loomed over your table.

You looked up, surprised to see Ni-ki standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets, an easy smirk on his lips. “Hey!” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

Ni-ki shrugged, his gaze briefly flickering to Hyunwoo, who had gone stiff in his seat. “Just thought I’d grab a drink,” he said casually before pulling out a chair and sitting down beside you without asking.

Hyunwoo glanced between you and Ni-ki, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, do you guys—do you want me to go?”

Ni-ki’s smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. “Nah, don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here. Keep an eye on things.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Ni-ki…”

He leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the back of yours, completely relaxed despite the storm brewing in his mind.

“Go on,” he said, nodding at Hyunwoo. “Don’t stop because of me.”

And as much as he kept his tone light, there was something off in his presence—something that made Hyunwoo hesitate before continuing.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t here to supervise anymore.

He was here to claim his place.

You barely noticed the way the atmosphere shifted as Ni-ki made himself comfortable beside you, his presence taking up more space than it should. His arm was still draped over the back of your chair, his body angled toward you in a way that felt too close, but you didn’t think much of it.

He was always like this.

Hyunwoo, on the other hand, looked unsure, his eyes flickering between the two of you. He hesitated before continuing to talk about the presentation, his voice quieter now.

But Ni-ki wasn’t interested in the presentation.

“Wow, Hyunwoo,” Ni-ki suddenly spoke up, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You’re, like, really into this, huh?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was something sharp hidden beneath it.

Hyunwoo blinked, confused. “Uh, yeah? I mean, it’s for class—”

“Right, right,” Ni-ki hummed, nodding. “Just seems like you’re trying really hard. Almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Who could that be?”

You laughed, nudging Ni-ki’s arm. “Stop teasing him,” you chided playfully, completely oblivious to the way Hyunwoo had tensed.

“What?” Ni-ki blinked at you innocently. “I’m just saying. It’s kinda cute, don’t you think?”

Hyunwoo cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “I just want to do well on the assignment,” he muttered.

Ni-ki chuckled, leaning in a little closer to you. “Sure you do, Hyunwoo.”

You giggled, shaking your head, still not catching onto the underlying tension. To you, this was just Ni-ki being his usual self—teasing, playful, maybe a little mean, but never serious.

Hyunwoo, however, wasn’t laughing.

After a moment, he hesitated before asking, “Are you two… dating?”

The question caught you off guard.

Your eyes widened slightly, and you immediately waved your hands. “What? No! We’re not—we’re just—Ni-ki and I—” You stumbled over your words, feeling the heat rise to your face.

Ni-ki, however, said nothing.

Instead, he simply leaned in closer to you, his body pressing slightly against yours as he rested his elbow on the table. His fingers casually brushed your arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when Hyunwoo glanced at him, Ni-ki’s smirk remained, but his gaze was steady—watching, calculating, almost daring him to say something else.

Hyunwoo swallowed, glancing down at his notebook, suddenly finding it much harder to focus.

Meanwhile, you were still trying to compose yourself, completely missing the way Ni-ki’s fingers ghosted over your wrist, as if subtly reminding you that he was still there.

“W-We’re just friends,” you finally managed to say, forcing a laugh.

Ni-ki exhaled a soft chuckle, but still, he didn’t correct you.

Didn’t agree.

Didn’t deny it, either.

And as Hyunwoo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Ni-ki only leaned in closer, tilting his head slightly, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Because it didn’t matter what you said.

Ni-ki knew the truth.

Hyunwoo tried to shake off the unease settling in his chest, but it was hard when Ni-ki wouldn’t stop looking at him like that—like he knew something Hyunwoo didn’t. Like he was silently laughing at him.

And maybe he was.

“Well,” Hyunwoo said, clearing his throat, “that’s good to know.”

You, still flustered, nodded quickly. “Yeah! I mean—Ni-ki’s my best friend. That’d be… weird, right?”

At that, Ni-ki finally let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, weird,” he echoed, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You didn’t notice how his fingers subtly tightened around the back of your chair. Didn’t notice the way he side-eyed Hyunwoo like he was sizing him up.

You were too busy trying to compose yourself, too busy scribbling something in your notebook to distract from the heat still lingering on your face.

Hyunwoo, however, noticed.

And he had to wonder if maybe Ni-ki wasn’t as harmless as anyone would think.

“So,” you said, finally regaining your composure, “should we wrap this up? I think we covered most of the important stuff.”

Hyunwoo hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, sounds good.” He cast a glance at Ni-ki, who still hadn’t moved from his spot practically pressed against you. “Uh… thanks for letting me work with you.”

“Of course!” You smiled, completely oblivious to the way Hyunwoo’s fingers twitched slightly against his notebook.

Ni-ki only hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “Yeah, this was fun,” he said, though his tone made it unclear whether he actually meant it or not.

As Hyunwoo gathered his things, he hesitated once more before looking at you. “Maybe we can meet up again? Just to go over everything one more time.”

Ni-ki’s fingers stopped tapping.

You, completely missing the way his expression darkened for just a second, nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great! Just let me know when.”

As soon as Hyunwoo stepped out of the café, Ni-ki’s entire demeanor shifted. The moment the door swung shut behind him, Ni-ki turned his full attention back to you, his smirk returning, but softer this time—more familiar to you.

“Finally,” he sighed dramatically, stretching his arms before draping one across your shoulders with an easy familiarity. “Thought he’d never leave.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so impatient.”

“I hate group projects,” Ni-ki complained, pulling you in just a little closer as if it was second nature. “Especially when I’m not in them.”

“You wouldn’t have helped even if you were in this one,” you pointed out.

He gasped, placing a hand over his heart like you had wounded him. “Wow. You wound me.”

You rolled your eyes, but let him stay close, not thinking much of it. After all, this was Ni-ki. He’d always been touchy, always draping himself over you like it was his right. It wasn’t weird.

Not to you, at least.

But to anyone else walking by?

It was a completely different story.

The way Ni-ki leaned into you, his arm resting so casually over your shoulders. The way his head dipped closer every time he spoke, his voice just low enough that it felt intimate. The way his fingers occasionally brushed against your arm, light, fleeting touches that felt possessive in a way that wasn’t quite noticeable unless you were looking for it.

To anyone watching, there was no doubt about it—

You and Ni-ki looked like a couple.

And maybe that was the point.

Because as Ni-ki sat there, acting like he belonged at your side, his lips curled slightly in amusement.

Hyunwoo would never come in between you and him.

Ni-ki leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as his mind raced through the plan he had meticulously crafted. A plan that had been years in the making.

For years, he had quietly worked to ensure that your world revolved solely around him. Slowly, subtly, he'd taken out the people who dared to get too close to you. Each one, a stepping stone to where he was now. They were all nothing more than obstacles to be removed. And every single time, he had been successful. Always.

Now, Hyunwoo had stepped into the picture.

And Hyunwoo, as far as Ni-ki was concerned, was just another pathetic nobody who was standing in his way.

The thought of you smiling at Hyunwoo, laughing with him, looking at him with those bright eyes that only Ni-ki was used to seeing, made something cold coil in his chest. He couldn’t let this go on. He wouldn’t let it.

Hyunwoo wasn’t going to take you from him.

Ni-ki had it all planned out.

Step one was simple, almost too easy. A rumor.

A rotten, venomous rumor that would spread through the school like wildfire. It didn’t matter how small or insignificant it started, because he knew it would reach your ears.

And when it did, when you heard the whispers of Hyunwoo’s so-called true character, you would start to doubt him. You would start to question everything you thought you knew about him.

Ni-ki would ruin him, piece by piece.

The rumor would be about something harmless at first—something enough to be believable, yet still enough to make people look at Hyunwoo sideways. Maybe he had been a felon and just got out of juvie, or maybe he was hiding something from everyone. Something he didn’t want people to know.

It didn’t matter what it was, because the moment it hit the ears of the wrong people, the damage would be done.

Ni-ki’s eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. He could already see it playing out in his head—the small whispers, the sideways glances, the doubt seeping into your mind. He could already picture you questioning Hyunwoo, wondering if you had been wrong about him all along.

And the best part?

You would never suspect it was him.

No one ever did.

Ni-ki had always been the master of subtlety. The master of making things look like accidents. And he knew exactly how to get what he wanted without ever having to dirty his hands.

And Hyunwoo?

Well, Hyunwoo would be nothing more than a casualty of Ni-ki’s game.

His first move was already in motion. He had already planted the seed, and now it was only a matter of time before it took root and began to grow.

Once the rumor spread, Hyunwoo would crumble.

And when he did, you’d come running back to him. You’d see how right Ni-ki had been all along, how much he cared for you, how much he understood you.

You would remember who had always been there for you.

Ni-ki would make sure of it.

Because at the end of the day, it was always going to be him and you against the world.

And no one could change that.

The next day at school, Ni-ki wasted no time. He was a master of timing—he knew how to slip into people’s conversations, how to make himself just noticeable enough for the rumor to take root, and how to stay under the radar. It was all part of the plan.

He stuck close to you, his usual charm and ease masking the fact that he was meticulously watching every detail, every shift in the atmosphere around you. He was perfectly casual, acting as though everything was normal. He laughed at your jokes, teased you the same way he always did, never letting on that his mind was focused on the bigger picture.

The whispers started slow, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. Little things—insignificant things that didn’t seem to carry much weight at first. But with every passing hour, they grew louder.

Ni-ki heard them all.

It was always the same story, twisted more and more as it passed from person to person. At first, it was just idle gossip. “Did you hear about Hyunwoo? Apparently, he’s been… kind of a player.” Someone would murmur it to another, who would then say it to someone else, until it became something else entirely.

By the time the rumor had made its rounds, Hyunwoo was no longer just a “player” or someone with a bad reputation.

No, now he was something far worse.

“Did you hear? Hyunwoo’s a stalker.”

The words stuck out to Ni-ki like a jagged piece of glass, cutting into his amusement. The rumor had shifted, darkened, morphed into something sinister.

“Apparently, he’s been following women around, sending them creepy messages, even showing up to their home.”

Ni-ki’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he overheard a group of students gossiping about it. He could practically taste the chaos in the air, feel the weight of the lie settle over Hyunwoo’s reputation like a suffocating blanket.

He couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction. The rumor was working. It was twisting its way into people’s minds, painting Hyunwoo as something dangerous.

And the best part?

You hadn’t heard yet.

Not directly.

But it was only a matter of time.

Ni-ki kept his position at your side, subtly steering conversations so you wouldn’t be the first to hear the more shocking parts of the story. He knew you well enough to know how to shield you from it—at least for now.

As the day wore on, the whispers continued, but the one that made Ni-ki’s smirk widen even further was the one that he had planted into the wind himself:

"Did you hear? Hyunwoo's obsessed with a girl he can't have. He stalks her. Followed her home the other day. People say he’s been showing up at her favorite spots, too. Who knows what else he’s done."

Ni-ki chuckled quietly to himself. He knew that version would stick.

Hyunwoo had become the perfect villain in this story, and the seeds of doubt had already begun to sprout in your mind.

He didn’t need to do anything else for now. He just had to sit back and watch it unfold.

And as he saw you later in the day, eyes still unaware of the storm brewing, Ni-ki put his plan into motion again, leaning closer to you as if everything was fine.

“Hey,” he said softly, acting like the best friend he always had been. “You okay? You look a little… distracted.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a weird day.”

Ni-ki tilted his head, feigning concern. “A lot of rumors going around today. You heard the one about Hyunwoo?”

You blinked, shaking your head. “What about him?”

“Well…” Ni-ki leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but people are saying… well, stuff. About him following girls around. And it’s starting to get out of hand, you know?”

You stared at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, really? That doesn’t sound like him…”

Ni-ki shrugged, his eyes flickering briefly over to Hyunwoo’s direction before focusing back on you. “I mean, I don’t know. I just heard it from a few people. But it’s getting weird. People are talking, and the more they talk, the worse it sounds.”

You seemed troubled, biting your lip. “I’m a bit doubtful.”

Ni-ki just gave you a soft, reassuring smile. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt by someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

You gave him a grateful smile, completely unaware of the dark satisfaction that lurked behind his eyes.

Ni-ki didn’t need to say anything else.

It was only a matter of time before it bloomed into the full-blown truth everyone would believe.

And as the days passed, the rumor continued to spread, slowly poisoning every conversation that Hyunwoo was a stalker. The whispers followed him wherever he went, and soon enough, students began to glance at him sideways, avoiding eye contact or even crossing the street when they saw him coming. It wasn’t long before the gossip turned into outright hostility—people gave him cold stares, making snide remarks behind his back.

Ni-ki watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction, each twisted word building the barrier between you and Hyunwoo. He saw the small, hesitant glances you shot in Hyunwoo’s direction, the doubt that began to creep into your eyes. Every time you talked to him, it was more stiff, more uncertain.

Ni-ki, of course, stayed right by your side, always the supportive friend. He was always there to offer a comforting word, a soft touch when you seemed troubled.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked one afternoon as you stared off into space, looking like you were lost in thought.

You sighed, glancing at him with a faint frown. “I don’t know… it’s just… I’ve been hearing so much stuff about Hyunwoo lately. People are saying things, and I don’t know if I should believe them or not.”

Ni-ki’s lips quirked up in the slightest, though his eyes were filled with concern, like he genuinely cared. He moved closer to you, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “It’s tough, right? I get it. But, honestly, maybe it’s better to just listen to what people are saying. Sometimes the truth comes out in ways you wouldn’t expect.” He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting toward Hyunwoo, who was talking with a few people across the hallway. “I’ve been hearing some pretty... unsettling things, too. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

You stared at him, your expression caught between confusion and doubt. “But... He don’t seem like that type of person. I don’t want to just believe everything I hear.”

Ni-ki nodded slowly, his hand gently resting on your shoulder in an almost possessive way. “I understand, really. But just... think about it, okay? Trust your instincts, and take care of yourself. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens.”

His words seeped into you, and you felt comforted. Still, a part of you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your gut. Something didn’t sit right, but you didn’t know what to make of it yet.

Over the next few days, Hyunwoo became more isolated. He didn’t fight back against the rumors—he didn’t have the energy to. He was becoming a shell of the person you had known, retreating into himself, avoiding eye contact, and withdrawing from everyone. It was as if the weight of the rumors was suffocating him.

Ni-ki, though, was always there, watching over you. He continued to play the perfect role, offering you endless support, making sure you never felt alone.

But he was also keeping a close eye on Hyunwoo, watching him from the shadows, making sure the damage he had caused wasn’t coming undone.

And as you noticed the change in Hyunwoo—his slumped shoulders, the way he barely spoke to anyone anymore—something in your heart twisted with guilt. You weren’t sure what was real and what wasn’t anymore. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

Ni-ki smiled to himself as you turned away from the window, your eyes still clouded with uncertainty.

Everything was going according to plan.

Yeah no.

Ni-ki’s previously carefully constructed world seemed to shatter in an instant. The next day, he walked into school, expecting to see the usual whispers, the usual isolation surrounding Hyunwoo. He’d kept his distance, knowing that the rumors were doing their job, eroding the trust between you and him bit by bit. He was just waiting for the final nail in the coffin—the moment when you'd pull away from Hyunwoo for good.

But then he saw you.

Talking to him.

Laughing with him.

As if the past few days had never happened.

Ni-ki stopped dead in his tracks, his heart thudding in his chest. His eyes locked onto you and Hyunwoo as they stood by the lockers, shoulders brushing naturally. You were smiling up at him, and it wasn’t the polite, distant smile Ni-ki had seen before. No, this was the real thing. Your eyes were bright, your laugh light, your body turned toward him with a sense of comfort that made Ni-ki's insides twist with something cold.

No.

No.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The rumors had worked. They had to have worked. Hyunwoo should have been pushed away, isolated, out of your life. He should’ve been some distant memory by now, something you could brush off as a mistake.

But here you were. With him.

Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was just a fluke, maybe you were being nice, but the way you laughed at something Hyunwoo said—the way you looked at him—was something deeper than just a casual conversation.

He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let you slip away like this.

Ni-ki’s gaze darkened as he walked past them, trying to stay out of sight, but unable to stop himself from keeping a close watch. He heard Hyunwoo say something, and then, to his fury, you laughed. Really laughed, that kind of laughter that only happened when you felt at ease, when you trusted someone. Ni-ki wanted to storm over and pull you away from him, to drag you back to where you belonged—by his side.

But instead, he just stood there, hidden in the corner, his mind spinning.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You were supposed to be his.

Ni-ki’s breath quickened as his grip on his phone tightened. He needed to think, to do something, anything. He couldn’t let Hyunwoo take you from him.

It was then that the thought hit him—maybe it was time to escalate. The rumor was no longer enough. He had to do something more.

But what? What could he do to ensure that you would never look at Hyunwoo the way you used to look at him?

A surge of panic mixed with anger coursed through him. He couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t.

Ni-ki’s mind flicked to the moments he had spent with you over the years, the times he had held you close, promised to protect you. He had been patient, always patient, but now, the slow and steady approach was failing. He couldn’t let it go on any longer.

The next move was crucial. It had to be.

But for now, all he could do was watch as you and Hyunwoo continued to talk, oblivious to the storm brewing just behind the curtain.

Ni-ki's frustration was reaching a boiling point. For days, he had played his cards, whispered his lies, and watched as his plan failed to have the desired effect. He tried everything he could think of: more rumors, subtle hints, and even staging situations that would make Hyunwoo look bad. But each time, it was like you didn’t even notice. You didn’t pull away from Hyunwoo. If anything, you were only getting closer to him. Laughing, talking, hanging out. You, who he had always been able to manipulate and control, were slipping away from him.

It was maddening.

Ni-ki couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus on anything else. Everywhere he looked, you were there with Hyunwoo, your friendship with Hyunwoo growing stronger, while his grip on you weakened. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was now bubbling over.

And that’s when he decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

He found you after class, cornered you by the lockers where you were just finishing up with your books. His steps were quick, purposeful, and he was barely holding back the storm brewing inside him.

“Y/N,” he snapped, his voice sharp, and your eyes flickered up to meet his.

You looked confused at his tone but didn’t back away. “What’s up, Ni-ki?” you asked, voice still calm, like there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He couldn't control the frustration that seeped into his words. “What’s up? Are you seriously asking me that? You've been acting like everything’s fine with Hyunwoo. After everything that's been going on? You still won’t listen to what everyone’s saying about him?”

You took a step back, your brows knitting in confusion. “What are you talking about? I told you, Ni-ki, Hyunwoo is not like that. He’s a shy, quiet nerd, not some creepy stalker. People have been blowing things out of proportion.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The way you spoke, the way you defended him—defended Hyunwoo—it was like a slap in his face. It made his blood boil.

“You really believe that?” Ni-ki’s voice was dangerously low now. He was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles were white. “You really believe he’s just some shy guy? I’ve been telling you the truth, Y/N. People warned you! And you’re just ignoring it, defending him like he’s some kind of angel. He’s not. He’s a liar and a manipulator. He’s been playing you the whole time.”

The anger in his voice was almost enough to make you step back, but you didn’t. You just looked at him, your face filled with an expression he couldn’t quite read, but the words that left your mouth next hit harder than anything he’d ever heard.

“I’m not going to listen to your lies, Ni-ki,” you said, your voice steady but filled with something he couldn’t ignore. “I’ve known Hyunwoo for some time now. He’s not perfect, but I trust him. And that’s something you’re just going to have to accept.”

His chest tightened, the words stinging him more than they should have. You trusted him. You trusted him more than you trusted Ni-ki.

He could feel the weight of his own breath, shallow now, fighting to stay composed. “You really think he’s worth trusting, huh? After everything that’s been said about him? After all the warnings people have given you?”

Your face softened, but there was an unmistakable firmness in your gaze. “Yes, I do. And I think you’re letting your jealousy get the best of you, Ni-ki. This isn’t like you.”

His eyes narrowed, the words stinging more than he ever expected. Jealousy? Was that all this was to you?

“Jealous?” His laugh was dark, almost bitter. “You think this is about jealousy?” He stepped closer, his voice low and almost threatening now. “You think I’m jealous of him? I’m trying to protect you from someone who doesn’t even deserve to be in your life. You’re so blinded by him, you don’t see it. You don’t see that he’s just using you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you said, your voice firmer than he had ever heard it before. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Ni-ki. I can make my own decisions.”

It felt like the ground beneath him was slipping away. He had always been the one who kept you close, always been the one who kept you from making mistakes. But now, you were pushing him away, trusting someone else more than you trusted him.

And that was something Ni-ki couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept.

He took a step back, his breathing ragged, but his eyes locked onto yours. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned sharply, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t say another word as he stormed off, his heart pounding in his chest.

You wanted to believe some random nobody over him? Fine. Then he was no longer playing by the rules.

The days after the confrontation with Ni-ki felt different, unsettling. At first, you tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but it was hard to shake. Ni-ki had always been the one person you could count on, the one who understood you in ways no one else did. But his sudden behavior, his insistence that Hyunwoo wasn’t someone to be trusted, made you feel... uneasy. The way he’d confronted you, the way he had looked at you like you were making some kind of mistake—it wasn’t the same Ni-ki you’d known for years. And you couldn’t help but feel a strange distance creeping between the two of you.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized just how weird his actions had been. He was clingier, possessive, almost... desperate. And that wasn’t like him. It set off an uncomfortable feeling in your chest, one you didn’t know how to place. You started pulling away, not answering his messages right away, not seeking him out like you used to. It wasn’t that you wanted to push him away, it was just that something didn’t feel right anymore. And it was leaving you with more questions than answers.

In contrast, Hyunwoo had been nothing but calm and sweet. He hadn’t let the rumors or the cold treatment from others affect him. And, oddly enough, his presence started to bring a sense of peace to you.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting with Hyunwoo in the library, reading a book while he worked on some school assignments next to you. The atmosphere between you was calm and quiet, a comfortable kind of silence that let your mind wander. But the longer you sat there, the more you realized that you weren’t really reading the words on the page. You were lost in thought, replaying the scene with Ni-ki over and over in your head.

You didn’t even notice when Hyunwoo had stopped working and was looking at you, his gaze soft, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

"Y/N?" His voice broke through your thoughts, gentle but persistent.

You blinked, snapping out of your stupor. “Huh? Sorry, Hyunwoo. What were you saying?”

He hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing as he looked down at his hands. “I, uh... was just wondering if maybe... you’d want to go out with me one night?” He glanced up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and hope, his face turning even redder. “You know, just the two of us. I mean, if you want to, of course.” He stumbled over his words, clearly embarrassed.

You felt your heart skip a beat, a strange tightening sensation in your chest. This wasn’t something you had expected. You hadn’t considered Hyunwoo like that—not in a romantic way. Sure, he was sweet, and you enjoyed spending time with him, but that kind of thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

“I, uh...” You froze for a moment, unsure of what to say. You hadn’t even considered the possibility of going out with him like that. You had just started to get to know him as a friend, but now, the thought of it seemed... strange.

You glanced away for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts, feeling your nerves starting to kick in. "I... I’ll think about it, okay?" you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed a nervous tremor.

Hyunwoo’s eyes lit up at your response, a shy, relieved smile forming on his lips. “Really? You’ll think about it?” His voice was hopeful, almost too hopeful, and you could see how happy the simple suggestion made him.

You nodded, feeling a strange knot in your stomach. “Yeah... I’ll think about it.”

He smiled even brighter, his face turning a shade darker. “Okay, well... I’ll be waiting, then.” He turned back to his work, but the smile lingered on his face, and you could see the way he was trying to hide his excitement behind his concentration.

You sat there for a long moment, staring at the pages of your book but not really seeing them. Your mind was spinning, your heart racing in your chest. You had no idea what to make of what just happened. You didn’t have feelings for Hyunwoo—at least, you didn’t think you did—but something about his shy, hopeful smile made something inside you stir, a weird feeling that you couldn’t quite explain.

Was this what it felt like to be unsure?

You felt suffocated, like the air around you was pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. Why did he have to ask that? Why now? You liked being around him, but not like that. Not in the way he clearly wanted.

Ugh. You hated this.

You didn’t want to hurt him. But you also didn’t want to lead him on, didn’t want him to think there was a possibility when there wasn’t. And yet, when he had looked at you like that, so full of quiet hope, you couldn’t bring yourself to immediately shut him down.

Now you were stuck in this awful middle ground, confused and conflicted, unsure of what to do next.

You clenched your fists in your lap, your nails digging into your palms. I just want things to be simple again.

“Hey... you okay?” Hyunwoo’s voice broke through your thoughts again, softer this time, like he could sense something was off.

You forced a small smile, even though your chest felt tight. “Yeah,” you lied. “I just... I have a lot on my mind.”

He nodded, not pressing further, and went back to his work. But you weren’t really present anymore. Your thoughts were a mess, your emotions tangled up in a way that made you want to scream.

You barely even noticed the pair of sharp eyes that had been watching you from the moment you had stepped inside the library.

Ni-ki.

He had been waiting, lingering by, watching the way you interacted with Hyunwoo. Watching the way your expression faltered when the other boy spoke to you. And now, seeing the way your shoulders were stiff, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, he knew something was wrong.

Something had happened.

And Ni-ki was going to find out exactly what it was.

Ni-ki didn’t hesitate. His steps were slow, calculated, as he made his way toward your table. His hands were shoved casually in his pockets, but his eyes—sharp, assessing—were locked onto you.

You didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your thoughts. But Hyunwoo did. His body tensed slightly, his fingers tightening around his pen.

Ni-ki slid into the seat beside you, close—too close. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you startled, blinking up at him.

“Ni-ki?”

He tilted his head at you, feigning innocence. “What? Can’t I sit with my best friend?” He turned to Hyunwoo then, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, Hyunwoo. What are we working on today?”

Hyunwoo hesitated. You could tell he was trying to stay calm, but you could also see the shift in his demeanor—the slight unease in his posture, the way he averted his gaze.

“Uh, just some classwork,” Hyunwoo muttered, not looking at Ni-ki directly.

Ni-ki hummed, like he was actually considering the answer, but his attention was on you again in an instant. His fingers tapped against the table, his leg bouncing slightly as if he were holding back something. “You seem lost in thought,” he mused, tilting his head at you. “Everything okay?”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated.

You could tell him. You could let it all out—the confusion, the pressure, the guilt eating away at you. But something about the way Ni-ki was watching you made you hesitate. His eyes were too sharp. Like he already had the answer and was just waiting for you to confirm it. “I’m fine,” you said instead, forcing another small smile.

His gaze flickered, just for a second, before he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Is that so?”

You nodded, ignoring the way your stomach twisted.

Ni-ki leaned back, exhaling a dramatic sigh. “Well, if something was bothering you,” he said, eyes darting briefly to Hyunwoo before returning to you, “you know you can always tell me, right?” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew him well enough to catch the underlying message.

You swallowed hard. “Of course.”

Hyunwoo cleared his throat. “Um, actually, I think I should get going,” he said suddenly, closing his notebook. “I have something to take care of.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. “Oh... are you sure? We didn’t even finish studying.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Ni-ki before landing back on you. He forced a smile. “Yeah, I’ll just... see you later, okay?”

Before you could say anything else, he grabbed his bag and left.

You stared after him, feeling that tightness in your chest again.

“Wow,” Ni-ki chuckled beside you. “Didn’t know he was so jumpy.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Ni-ki, what was that?”

He blinked at you innocently. “What was what?”

“You know what I mean.”

His smile didn’t waver. “I was just sitting with my best friend. Is that a crime?”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

Ni-ki’s head tilted slightly, his eyes locked onto you. “You’re acting strange,” he mused. “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me anything.”

There it was again. That suffocating weight in his words.

You forced a tight-lipped smile, gripping the straps of your bag. “I’m fine, Ni-ki. Just… tired.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I mean, I worry about you. Especially with everything going on lately.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I— I have to go,” you blurted out, stepping away from the table so quickly that your chair scraped against the floor.

Ni-ki’s smile didn’t falter immediately, but you noticed the way it froze slightly, like it wasn’t quite real.

“You’re leaving so soon?” he asked, voice still light, but his eyes? They were unreadable.

You nodded, barely sparing him another glance. “Yeah, I just— I need to do something.” Then you turned, quickly walking away before he could say anything else.

You didn’t notice the way he stared after you, the way his expression darkened the moment your back was turned. His smile slowly faded, lips pressing into a thin line, his fingers twitching slightly as he watched you disappear through the library doors.

You didn’t see any of it.

All you could focus on was getting to Hyunwoo.

Your feet carried you through the hallways, your heart hammering against your ribs. You didn’t know why you felt this urgent need to find him, but after what had just happened, you had to. You needed to check on him, needed to make sure he was okay. But as you stepped outside, scanning the campus for any sign of him—he was gone.

Weird...

Your footsteps echoed against the hallway tiles as you hurried from one familiar spot to another, frustration gnawing at you with every passing second.

The classrooms? Empty. The cafeteria? No sign of him. The study lounge? Nothing.

With every place you checked, Hyunwoo seemed more and more like a ghost—like he had disappeared off the face of the earth.

That’s when you remembered.

The photo room.

Hyunwoo had once told you about his love for photography, how he would spend hours developing pictures in the red room, watching them come to life in the dim glow. If he wasn’t anywhere else, maybe he was there.

Heart pounding, you made your way down the quiet corridor leading to the photography lab. The moment you reached the door, you hesitated. Something about the stillness on the other side felt… off. But you shook the feeling away, gripping the handle and pushing it open.

A wave of dim red light washed over you, casting long shadows across the room. The faint chemical scent of developing solutions filled your nose. Photos hung from wires, clipped up to dry, swaying gently in the air.

But Hyunwoo wasn’t there.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting into disappointment. Where could he have gone?

Just as you were about to turn and leave, something caught your eye.

A photo—hanging slightly lower than the others.

Your brows furrowed as you stepped closer, the dim red glow making it hard to make out the details at first. But the longer you looked, the clearer it became. And when you finally realized what you were looking at, your breath hitched.

It was you.

A photograph of you, taken from outside your bedroom window.

Your stomach twisted painfully as your eyes darted to the photos beside it. Some were of trees, the sky, random shots of nature. But scattered among them, hidden in plain sight—were more photos of you.

You in class. You walking home. You reading at the library. You staring out of your kitchen window, completely unaware.

A chill ran down your spine as you took a step back, heart hammering against your ribs.

What the hell was this?

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating as you stood there, staring at the countless photos of yourself. Your hands trembled as you flipped through them, each one worse than the last. Some of them were taken so close, so intimately, that you felt exposed just looking at them.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Your breath caught in your throat as you whirled around.

Hyunwoo stood at the entrance, his wide eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He looked… surprised.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice laced with confusion.

You swallowed hard, gripping the photos in your hands as if they would disappear if you let go. “I was looking for you.”

His expression softened for a split second—until his gaze dropped to the pictures in your hands.

“You…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “Do you like them?”

Your stomach twisted violently.

"You took these?" The words came out in a breathless whisper, but the disbelief quickly turned into anger as you waved the photos in his face. "You took these?!"

Hyunwoo’s eyes widened in alarm when he actually saw the pictures, hands coming up defensively. “No! No, I didn’t— I would never take those! I don’t know where they came from!”

“You expect me to believe that?” You felt your voice rising, panic and fury twisting together inside you. “These are pictures of me, Hyunwoo! Taken from outside my house! Who else could’ve done it?”

“I don’t know!” he pleaded, his voice cracking. He looked genuinely distressed, but you were too far gone to care. “I only take pictures of nature and trees! Someone must have put them there, I swear!”

His words made you pause.

Because you remembered something.

Hyunwoo had once told you—very distinctly—that not many people had access to the photo lab. That only a few had keys to the room.

And yet, somehow, these pictures ended up here.

Your jaw clenched as the realization hit.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I should’ve believed what people said about you. I should’ve known—” You took a step back, feeling disgust crawl up your spine. “You are a creep. You are a stalker.”

Hyunwoo’s face crumbled. “No, please—”

But you were already backing toward the door, chest heaving, mind racing.

You needed to get out of here.

Away from him.

"Please, you have to believe me!" Hyunwoo pleaded, his voice desperate, his hands reaching out like he could physically hold onto your trust before it slipped away completely.

But you were already gripping the door handle, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You needed to go.

"Stay away from me!" you snapped, yanking the door open.

Hyunwoo moved instinctively, trying to grab your wrist—whether to stop you or just to make you listen, you didn’t know. You didn’t care.

SLAM!

You shoved the door shut with all your strength, and the solid thud of it colliding with Hyunwoo’s face was followed immediately by a sharp cry of pain.

You didn’t stay to see the damage.

Didn’t look back.

You ran.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as your feet pounded against the tile floors, the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. The hallways were eerily empty, the school quiet except for the echo of your frantic footsteps.

You didn’t stop.

Not when your legs started to burn. Not when your lungs screamed for air. Not until you were far, far away from that room, from those pictures, from him.

Hyunwoo’s breath was still ragged as he clutched his nose, the sharp sting of pain radiating through his face. He could feel the warm trickle of blood slipping past his fingers, but he barely registered it. His mind was spinning too fast, replaying everything that had just happened.

You—your horrified expression. Your accusations. Your retreating figure as you ran away from him like he was some kind of monster.

His stomach twisted painfully.

He had to find you. Had to fix this.

Gritting his teeth, he braced himself to stand, but just as he began to push himself up—

The door creaked open.

For a split second, hope sparked in his chest.

“Y/n?” he croaked, expecting to see you. Expecting you to have come back, second-guessing your words, ready to listen.

But it wasn’t you.

It was Ni-ki.

Hyunwoo’s entire body went still.

The dim glow of the room made it hard to read his expression, but the way he stood there—calm, relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world—made Hyunwoo’s skin prickle with unease.

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering down to Hyunwoo’s bloody nose before dragging back up to meet his gaze.

“Tough day?” Ni-ki asked, voice smooth, casual. Too casual.

Hyunwoo swallowed thickly, trying to shake off the chill creeping up his spine. “What… what are you doing here?”

Ni-ki stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. His eyes trailed lazily over the photos hanging from the wires, his lips curling slightly in amusement.

“Just checking in,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over one of the pictures. One of you.

Hyunwoo felt his pulse quicken.

"You—" He hesitated, a sudden thought slamming into him like a freight train. "You did this."

Ni-ki finally looked at him again, dark amusement flickering in his gaze. "Did what?"

"You planted these photos here,” Hyunwoo accused, forcing himself to his feet despite the throbbing in his face. “You wanted her to find them. You wanted her to think it was me."

Ni-ki didn’t deny it.

He simply smiled.

"Wow," Ni-ki said, slow and mocking. "Look at you, putting all the pieces together. Guess you’re not as dumb as you look."

Hyunwoo clenched his fists. His entire body was shaking—not just from anger, but from the sickening realization that Ni-ki had been playing a game this whole time. That he had been set up.

"Why?" Hyunwoo demanded. "What the hell is your problem?"

Ni-ki sighed, stepping closer. "My problem?” He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in slightly, voice dropping to a near whisper. “You are.”

Hyunwoo barely had time to react before Ni-ki’s hand shot out, gripping his throat in a bruising hold.

"You should’ve stayed in your lane, Hyunwoo," Ni-ki murmured, his grip tightening, his expression unreadable. "But you didn’t. You got too close. And now?" He smiled wider, something twisted in the way his lips curled.

"Now you’re done."

Ni-ki's grip was unrelenting, his fingers digging into Hyunwoo’s skin as he struggled desperately to break free. He tried to shove him off, twisting and pushing, but Ni-ki was taller and stronger.

"Let go of me!" Hyunwoo gasped, his breath coming out in short, panicked bursts as he thrashed against Ni-ki’s hold.

But Ni-ki only tightened his grip, forcing Hyunwoo back against the table. His dark eyes gleamed under the red light, his expression eerily calm despite the madness lurking beneath the surface.

"You took her away from me." Ni-ki murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You were never supposed to be here. You were never supposed to be in her life."

Hyunwoo’s stomach dropped as Ni-ki reached into his pocket, and before he could even process what was happening—

The glint of a knife caught the red light.

Hyunwoo’s blood ran cold.

His struggling grew frantic as his eyes locked onto the sharp blade in Ni-ki’s hand, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

"You took my girl away," Ni-ki accused angrily. "But that’s okay. I know how to fix things. I know how to get rid of pests."

Hyunwoo’s breath hitched. "Ni-ki, please—"

"She’ll come back to me," Ni-ki continued, ignoring him completely, his grip steady as he lifted the knife higher. "And this time, she won’t leave. This time, she’ll be mine—permanently."

Hyunwoo's eyes widened in terror. "You’re insane!" he shouted, thrashing harder, his body screaming for an escape. "You don’t have to do this—please, don’t do this—!"

But Ni-ki only grinned.

And then—

The knife came down.

You couldn’t believe what your life had come to.

Your body felt ice cold, your fingers numb as you walked aimlessly through the school hallways, your mind clouded with disbelief, shame, and something else—something worse.

Hyunwoo had those pictures.

Pictures of you.

Moments where you were completely unaware—fresh out of the shower, changing in your room, lost in thought by your window.

These weren’t normal pictures. They weren’t innocent.

They were intimate.

The kind of images that no one should ever have taken. The kind of pictures that made you feel exposed, violated.

Your stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing up your throat.

How could you have been so stupid?

You had wanted a friend. Someone other than Ni-ki. Someone to prove that your world didn’t have to revolve around just one person.

But that person—the one you had chosen to trust—had turned out to be a vile stalker.

He had stolen your privacy, taken something that wasn’t his to take.

And Ni-ki…

Ni-ki had been right all along.

He had warned you. Had tried to keep you safe. Had told you not to trust Hyunwoo, and you—

You had ignored him.

A fresh wave of regret crashed over you, suffocating and overwhelming. You should have listened. You should have been careful.

All you hoped now was that it wasn’t too late.

That Ni-ki would forgive you.

That he would take you back.

Because right now, the only place you felt truly safe was with him.

You spotted him before class, standing near the lockers, casually chatting with a few people. His back was partially turned to you, his posture relaxed.

For a moment, you hesitated.

What if he was still mad? What if he didn’t want to see you after how you had doubted him? But you couldn’t keep this weight in your chest any longer. You needed him.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed forward, weaving through the hallway until you reached him.

“Ni-ki.”

His name came out softer than you intended, barely audible over the noise. But somehow, he heard you. The conversation around him stilled as he turned his head, eyes meeting yours. And just like that his amusement vanished.

The people around him looked between the two of you before one of them nudged his arm. “We’ll catch up later.”

Ni-ki didn’t acknowledge them as they walked away. His attention stayed fixed on you, a slow blink the only reaction he gave.

You swallowed, shifting nervously under his stare. “Can we talk?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

Then, after what felt like forever, he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a small smile. “Now you want to talk?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

You bit your lip, guilt twisting in your stomach. “Ni-ki, please…”

His smile widened slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leaned back against the lockers, crossing his arms. “Alright,” he mused, studying you. “I’m listening.”

You shifted on your feet, looking up at Ni-ki anxiously. His expression was tense, his dark eyes locked onto you like he was peeling you apart layer by layer, searching for something.

“I…” You hesitated, your throat dry. “I was wrong.”

He didn’t react. He just stared.

“I should have listened to you,” you continued quickly, hoping that if you just kept talking, he’d say something. “You were right. Hyunwoo was—he is a creep. I shouldn’t have doubted you, Ni-ki. I should have trusted you.”

Silence.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he looked at you through lidded eyes. “You should have,” he murmured.

The knot in your stomach tightened. “I—I know. I feel awful about it. I just wanted to know if we—if you could forgive me.”

Ni-ki tilted his head, watching you. Then, in a movement so slow it made your breath hitch, he reached out, brushing his fingers along your cheek. “I don’t know…” he mused, his voice light, teasing. But his fingers gripped your chin just slightly, keeping your eyes on his. “You really hurt me, you know?”

Guilt crashed into you, making your chest ache. “I didn’t mean to,” you whispered.

“But you did.” His grip didn’t tighten, but the weight of his touch made you feel like you couldn’t move. “You chose him over me.”

“No,” you rushed to say, shaking your head as much as his hand would allow. “I wasn’t choosing him over you, I swear. I was just—”

He sighed, cutting you off. His fingers slid away, and suddenly, you missed his touch. “You know,” he said, voice soft, “after everything I’ve done for you, I really thought you knew me.”

Your stomach dropped. “Ni-ki, I do—”

“Do you?” He gave you a sad smile, “because if you really did, you would have never doubted me.”

Your throat tightened. “I won’t ever again,” you said quickly, desperate to fix this. “I promise, Ni-ki. I’ll listen to you. I’ll trust you.”

He hummed, eyes studying you. “You sound so sure now.”

“I am.”

Another beat of silence, then Ni-ki sighed dramatically, as if this was all so difficult for him. “Well…” He suddenly grinned, his usual, easy-going expression slipping back into place. “I guess I can forgive you.”

Relief flooded through you. “Thank you,” you breathed.

But you didn’t notice the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes. You didn’t notice the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his posture shifted ever so slightly—like a predator easing back into position after a temporary setback. All you saw was Ni-ki, your best friend, smiling at you again, forgiving you. That was all that mattered.

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding, and without thinking, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you,” you murmured against his shoulder.

Ni-ki stilled for a second. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, pulling you in just a little too tight, his hand settling against the small of your back. “Oh,” he breathed, voice dripping with affection. “You have no idea how much I missed you too.”

You smiled, completely oblivious to the way his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if grounding himself.

As if making sure you wouldn’t slip away again.

When you pulled back, he studied your face, his expression unreadable. Then, in an instant, he was back to his usual self—grinning, shoving his hands into his pockets like nothing had happened. “So,” he said casually, “since I’ve so graciously forgiven you, I think you owe me a little something.”

You blinked. “Owe you?”

He smirked. “Mhm. You ditched me, remember? So I think you need to make it up to me.”

You bit your lip, guilt still swirling in your chest. “Okay… What do you want?”

His smirk widened just the slightest bit, his eyes gleaming. “I have an idea,” he said simply.

You let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes. “Alright, fine. Be mysterious then.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Ni-ki's smirk didn’t waver as he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you just a little too close, but you didn’t question it. Why would you?

If his grip on you was a little firmer than usual, you ignored it. If his fingers brushed against your shoulder just a little too slowly before settling, you thought nothing of it. Because you were too relieved. Too happy to have him back.

And Ni-ki knew that.

“C’mon,” he said, leading you down the hallway, his pace slow and easy. “Let’s get out of here before class starts. You owe me, remember?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know, Ni-ki..”

He sighed dramatically, nudging you with his shoulder. “Skipping one school day won’t kill you. Besides, you seem stressed.” He gave you a sideways glance, tilting his head slightly. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Your stomach twisted. “I just… I don’t get it,” you admitted quietly. “How could Hyunwoo do something like that? I really thought he was my friend.”

Ni-ki clicked his tongue. “That’s the thing about people,” he murmured, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. “They lie. They pretend. They disappoint you.”

You swallowed, unsure of why his words made a shiver crawl up your spine.

But before you could say anything, Ni-ki suddenly brightened, tugging you forward. “Enough about him,” he said cheerfully, like he hadn’t just spat his last words. “Let’s go. I wanna spend some time with you.”

You hesitated for only a second. Then, finally, you nodded.

Because Ni-ki was right. You were stressed. And spending time with him would help.

So you let him lead you away.

And you didn’t notice the way his smirk returned as you finally fell into step beside him. You didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched against your shoulder.

Because Ni-ki had won.

You were right where you belonged.

Ni-ki had a way of making everything feel easy.

The moment you agreed to skip class with him, any lingering guilt melted away. He took you downtown, leading you into store after store, insisting you pick out whatever you wanted.

At first, you protested. “Ni-ki, this is too much—”

But he just rolled his eyes, pushing a expensive sweater into your arms. “Shut up and let me spoil you.”

And you did. Because how could you say no when he looked at you like that?

After shopping, he dragged you to the arcade, a smug grin on his face as he cracked his knuckles. “Alright, what do you want?” he asked, motioning to the rows of claw machines and prize walls.

You pointed at a ridiculously large plushie sitting inside one of the machines. “That one.”

He let out a low whistle. “Going big, huh?”

“You said I could pick anything,” you reminded him with a smirk.

Ni-ki laughed, ruffling your hair. “Alright, princess. Watch and learn.”

And, of course, he won. Because of course he did. After three tries—because “I’m warming up, shut up”—he proudly pulled the giant plushie out, shoving it into your arms with a satisfied grin. “There,” he said, watching as you hugged it tightly. “Now you can’t say I never get you anything.”

You beamed at him. “Thank you, Ni-ki.”

Something flickered in his gaze at your words, but before you could question it, he slung an arm around your shoulders again. “Alright, enough fun. Let’s go to my place,” he said, leading you out of the arcade.

That was how you ended up in his room, curled up on his bed, the giant plushie beside you as a movie played on his TV.

You were comfortable, warm, and full from the snacks he had insisted on buying.

It felt safe.

Leaning against his pillows, you sighed happily. “Today was fun.”

Ni-ki turned to you, a lazy smirk on his lips. “Told you.”

You laughed softly, glancing at him. “I am supposed to be the one making it up to you, remember? Doing the things you did today.”

His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before he grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. You will.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Huh?”

But Ni-ki just reached over, casually tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, voice low. “Just relax. I like having you here.”

You smiled, resting your head against the plushie.

And Ni-ki?

He just watched you, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Because everything was perfect.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he paused the movie, his hand casually moving to the remote. “I’ll be right back,” he said, standing up. “Gotta hit the bathroom.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your attention shifting to the movie screen as he disappeared out of the room.

The silence in the room felt heavier than usual, and you stretched your legs under the blankets, the muscles aching from staying in one position for so long. Standing up, you felt the soft rush of air hit your skin as you stepped away from the bed.

You wandered around the room, your eyes taking in the familiar space. Ni-ki’s room was always so... him. The shelves lined with trophies, random trinkets, and a few of his old toys. Your gaze flicked over the pictures on one of the shelves—mostly candid shots, most of them of you and him together.

You smiled softly, memories flooding your mind.

There was one where you both were little, a snapshot of you and Ni-ki running through a park, laughing with carefree expressions. Another where you two were sitting in the same spot at a carnival, a huge stuffed bear between you, just like today.

But what caught your eye the most was a picture of the two of you at a family gathering. You were both a bit older, but the way you were smiling at each other, your cheeks flushed from laughing, made something flutter in your chest.

You picked it up carefully, your fingers brushing against the glass frame. You didn’t remember exactly when it was taken, but the memory felt so vivid—Ni-ki teasing you, making you laugh so hard that you nearly choked on your drink, then gently patting your back when you’d spilled it.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft sigh left your lips as you placed the frame back, running your fingers along the shelf. Everything here felt like home.

You turned to walk back to the bed, about to sink into the comfort of the blankets once more, when something caught your eye.

On Ni-ki’s desk, almost hidden in plain sight among some scattered papers and random objects, was a photo book. You hadn't noticed it before. It looked out of place, lying there as though it had been carelessly thrown aside in a rush, half-forgotten.

Your brow furrowed. You didn’t remember seeing it the last time you were in his room, and curiosity tugged at you. You tilted your head, your feet carrying you instinctively toward his desk.

You reached out, picking it up cautiously, the cover was plain, a simple, dark leather binding that had clearly seen better days, worn from use. You assumed it would be full of memories—pictures of you and Ni-ki growing up, like all the other ones in the room.

But as you opened it, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t what you expected.

The pages were indeed filled with pictures. Pictures of you.

But these weren’t the happy, carefree photos of your childhood that you had seen in the frames on the shelf. These were different.

These were pictures of you when you were unaware. Taken without your consent.

Your heart raced, and your palms began to sweat as you flipped through the pages. Picture after picture, each one more unsettling than the last. There you were, sitting on the bus, walking home, standing by the window of your house, your back to the camera. Your face, your body, captured in intimate, personal moments.

Your throat tightened as your mind struggled to process what you were looking at.

The pictures were disturbingly familiar. They looked exactly like the ones you had seen in the photo room. The ones that had sent a cold chill down your spine. The ones you thought were taken by Hyunwoo.

You could feel your pulse in your ears, panic swelling within you. This was wrong. This was beyond wrong.

You flipped through the pages faster, as if the speed would make the truth less real. But it only made it worse. The photos were endless. You could see the places you’d been, the things you had done—none of it private, none of it yours anymore.

The realization hit you like a slap across the face.

Ni-ki had been following you. Watching you.

Your stomach churned, nausea creeping up your throat. You could feel the tightness in your chest, the pressure building, suffocating you.

And just as you were about to flip the page again, a familiar voice broke through the fog of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Ni-ki called from behind you, his tone light, like he was calling your name in some sort of casual greeting.

Your body froze, and the book dropped from your hands, the pages scattering on the desk as you turned to face him.

His eyes scanned your face, as if looking for something—something you couldn’t give him.

“I didn’t expect you to be so interested in that,” he said softly, his voice almost too calm.

You swallowed hard, the words stuck in your throat, and your heart beat wildly in your chest. You wanted to scream, to run, but all you could do was stare at him.

He smiled then, but it was different. There was no warmth in it. Just something cold, something that made the room feel smaller, darker.

“Why... why do you have these?” you finally managed to ask, your voice trembling.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and he took a slow step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Because I wanted to remember you,” he said softly, his voice oddly sweet. “Every little moment. Everything about you.”

You backed away instinctively, your mind scrambling for some form of defense, but the words tangled in your throat. You were stuck. Trapped.

Ni-ki reached out, a glint of something dark in his eyes as he touched your arm gently, his fingers lingering.

“But don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost reassuring. “You’re not going anywhere. You never have to.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your entire body screamed for you to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

And Ni-ki just watched you, the satisfaction in his gaze unmistakable, as the world around you felt like it was collapsing.

Because now you realized—Ni-ki had been controlling everything.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

Your mind was too fogged, too overwhelmed to process it all at once. You could only stare, your mouth slightly open, your hands shaking at your sides.

And Ni-ki…

Ni-ki just smiled, that same soft, knowing smile that had always comforted you before—but now, now it felt suffocating.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping closer, reaching out with careful hands as if you were something delicate, something that could shatter at the slightest touch. His fingers brushed your cheek, his warmth stark against your cold, clammy skin.

“You look so scared,” he whispered, his voice drenched in something too sweet, too tender. “You don’t have to be. I’m right here.”

Your body flinched instinctively, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. His presence, his words, his touch—it was all too much, too overwhelming, and you felt trapped, like a moth caught in a web, the silk threads of his affection and obsession binding you tighter with every second.

“This is a lot, isn’t it?” Ni-ki cooed, his hand slipping down from your cheek to your shoulder, his grip firm yet comforting. “I know it must be confusing. But you don’t have to worry about anything.”

His eyes softened, and for a fleeting second, you almost believed him.

Almost.

But then you remembered the book. The pictures. The lies. The control.

“N-Ni-ki…” Your voice came out weak, barely above a whisper.

He hummed in response, tilting his head like he was waiting for you to say something important, something that mattered. But the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say.

You didn’t know what to do.

And Ni-ki could tell.

His expression was gentle, something so sickeningly affectionate that it made your stomach twist. He let out a soft sigh before pulling you forward, wrapping his arms around you like a lover soothing their frightened other half.

“There, there,” he murmured against your hair. His fingers trailed slow, lazy circles on your back, his touch light but firm enough to keep you pressed against him. “I’ve got you. I always have.”

You let out a shaky breath, your entire body stiff in his embrace, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re so cute,” he whispered, his voice almost adoring as his hand came up to cradle the back of your head. “So innocent… too trusting for your own good. You needed someone to protect you, didn’t you? Someone who understood you.”

His fingers tangled in your hair, and he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

“I did this for us,” he murmured against your skin. “So you wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. So no one would ever take you from me.”

Your breath hitched.

You should’ve run. Should’ve fought. Should’ve screamed.

But instead, you just stood there, frozen in place, as Ni-ki held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Because you had always trusted Ni-ki.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

a/n: Answers to possible questions; 1. Ni-ki did kill Hyunwoo in the photo room. 2. Ni-ki wanted you to find the photo book. 3. Ambigious ending, so you choose if you wanna forgive Ni-ki or tell the police :)

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[moluvies]

celestial alignment ꔛ armin arlert x reader (pt. 2)

a/n: the banners just get weirder.... part two to in your orbit but idk if u need to read that one to understand this one lmao 😝🙏 #idk why this one is so much longer than part one but yolo

words: 9.6k

cw: nerd!armin, college au, she/her pronouns and fem anatomy for reader, fwb (kinda) to lovers, confessions, smut, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, MDNI !!

ꔛ

The morning after the party, Armin woke with a pounding headache and fragments of memories that made his face burn crimson against his pillow. But even through the haze of his first-ever hangover, he couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of what had happened between you.

Three weeks had passed since that night, and your astronomy project had become both the most productive and least efficient academic endeavor of Armin's college career. What should have been straightforward work sessions frequently dissolved into lingering touches, stolen kisses, and eventually, hurried excuses to abandon the library study room for somewhere more private.

Armin frequently worked shifts at his part-time job at the cinema on top of being the project leader. It was confusing to you how he had time to do anything besides work and school, but he managed to play an unhealthy amount of games and watch an embarassing amount of anime whenever he got the chance.

That was, unless you were around. After your hookup at the frat party in Jean's room (something Armin would never allow him to know), you and him had spent a considerable amount of time together.

You continued working on the project together, the other members eventually showing up to the meetings Armin hosted, but things were obviously different than they had been—and no, Armin did not regret anything.

In fact, he'd shown you how little he regretted the encounter many times since then. He'd act as though he wanted your special input on the project when he invited you over, only to not keep his hands to himself the entire time you'd be at his place.

You'd sat beside him at the desk in his room, looking at his PC where you were looking over the slides and ideas from your groupmates.

"This one's just ridiculous," he said, his chin rested in his hand. "I suppose graphic design doesn't come easy to everyone."

"I don't know," you teased, "that neon green and purple combo really makes the statistical analysis pop, don't you think?"

Armin groaned, running his fingers through his blonde hair. "It's physically painful to look at. I'm going to have to redo this entire section before submission."

"Always the perfectionist," you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Someone has to be." He clicked through a few more slides, his knee occasionally brushing against yours under the desk. "Otherwise we'd be presenting with clip art and Comic Sans."

You reached for the mouse, your hand briefly covering his. "Let me show you mine."

Armin leaned back in his chair, watching you navigate through the shared folder. You could feel his eyes on you rather than the screen, that subtle attention he'd been giving you since the party. It made concentrating on the project increasingly difficult.

"Here," you said, opening a new file. "This is what I was working on last night."

Armin's casual expression shifted as he leaned forward, eyes widening slightly as he reviewed your slides. The casual criticism vanished as he scrolled through your work.

"(Y/N), this is..." he paused, scanning the detailed analysis you'd prepared. "This is really good. The way you've visualized the data is exactly what we needed."

You felt a flush of pride at his genuine appreciation. "Yeah? I spent way too long on it, honestly."

"It shows." He turned to face you, his expression softened. "You didn't have to go this in-depth."

"Well, you're not the only perfectionist around here."

The corner of his mouth twitched up into that half-smile you'd grown increasingly fond of. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

"I think we deserve a break," he said quietly.

Without waiting for your response, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. Unlike the urgent, heated kisses you'd shared before, this one was gentle, appreciative—sweet in a way that made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced your cheekbone lightly. "Sorry," he murmured, not looking sorry at all. "I've been wanting to do that since you walked in."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You don't have to say sorry anymore, Armin. Not for that."

His smile widened, and he leaned in again, this time catching your lips with more confidence. The kiss deepened slowly, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his lips curved against yours when you smiled into the kiss.

One of your hands found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. His other hand slid down to your waist, thumb brushing against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you let out a quiet hum against his lips.

Armin pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright with affection—and something else, something warmer. "You're distracting," he murmured, his voice low.

"Me?" you teased, nipping lightly at his lower lip. "You're the one who started this."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring it. His fingers traced idle patterns along your side, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

Just as you were about to shift closer, a loud bang rattled the door, followed by an exasperated shout.

"ARMIN!" Connie's, Armin's roommate and friend you had met a few times and who was always nice if not a little wild, voice carried through the wood, sharp and impatient. "I swear to god, if you don't get your ass out here and deal with the dishes, I'm throwing them all in your bed!"

Armin groaned, dropping his forehead against yours with a defeated sigh. "I told Sasha to clean them last night."

You bit back a laugh, watching as he reluctantly pulled away, his expression torn between irritation and lingering amusement.

"I'm not kidding, man!" Connie banged on the door again. "Sasha refuses to touch them, and I'm not doing it! You live here too!"

Armin exhaled sharply through his nose, casting you an apologetic glance. "I should probably... handle this before he actually follows through."

You grinned, giving his hand a quick squeeze. "Go. Save your bed from dishware."

Armin sighed dramatically but pushed back from the desk, giving you one last lingering glance before heading toward the door. "I'll be right back," he muttered, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

You turned back to the slides, clicking through them with half-hearted focus, but without Armin beside you, the work suddenly felt dull. The silence of the room—now free of his quiet murmurs and occasional frustrated sighs—made the minutes drag.

Bored.

After a few more lackluster attempts at editing, you finally gave up, pushing the chair back and stretching before wandering out of the room. The sound of running water led you to the kitchen, where Armin stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing at a stubborn plate with a sponge. His hair was pushed messily behind his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the steam rising from the hot water.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy muttering under his breath about "Sasha’s stupid cereal bowl crusted like cement." The sight was unfairly endearing—his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his forearms flexed slightly as he scrubbed, the way his lips pursed when he was annoyed but trying not to complain too loudly.

Leaning against the doorframe, you crossed your arms and just watched for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"You know," you finally said, making him jump slightly, "I didn’t take you for the domestic type."

Armin turned, blinking at you in surprise before his expression softened into something playful. "And yet here I am, saving our apartment from a dish-based apocalypse." He flicked soapy water in your direction, grinning when you yelped and dodged.

"You’re terrible," you laughed, stepping closer.

He smirked, rinsing off the last plate before setting it in the drying rack. "But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, moving to stand beside him. Without thinking, you reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, fingers lingering just a second too long.

Armin's cheeks flushed a soft pink as he dried his hands on a dish towel, hesitating for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Uh—so," he started, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I was thinking... I have free tickets to the movies. Since I work there. And—well—I was wondering if you'd... maybe... want to go? Sometime?"

The words tumbled out in a rush, and he cringed slightly at how awkward it sounded.

"But—!" He held up a hand, suddenly looking panicked. "Not just because it's free. I mean, it is free, but that's not—that's not the point." He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before trying again.

"What I'm trying to say is... I'd like to take you. On a date. If you want."

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the towel, his expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.

You grinned, stepping closer and nudging his shoulder with yours. "Armin Arlert," you said, voice teasing but warm, "are you asking me out on a proper date?"

He swallowed hard, then nodded, a shy smile finally breaking through. "Yeah. I am."

You pretended to think about it for a dramatic second, tapping your chin—just long enough to watch his shoulders tense in anticipation—before grinning.

"Obviously, yes."

The relief that washed over his face was instant, his whole posture relaxing as he let out a breathy laugh. "Really?"

You rolled your eyes, reaching out to tug lightly at his sleeve. "Yes, really. I'd love to go on a date with you."

His smile was brighter than you'd ever seen it, boyish and genuine. "Good. Great. I—uh—I'll figure out the details. Make it... nice."

You couldn't resist. Leaning in, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling back before he could react.

"Looking forward to it."

Armin blinked, momentarily stunned, before his grin turned lopsided, a playful glint in his eye.

"Me too."

ꔛ

The theater’s neon lights flickered against the pavement as you spotted Armin waiting near the entrance, hands shoved awkwardly into his jean pockets. The second he saw you, he straightened up, eyes widening slightly before a warm, nervous smile took over.

"You—" He cleared his throat, stepping forward. "You look pretty... cute. I mean pretty and cute. Like. Both. At the same time."

You bit back a laugh, watching as his ears turned pink the second the words left his mouth. It was ridiculous—considering the things you’d done together, the way he’d whispered filthy praise against your skin just last week—yet here he was, stumbling over his words like this was his first-ever date.

God, he’s adorable.

"You clean up nice too," you teased, nodding at his slightly-too-big button-up and the way his hair was trying to be neatly styled but already falling out of place.

Armin exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath, before hesitantly reaching for your hand. His fingers laced with yours, warm and slightly shaky, and when you squeezed, he squeezed back like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"You nervous?" you asked, bumping his shoulder as you walked toward the ticket line.

"No," he lied immediately, then groaned. "Okay, yes. But only because I—I don’t know. This feels different."

You knew exactly what he meant. Hooking up was one thing, but this? The deliberate choice of each other, the quiet intimacy of a date—it was terrifyingly sweet.

Armin led you past the concessions stand, waving casually at his coworker who shot him a knowing grin and a thumbs up. He'd insisted on paying for popcorn despite the fact that most of his perks came free with his job—"It's a proper date," he'd said firmly, handing over actual money when you tried to protest.

The theater was nearly empty for the late showing, just a couple of pairs scattered throughout the front rows. Armin guided you toward the back row, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

"I hope you like horror," he said, settling into the cushy seat beside you. "Jean and Eren said this one was supposed to be good."

What Armin wasn't telling you was the entire embarrassing conversation that had led to this choice.

"Dude, horror movie. No question," Jean had said, sprawled across Armin's couch while Eren nodded enthusiastically from the floor.

"I don't know..." Armin hesitated. "What if she doesn't like being scared?"

Eren rolled his eyes. "That's the point. She gets scared, you comfort her, she feels safe with you—boom, instant connection."

"We've already connected," Armin muttered, his cheeks warming. "Multiple times."

"Yeah, but this is different," Jean insisted, sitting up to look more serious. "This is you being the strong, protective one. Plus, dark theater, back row..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Eren threw a pillow at Jean before turning to Armin. "Look, trust us. It's the perfect first date movie. You can protect her if it gets too scary."

As the lights dimmed and the previews began to play, Armin lifted the armrest between your seats, allowing you to slide closer. The warmth of your body against his side made him acutely aware of his heartbeat—too fast, too loud—as the movie title splashed across the screen in dripping red letters.

Twenty minutes in, it became abundantly clear that Jean and Eren's advice had been... flawed.

A jump-scare sent Armin practically out of his seat, his hand clutching yours so tightly it almost hurt. You bit back a laugh as he quickly tried to play it off, clearing his throat and settling back down. Another ten minutes passed before a second scare had him actually yelping—a small, startled sound that he immediately tried to cover with a cough.

"You good?" you whispered, leaning closer to his ear, amused by the way he'd tensed up.

"Totally fine," he whispered back unconvincingly, his eyes still fixed on the screen where a shadowy figure lurked behind the protagonist. When the inevitable jumpscare came, he flinched again, harder this time.

You couldn't help it—you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "It's gonna be okay, Armin."

His face burned in the darkness, visible even in the dim light from the screen. "I don't usually watch this stuff."

"It's fine, really." You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling him gradually relax against you. "It's cute, though, how scared you're getting."

Armin turned slightly, his breath warm against your temple. "Cute wasn't exactly what I was going for, but I'll take it."

The movie continued, a predictable parade of creaky doors and bloody apparitions, but you found yourself paying less attention to the plot and more to the way Armin's thumb absently stroked the back of your hand. How his breath would catch before each scare, how he'd release it slowly afterward, trying to play it cool.

Halfway through, during a particularly tense scene, you glanced up at him—his profile illuminated by the flickering blue light, his features etched in concentration despite his obvious discomfort. Without thinking, you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, just a light brush of contact.

Armin stilled, his attention immediately diverted from the screen to you. His eyes, wide and questioning, found yours in the darkness.

You smiled innocently, but when his gaze dropped to your lips, the air between you shifted. The movie faded to background noise as he leaned closer, hesitating just a breath away. His eyes met yours in question.

In answer, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, testing kiss. He responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepened. The taste of buttered popcorn lingered on his tongue as it slipped past your lips, exploring with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

A particularly loud noise from the movie made him jump again, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp before he laughed softly against your mouth.

"Sorry," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Don't be," you whispered back, shifting to get a better angle.

This time when you kissed him, it was less cautious. Your hand slid up his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he pulled you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair. The armrest dug into your side but you hardly noticed, too lost in the way he kissed you—deepening from sweet to something hungrier, something that made heat pool in your stomach.

The protagonist's screams provided a bizarre soundtrack as Armin's hand moved from your cheek down to your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot beneath your ear that he'd discovered weeks ago. You shivered, and he smiled against your lips, clearly pleased with himself.

"Thought you were scared," you teased quietly, nipping at his lower lip.

"Distracted now," he breathed, kissing down to the corner of your mouth, your jaw.

You glanced around quickly—the nearest couple was rows away, focused on the movie—before sliding your hand to his thigh, feeling him tense beneath your touch. His own hand moved to your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush warm skin.

The kiss turned deeper, messier, as his tongue slid against yours. You could feel him getting bolder, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted closer, your hand inching higher on his thigh. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat that sent a pulse of want straight through you.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped quietly, feeling his smile against your mouth. This was a different Armin than the one who'd stumbled through asking you out—this was the Armin who knew exactly what you liked, who'd mapped your body with his hands and mouth, who'd made you come undone with just his fingers on multiple occasions.

"We should—" he started, pulling back slightly, his breath warm against your lips. "We should probably watch the movie."

"Yeah. I don't want your coworkers making fun of you," you whispered with a smile.

A woman on screen shrieked as something lunged at her, and Armin tensed again, his grip on you tightening reflexively. You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Maybe we should have gone with a comedy," he admitted, his voice low with embarrassment. "Eren and Jean said horror would be—" He cut himself off, realizing he'd said too much.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What exactly did they say?"

Armin's hand fell from your waist as he ran it through his hair, messing up the careful styling even further. "Something about, uh... you getting scared and me comforting you." His ears were burning again. "Which obviously backfired because I'm the one jumping at every shadow."

"I don't know," you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. "I think I like comforting you just fine."

He shivered, his hand finding yours again in the darkness. For the remainder of the movie, you stayed close, your head on his shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses during the less intense scenes. Whenever a jumpscare hit, you'd squeeze his hand, feeling him relax against you as the moment passed.

By the time the credits rolled, Armin had practically forgotten his embarrassment, too content with your warmth against him, the smell of your shampoo as you rested against his shoulder. As the lights slowly brightened, he turned to look at you properly, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance—lips a little swollen from his kisses, hair mussed where his fingers had tangled in it.

He looked just as affected—cheeks flushed, blonde hair falling messily across his forehead, lips pink and just a touch raw. The sight made your heart flutter.

"So," he said, voice hoarse as he helped you gather your things, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad was my movie choice?"

You laughed, standing to stretch your legs. "Well, I didn't really see much of it, so I can't judge fairly."

His smile was slow, a little smug as he stood beside you. "Me neither."

You both lingered in the theater as others filed out, neither quite ready to end the night.

"We could..." Armin started, then stopped, suddenly looking shy again. "We could go back to my place? Connie and Sasha are out tonight, so..."

The implication hung between you, charged with possibility.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. "Let's go."

His smile was bright enough to rival the theater's exit signs as he pulled you gently toward the door, the forgotten horror movie already a distant memory.

ꔛ

The door to Armin's apartment swung open, his hand fumbling slightly with the key as he stepped aside to let you in. The familiar space greeted you—Sasha's mismatched throw pillows scattered across the couch, Connie's gaming setup in the corner, and the subtle scent of Armin's sandalwood candle that he always lit when studying late.

"They're definitely out?" you asked, slipping off your shoes by the door.

Armin nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he set his keys on the counter. "Until late. Frat party, I guess."

There was a beat of silence—a moment of shared understanding—before you both moved at once. Armin's hands found your waist as he backed you toward his bedroom, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that made it clear he'd been restraining himself at the theater. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly in the way you'd discovered made him groan.

He navigated the hallway without breaking the kiss, blindly pushing open his bedroom door. The familiar space—desk cluttered with textbooks and astronomy notes, walls adorned with star charts and anime posters he'd shyly explained on your first visit—welcomed you like an old friend.

Armin walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed, his hands steady at your waist. He broke the kiss, looking down at you with eyes darkened by desire, a question in them that you answered by sitting down at the edge of the mattress.

Before he could make another move, you reached for the button of his jeans, watching his breath hitch as your fingers worked the metal through the hole. His hands moved to your shoulders, gentle but trembling slightly.

"You don't have to—" he started, his voice cracking embarrassingly in the middle.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "I already told you, I want to."

The flush on his cheeks deepened, but he nodded, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered his zipper. His fingers twitched against your shoulders, anticipation building in the way he shifted his weight.

The contrast between drunk Armin and sober Armin had fascinated you from the start.

Drunk Armin was all impulse and confidence—hands everywhere, whispered confessions against your skin, boldly telling you exactly what he wanted with none of his usual hesitation. The first night at the party, he'd been liquid courage and hungry eyes, pulling you into Jean's room without a second thought.

Sober Armin was a slow burn—starting tentative and sweet, checking in with gentle touches and questioning looks, always making sure you were comfortable. But what made him so intoxicating was the transformation that happened when pleasure built—how his careful control would gradually unravel, revealing the intensity he usually kept hidden beneath his quiet exterior.

As you tugged his jeans down his thighs, you could see that transformation beginning. His fingers flexed against your shoulders, his breathing already uneven despite how little you'd done.

"Is this okay?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes, your hands resting on his hips.

He nodded rapidly, then cleared his throat. "Yeah—yes, it's... it's more than okay."

You smiled, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, enjoying the way his abdominal muscles tensed in anticipation. Slowly, you pulled the fabric down, revealing him inch by inch until he sprang free, already hard and straining.

Armin's breath caught audibly, his hands moving from your shoulders to card gently through your hair. The touch was reverent, careful—so typically Armin at the start.

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him pulse against your palm as you stroked slowly from base to tip. His eyes fell shut momentarily, lips parting on a shaky exhale.

"You're already so hard," you murmured, thumb circling the sensitive head.

"Been thinking about this all night," he admitted, voice strained but still controlled. "Since the theater."

You leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip, watching his pupils dilate at the contact. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed an anchor.

When you finally took him into your mouth, Armin's quiet gasp filled the room. You started slow, taking just the head between your lips, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge before dipping into the slit. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, restraint evident in every tense muscle.

"That feels—" he broke off as you took him deeper, his voice cracking again. "So good, God."

You hollowed your cheeks, establishing a rhythm as you worked him with your mouth and hand together. Sweet, shy Armin was still present in the gentle way his fingers stroked your hair, in the soft, appreciative sounds he made with each movement of your tongue.

But as the minutes passed, you felt the shift.

His breathing grew heavier, his normally precise vocabulary reduced to fragments and your name. When you took him particularly deep, letting him hit the back of your throat, his hips jerked forward involuntarily causing you to gag slightly.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped immediately, trying to pull back.

You responded by gripping his hips, encouraging him to stay where he was, looking up to meet his gaze. The message was clear: It's okay. I can take it.

The careful restraint in his expression began to crack. His hand tightened in your hair, not painful but definitely more commanding than before, guiding your movements as you continued.

"You look so—" he swallowed hard, jaw clenching as you swirled your tongue around him. "So perfect like this."

This was where drunk and sober Armin began to converge—where pleasure stripped away his inhibitions, leaving raw need in their place. His hips started to move in shallow, careful thrusts that grew more confident when you moaned encouragingly around him.

"Is this okay?" he asked, voice rough with desire, his hand now firmly guiding your head. When you nodded, he exhaled sharply. "Good, because I—fuck—I need to—"

The proper, articulate Armin was gone now, replaced by a version of him that chased his pleasure with focused intensity. His fingers tangled more firmly in your hair, his thrusts growing more deliberate as he watched himself disappear between your lips.

"You're so good at this," he praised, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "So perfect with your mouth, taking me so well."

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his length that made him curse—something rare from his usual vocabulary. His self-consciousness had evaporated, replaced by a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask.

"Deeper," he urged, voice strained but commanding. "Please, just like—yes—just like that."

When you felt him start to throb against your tongue, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, you knew he was close. His careful rhythm faltered, growing erratic as his control slipped further.

"I'm going to—" he warned, trying to pull back slightly. "If you don't stop, I'll—"

You dug your fingers into his hips, taking him deeper instead, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His head fell back, throat working around a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him as he pulsed against your tongue.

"Fuck," he gasped, the words falling from his lips as he came, his fingers clenching in your hair, his body shuddering with release.

You worked him through it, swallowing around him until he became too sensitive, his hands gently urging you back as he caught his breath. When you finally pulled away, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his expression was dazed, cheeks flushed dark red.

Armin was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly, when his gaze dropped to you—eyes dark with hunger, lips kiss-swollen, fingers twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or give you a second to recover.

Then, with a suddenness that made your pulse jump, he pushed you back onto the bed.

You let out a surprised laugh as you landed against his pillows, but the sound choked off when he climbed over you, his hands sliding possessively up your thighs. His glasses—already fogged from his heavy breathing—slipped slightly down his nose, and with an impatient noise, he yanked them off and tossed them onto the nightstand.

"Fuck these things," he muttered, before his attention snapped back to you, making you laugh momentarily before your breath hitched.

His fingers hooked into the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your hips in one smooth motion, exposing the damp fabric of your panties. He exhaled sharply at the sight, his thumbs immediately pressing against the soaked material, dragging slowly along the seam.

"Armin," you gasped, arching into the touch.

He smirked—actually smirked—before dipping his head to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips were warm, teasing, moving higher with agonizing slowness.

"You’re so wet," he murmured, fingertips ghosting over the damp fabric of your panties. "Just from sucking me off?"

You bit your lip, nodding, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.

"Then let me return the favor."

Armin’s fingers curled into the sides of your panties, dragging them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing against your thighs in a way that made you shiver. The moment they were off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, his hands returned—spreading your thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath your hips, like he was memorizing the way you opened for him.

His breath was warm against your bare skin as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the apex of your thighs, teasing.

"You're so cute," he murmured, voice rough with want, lips brushing against your slick folds without giving you what you wanted. "The way you react every time."

You whined, hips lifting desperately toward his mouth, but he chuckled—chuckled, the bastard—and held you down with one firm hand on your stomach.

"I—fuck, Armin—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Hm?" he hummed breath fanning over your overheated skin. Then, finally, his tongue dragged through your wetness in one slow, torturous stroke, and you nearly arched clean off the bed.

His grip on your hip tightened, pinning you in place as he repeated the motion, lapping at you like he was savoring the taste. The contrast was maddening—his usual careful precision in everything he did, now applied to unraveling you completely.

Armin's mouth was relentless—hot, wet, and hungry as he devoured you with the same focus he usually reserved for his astronomy charts. His tongue laved broad, slow strokes through your folds before zeroing in on your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tremble.

"Fuck—yes, like that—" you gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as he worked you over with his lips and tongue.

He hummed against you in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Then, without warning, his fingers joined—two of them pressing against your entrance before sliding inside in one smooth thrust.

"You like that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he curled his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

All you could manage was a desperate nod, your voice failing you as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

Armin’s lips curved into a smirk—smug bastard—before his mouth descended again, tongue flicking over your clit in quick, relentless circles as his fingers fucked into you with growing insistence.

"You sound so pretty," he muttered against you, the vibrations making you writhe. "Always." His movements were precise, almost scientific, as if he’d studied exactly how to make you fall apart.

"Armin—" you panted, your grip tightening in his hair as his fingers pumped in and out, his thumb brushing your clit in tandem. "Don’t stop—please—"

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down—sucking your clit between his lips, fucking you with his fingers at a steady, maddening pace. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him as he worked you toward the edge with terrifying efficiency.

You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer and closer.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with arousal. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around his fingers as he coaxed every last pulse of pleasure from you.

When you finally slumped back against the bed, boneless and breathless, Armin pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," was all you could manage.

"Good?" he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You simply whined, lips curling into a grin at his pleased expression. Armin crawled up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath your palms as he settled between your thighs.

His fingers tangled in your hair, cradling your head as he kissed you thoroughly, unhurried now despite the way his arousal pressed insistently against your stomach. Each sweep of his tongue was deliberate, each gentle bite to your lower lip calculated to make you gasp.

He sat back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, subtle muscle of his chest and stomach. Not bulky like some of his friends, but defined in a way that made your mouth water. You reached up, tracing a finger down the center of his chest, feeling him shiver under your touch.

"Let me grab something," he murmured, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before leaning over to his nightstand.

He pulled open the drawer, retrieving a small box of condoms that still had the plastic wrap on it. You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Recent purchase?" you teased.

Armin's cheeks flushed, but he nodded, tearing open the box with slightly fumbling fingers. "Got them last week. After, uh—" he met your eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. "After I decided I never wanted to use Jean's condoms again. Completely ruined the mood knowing they were his."

You laughed, the sound turning into a soft gasp as he tore open a packet and rolled the condom onto his length with careful precision.

"Plus," he added, his voice dropping lower as he settled back between your legs, "I wanted to be prepared. For you."

His hands slid beneath your knees, gently pushing them back and open, exposing you completely to his gaze. The position left you feeling vulnerable, but the reverent way he looked at you—like you were a particularly fascinating celestial phenomenon he'd just discovered—made heat pool in your stomach.

Armin positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick folds without pushing in. He guidded his cock with his hand, coating himself in your wetness, watching your face as he teased you.

You whimpered, trying to shift your hips to take him in.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he continued the maddening tease. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You didn't answer immediately, distracted by the pleasure building again as he rubbed his dick against your sensitive clit.

"Tell me," he prompted, leaning down to kiss your neck. "I want to hear you say it."

You threw your arm over your face, suddenly embarrassed despite everything you'd already done together. "You know what I want."

"I do," he agreed, nipping lightly at your collarbone. "But I want to hear you ask for it."

Something about his tone—not demanding or smug, but genuinely wanting to hear your desire—made heat pool in your stomach. You peeked at him from beneath your arm, taking in his flushed cheeks, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth, the eager anticipation in his eyes.

"Please," you whispered, the word barely audible.

His smile was gentle, encouraging. "Please what?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "Please fuck me, Armin. I want you inside me."

The words sent a visible shudder through him, his breath catching as he lined himself up properly. "Like this?" he asked, pushing just the tip inside, watching your face carefully.

"Yes," you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he sank deeper, stretching you deliciously. "Just like that—god."

Armin's breath hitched as he pushed in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs with increasing pressure. You watched his face transform—the careful control giving way to raw sensation as he buried himself inside you completely, his hips finally flush against yours.

"Fuck," he breathed, eyes falling closed for a moment as he adjusted to the feeling. "You feel—you feel incredible."

He stayed like that for a heartbeat, fully seated inside you, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles against your skin. Then he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, pulling back slowly before pushing in again with careful precision.

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his shoulders. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

The praise sent a visible shiver through him, his rhythm faltering briefly before he found it again, setting a deliberate pace that had you arching beneath him. Each thrust was measured and deep, hitting exactly where you needed it.

Armin bent down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as he continued to move within you. His hand slid from your thigh to your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your top.

"Take this off," he murmured against your mouth. "Want to see all of you."

You nodded, and he helped you pull the shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. The moment you were bare beneath him, his eyes darkened with appreciation, his hands immediately moving to cup your breasts.

"Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, watching your reaction with fascination.

The dual sensation of his cock inside you and his fingers on your sensitive nipples had you moaning, head thrown back against the pillows. Armin took advantage, his lips finding your exposed throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin there.

His thrusts grew deeper, more insistent, each one drawing a soft gasp from your lips. You'd almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you—the past few weeks had been rushed encounters between classes, hurried orgasms from his fingers and tongue, but not this. Not since that first drunken night in Jean's room had you felt the delicious stretch of him inside you, and your body was reacquainting itself with the sensation.

"You feel so good," Armin breathed, his voice strained as his hips snapped forward with increasing force. "So fucking tight—god—"

His cursing sent a thrill through you—the contrast between the polite, studious Armin who explained Europa's atmospheric composition with such precision and the Armin currently fucking you into his mattress, hair falling messily across his forehead as sweat beaded on his brow.

"Harder," you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

Something flashed in his eyes—a momentary hesitation, then resolve. "You sure?"

"Yes—please—"

He didn't need to be told twice. His next thrust came with enough force to make the headboard hit the wall, drawing a surprised moan from your lips. His hands found yours, fingers interlacing as he pinned them beside your head, using the leverage to drive into you with newfound intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, voice rough, eyes dark with concentration as he watched your face for every reaction. "This what you need?"

"Yes—fuck—just like that," you gasped, arching beneath him.

A particularly deep thrust had you crying out, and Armin groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips worked against yours.

"Missed this," he confessed against your skin, the words tumbling out between thrusts. "Thinking about fucking you again—couldn't focus on the project—kept remembering how you felt—"

You whimpered, the admission sending heat spiraling through your core. The idea of him daydreaming about this while working on those meticulous slides, wanting you while discussing celestial phenomena—it was both ridiculously endearing and intoxicating.

"Me too," you admitted, "got wet thinking about you in class, when you were sitting right next to me—"

Armin groaned, his hips stuttering before finding their rhythm again. "Yeah? While I was discussing Titan's atmosphere?" His voice was playful despite the strain, his lips curving against your neck.

"Especially then," you teased back, gasping as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Something about the way you talk about space—ah!—really does it for me."

He laughed, breathless and surprised, before pulling back enough to look at you. His expression shifted to something more serious, more vulnerable, as his pace slowed momentarily.

"I'm falling for you," he admitted quietly, the words hanging between you as his hips rolled in a slow, deliberate grind. "Not just this—though fuck, this is amazing—but all of it. You."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your heart swelled at his confession, but before you could respond, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed vigor, stealing the words from your throat.

"But right now," he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he picked up the pace, "right now I just want to make you come around my cock."

The filthy words from his usually proper mouth sent a shock of heat straight to your core. You watched, transfixed, as his lean muscles tensed with each thrust—the subtle definition of his abs contracting, the way his biceps flexed as he held himself above you. His golden hair, usually so neatly combed, now hung in sweaty strands around his flushed face, his blue eyes dark and unfocused with pleasure.

"Fuck," you moaned as he shifted, the angle changing just enough that the head of his cock dragged perfectly against your g-spot with every thrust.

"There it is," he murmured, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice as he noted your reaction. "Found it."

He slammed into you harder, making the bed frame creak beneath you, each thrust precise despite the increasing desperation of his movements. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and arousing.

"You're so fucking wet," Armin groaned, watching where your bodies connected. "Taking my dick so perfectly—shit—"

You whimpered at his words, clenching around him involuntarily, which made his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment.

Just as the tension was building, coiling tight in your lower belly, a sound from the apartment's entrance made you both freeze.

"Armin? You home?" Connie's voice carried down the hallway, followed by the distinct jingle of keys.

"Shit," Armin whispered, his eyes widening in panic. He glanced at the door—which, you realized with a jolt of adrenaline, neither of you had thought to lock.

Before you could process what was happening, Armin's hand clamped over your mouth, his body still buried deep inside yours.

"Yeah, I'm here!" he called back, voice remarkably steady despite the situation. "Just working on some stuff in my room. Don't—don't come in, I'm changing!"

His eyes met yours, a silent question in them—okay?—as he remained perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside you.

You nodded against his palm, heart racing with the thrill of nearly being caught. To your shock, instead of pulling out, Armin began to move again—slower now, more deliberate, his hips rolling in shallow thrusts that maintained the pressure against your sweet spot without making the bed creak.

"We brought pizza!" Sasha's voice called. "Extra pepperoni! You want some?"

Armin bit his lip, stifling a groan as you clenched around him again, the danger of the situation somehow heightening every sensation.

"Maybe—ah—maybe later!" he called back, his voice hitching slightly as you deliberately tightened around him. He shot you a warning look that only made heat pool lower in your belly.

"Suit yourself," Connie replied, his voice thankfully moving toward the living room. "We're gonna watch that new anime you were talking about. The one with the monsters."

Armin's hips stuttered at the mention, and you couldn't help but smile against his palm, imagining him trying to focus on serious conversation while balls-deep inside you.

"Go ahead!" Armin called, then lowered his voice to a whisper meant only for you. "If you make a sound, I'll stop."

The threat—not truly a threat given how desperately you both wanted this—made you shiver.

The moment he was satisfied his roommates were settled in the living room, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed force, his hand pressing harder against your mouth. His eyes were wild, a mixture of arousal and danger as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta be quiet now," he breathed, his voice trembling slightly as he picked up the pace. "Can't let them hear how fucking wet your pussy is for me."

You whimpered against his hand, feeling yourself clench around him at the unexpected dirty talk. This was a side of Armin you'd glimpsed before—the way he'd whisper filthy praise against your ear when you sucked him off, how he'd gotten bolder with his words each time you hooked up—but never quite this raw, this uninhibited. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he continued, watching your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust. "Fuck, you're so perfect."

His free hand moved to cup one breast, thumb circling the hardened nipple before pinching it lightly, causing you to arch beneath him. Your muffled moan was captured by his hand, which pressed more firmly against your lips.

"Shh," he warned, but his eyes were dark with satisfaction at your reaction. "They'll hear you."

The position shifted slightly as he leaned more weight on the hand covering your mouth, his cock driving impossibly deeper. You could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass with each thrust, adding to the obscene symphony of skin against skin.

"You're dripping," he groaned quietly, glancing down at where your bodies joined. "Soaking the sheets, fuck—"

Despite his assertive words, Armin was falling apart above you—his composure cracking with each thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tried to stifle his own sounds. A whimper escaped him when you deliberately clenched around his length, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment.

"Do that—do that again," he pleaded, voice breaking slightly as you obliged, squeezing your inner muscles around him. "God��feels so good—"

His rhythm faltered briefly before he found it again, driving into you with precision that belied his trembling thighs and stuttered breathing. The head of his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you with each thrust, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

You tried to say his name, the sound muffled against his palm as your hands clutched at his back, nails digging into the smooth skin. Armin hissed at the sting but didn't slow down—if anything, the pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping forward with increased fervor.

"You like this?" he whispered, sweat-dampened hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you. "Like me keeping you quiet while I fuck you? While my roommates are right outside?"

You nodded frantically, eyes wide as pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with each precise thrust.

"Such a—fuck—such a dirty girl," he continued, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. "Getting off on this—on me—ahh—holding you down and—and fucking you while—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence, too caught up in the sensation. His expression was a beautiful mess—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glazed with pleasure. When you clenched around him again, he let out a whine that he immediately tried to muffle by burying his face in your neck.

"Close," he gasped against your skin, his rhythm growing erratic. "So close—need you to—need you to come with me—"

His hand slipped from your mouth just long enough to slide between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. The sudden stimulation made you gasp, and his palm clamped back over your lips instantly.

"Quiet," he reminded you, but the command lacked authority as his own breath hitched. His fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles as his cock continued to pound into you, the dual sensation rapidly pushing you toward the edge.

"Come on my cock," he urged, words turning desperate as his control slipped further. "Want to feel you—feel you squeeze me—God—squeeze me when you come—"

Your orgasm hit without warning, crashing over you in intense waves as your body clenched rhythmically around his length. Armin's hand barely muffled your cry as pleasure flooded every nerve, your back arching off the bed.

The feeling of your walls pulsing around him was too much. Armin's hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering completely as he buried himself deep inside you with one final thrust. His whole body tensed, a choked whimper escaping his lips as he came, his cock throbbing within you as he spilled into the condom.

For a long moment, he remained frozen above you, trembling with the force of his release. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips in a gentle, almost apologetic kiss.

"Sorry," he whispered against your lips, still catching his breath. "Got a bit... carried away."

You smiled, reaching up to brush sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Don't apologize. That was... wow."

A flush that had nothing to do with exertion spread across his cheeks, the shy, sweet Armin returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. The transformation was as endearing as it was fascinating—how quickly he could shift from filthy-mouthed confidence back to soft-spoken tenderness.

"Yeah?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice despite what you'd just shared.

"Yeah," you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss. "Definitely wow."

Armin carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before climbing off the bed and padding to the bathroom. You heard water running briefly before he returned, condom disposed of and a warm washcloth in hand.

"Here," he offered softly, gently cleaning between your thighs with a tenderness that made your chest ache. When he was done, he tossed the cloth into his hamper and climbed back onto the bed, immediately pulling you against his chest.

His fingers combed through your tangled hair, pushing sweaty strands away from your face. "You okay?"

You nodded, nestling into his warmth. "Perfect."

Armin reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a half-empty water bottle and offering it to you. "Drink something."

You took a few grateful sips before passing it back, watching as he drank deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The care in these small gestures was somehow more intimate than what you'd just shared.

After a comfortable silence, you traced a finger along his collarbone. "So..."

His eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability in them. "So?"

"You said something. During." You bit your lip, suddenly shy despite everything. "About falling for me."

A blush immediately spread across his cheeks, but to his credit, he didn't look away. "I did."

"Did you mean it?"

Armin exhaled, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining. "Yeah. I did. I am." His thumb stroked the back of your hand nervously. "Falling for you, that is."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you smiled up at him. "Good. Because I'm falling for you too."

The relief that washed over his face was almost comical—like he'd been genuinely worried after everything you'd shared. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Does that mean... I mean, would you want to..." he trailed off, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet your eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?"

You couldn't help but laugh—not at him, but at the endearing formality of it all, asking you to be his girlfriend while you were both naked and sweaty in his bed.

"Yes, Armin," you said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I'll be your girlfriend. Officially."

His answering smile was brilliant, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your stomach flutter.

"Great," he said, voice soft but steady. "That's... really great."

A loud burst of laughter from the living room reminded you both that you weren't alone in the apartment. Armin glanced toward the door, then back at you.

"We should probably..."

"Join civilization?" you suggested, already reaching for your scattered clothes.

"Yeah," he chuckled, climbing off the bed and searching for his boxers. "Plus, there's pizza."

You both dressed quickly, stealing glances and sharing small smiles as you put yourselves back together. Armin ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it back into something presentable while you straightened your clothes and checked for any visible marks he might have left.

When you finally emerged from his bedroom, Connie and Sasha were sprawled across the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table between them and some colorful anime playing on the TV.

"Well, well, look who finally emerged," Connie said, giving you a knowing grin as he paused the show. "Thought you said you were changing, Armin."

Armin froze for a half-second, his ears turning bright red as he fumbled for words. "I was—I mean, we were just—"

"Uh-huh," Sasha smirked, grabbing another slice of pizza. "Changing."

Armin's shoulders straightened suddenly, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "Well, I have a girlfriend now, so..." he trailed off defensively, the statement hanging in the air like he wasn't quite sure where he was going with it.

Connie and Sasha were silent, amusement on their expressions at Armin's words.

"Yeah, I have a girlfriend now, so what does it matter if I change in front of her?" Armin challenged more confidently, chin lifting slightly despite the blush still coloring his cheeks.

Connie rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing a wadded-up napkin in Armin's direction. "Yeah, yeah, just rub it in our faces, why don't you? Some of us are still single and suffering."

But there was no real bite to his words, just good-natured teasing as he scooted over to make room on the couch.

Sasha couldn't seem to stop smiling, her eyes darting between you and Armin with barely contained delight. "About time," she said, pushing the pizza box toward you both.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Armin asked, guiding you to the spot Connie had cleared.

"Dude, you've been talking about her non-stop for weeks," Connie snorted. "Pretty sure Sasha and I could recite your astronomy project by heart at this point."

"That's not true," Armin protested weakly, but the way he avoided eye contact made it clear Connie wasn't exaggerating.

Sasha leaned forward, stage-whispering to you. "He's had a crush on you since like, the second week of class. It was painful to watch."

"Okay," Armin interrupted loudly, reaching for a slice of pizza. "Can we please just watch the show now?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his embarrassment, settling comfortably against his side as Connie hit play on the remote. The anime resumed—something about giant humanoid creatures that seemed equal parts fascinating and terrifying—but you found yourself more interested in watching the easy camaraderie between the three roommates.

Despite their teasing, it was obvious how much Connie and Sasha cared about Armin. The way Sasha would occasionally glance over with a soft, approving smile, or how Connie had immediately made space for both of you, accepting you into their little circle without question.

As the show continued, Armin's arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the comforting weight of his arm. His fingers traced absent patterns on your shoulder as he focused on the screen, occasionally leaning down to whisper explanations of characters or plot points you might have missed.

It felt natural. Easy. Like you'd always belonged here, nestled against Armin's side while his friends bickered good-naturedly over the last slice of pizza.

When Armin's phone buzzed with a text from Eren asking how the date went, he simply smiled, typing back a quick response before tucking his phone away and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Good?" he asked quietly, and you knew he wasn't just asking about the anime or the pizza.

"Perfect," you confirmed, settling more comfortably against him as the next episode began to play.

[darkmagic-s]

theodore nott's one star rating of dirty talking

Summary: Sexting through note passing, one of Theodore's favourite ways to bother you.

History of Magic is fun... only if you're studying it on your own. You're nice enough to pretend to be interested in whatever Professor Binns is saying, occasionally, because you would feel bad if he notices that you're falling asleep. Then again, Professor Binns doesn't exactly have a heart to feel sad about his students not finding his lesson interesting, does he? Nevertheless, you work hard to suppress the yawn that would threaten to come every five minutes. Scratch that, every minute, actually.

You look down at your notebook, eyeing it with disappointment. Every History of Magic class, your page would start with almost impressive notes and gradually, evidently, transition into lazy writings and short sentences. Sometimes not even a sentence.

The Salem Witch Trials were a series of hearings and prosecutions of people who were accused of being involved with witchcraft.

These trials occurred in Massachusetts, in the years 1692 and 1963, in which, as a result, twenty people who were accused of witchcraft being executed, and most of them being women.

Some of the women were indeed witches, though found to be entirely innocent of the crimes they were accused and executed for.

others are just no-majes

traumatic event

witches and wizards retreat to homelands

1920 second salemers

dada essay due tomorrow & practice non-verb spells

You pause in your reading, eyebrows furrowed. The Defence Against the Dark Arts essay...

That's something you'll worry about after lunch.

With a soft sigh, you lean your chin on your palm, your elbow resting on your table. How much longer until it's lunchtime?

Before you can even start to feel another yawn coming, a familiar hand from beside you slides over a torn page from a notebook, with a sentence written on it. Obviously it won't be a list of names of the Salem Witch Trials' victims, knowing your lover.

You turn your head, looking at Theodore Nott with a raised brow, before reaching out to slide the paper closer to you, your hand brushing against the back of his hand briefly. He doesn't even bother to fold the paper. He might as well read it out loud to the whole class.

"why the frown? :("

You can't help the half-smile that appears on your lips when you read the note. You write back a simple response.

"You."

Theodore practically snatches the note from you, undoubtedly excited that there's finally something exciting to do and you had to nudge him because of the noise the paper just made. He's not bothered, of course, already writing down his response.

"I will buy you sweets."

Your heart skips a beat, even at such a simple message. You glances at Theodore, who's watching your every move with that gentle gaze of his green eyes, a soft playful smile on his lips.

"Your hair looks fluffy. Would love to touch later."

You slide it over to him. You enjoy the reaction your message has on him, because he rolls his shoulders in what seems like a satisfied manner as his smile widens, before he starts to write. Clearly he thought of a good response.

"you will touch it later, and other places too"

His response comes with a drawing of a beating heart, which eventually increases and explodes, and the animation repeats. How cute, you think. With a shy smile, you write back, wanting to keep the conversation going despite how his message had left you a bit speechless.

"What do you think of the New Salem Philanthropic Society? Bold, don't you think?"

Somehow, your response causes him to snort, in which he disguises it with a fake cough. You quickly look at him with a mix of confusion and amusement.

"you're BAD at dirty talking"

This time, it's your turn to snort, causing the two people in front of you and Theodore to turn around, frowning. You want to scoff - you're pretty sure they're just annoyed because you and Theodore are interrupting their napping or daydreaming session.

Looking over at Theodore, you roll your eyes at him, before focusing on the note that is now in your hands. You wouldn't say that you're bad at dirty talking, more like... skilled in other categories of dirty talking, such as begging or... demanding. Perchance.

You write your reply with determination.

"I would need to be locked up in Azkaban for your safety."

When Theodore reads your reply, you saw his eyebrows raise - he's both surprised and impressed. He shakes his head with a breathy chuckle.

"ominous, but an improvement,"

There's another sentence below this one, and you almost choked on your own saliva.

"pull up your skirt for me a little bit"

You immediately crumple up the paper on impulse, holding it in your hand, and you swear Theodore's smirk becomes more evident. Is he serious? Writing this on a note passed in class is dangerous! But then again, someone is borderline snoring just a few tables away and Professor Binns isn't even sparing him a glance, no one is.

You smoothen the paper on your table and writes down your response, exhaling softly.

"This isn't dirty talking. You're just horny."

Theodore places down the paper on his table and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. When your eyes meet his, he simply shrugs and pointedly looks down at your skirt.

He's waiting.

You sigh and make sure your robes are out of the way of display of your skirt. With your hands nervously gripping onto the hem of your skirt, you look around the classroom. Some are doodling, and some are literally sleeping. No one would find out, really.

You pull up your skirt by just an inch.

Okay, two inches.

"That's it," Theodore whispers unexpectedly, causing your heart to skip a beat. What handful he is.

He slides over the paper to you, and you notice he didn't write a response. You send him a questioning look, and he gestures to his body with his hand.

Oh.

You slide the note over.

"Which one do you want?"

The note is slid back to you.

"which one do YOU want?"

You tilt your head, contemplating. The hardest decision you've ever had to make today, you think.

"You don't need to take anything off to arouse me."

You pause your writing. However...

"The tie?"

Theodore seems satisfied once he reads the note. He looks over at you and loosens his robes around his neck, revealing his vest and the white shirt underneath it. With a smirk, he loosens his tie at the top of his vest, just a little, not too obvious - for your eyes only.

You can't help but to take the paper from him despite how it's his turn to write the message. Considering how the two of you aren't exactly writing neatly on the paper which leads to taking up all the space, you had to use the other side to write your new message.

"I like your neck."

Theodore smiles fondly once he reads this, not a playful smirk this time, and you think he might even be blushing. When he glances at you, you notice how his pupils are dilated.

He slides the paper over to you, and squeezes your hand affectionately for a brief moment before pulling away.

"you will mark it?"

It's clear to you how he's subtly guiding you towards saying the right thing, lest you start delving into the whole Second Salemers' background in your reply, and you can't help but to want to impress him.

"I will write on it in runes which would translate to my name."

Theodore chuckles quietly.

"nerd"

A true romantic.

You write back - shamelessly.

"You want me so bad."

You see him pressing his palm to his face, as his shoulders shake in quiet, small laughter. Naturally, seeing him smiling so big widens yours too. He leans towards you and whispers in amusement, "You are bad at dirty talking."

"You will never find anyone as good as me," you reply in a whisper, leaning back in your seat, putting on a smug expression, despite the fond smile that threatens to break though.

As Theodore leans in to peck your cheek, you can't help but to briefly think that, if you were good in dirty talking, a whole notebook would've been used up for this period alone. You needed to have a flaw, after all.

[sh4nksslvt]

Under the Desk

Crocodile demands a “personal report” from his trusted PA—under the desk, during office hours, with no room for hesitation.

crocodile x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, NSFW, power play, office setting, deepthroat, gagging, risk of being caught

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward | ++ this is my frst time writing nsfw so bear w me lolol

word count: 1.1k

masterlist | ko-fi

You’ve always known the rules of working for Sir Crocodile.

Dress sharply. Speak concisely. Never waste his time. And never — ever — act like the private time he gives you is anything but a transaction.

You’re not just his PA. You’re his in every unspoken way that matters, and in return, he gives you power, protection, and the occasional glance that makes your knees weak behind your pencil skirt.

But today feels different.

You’re not sure if it’s the storm outside pelting against the windows of Rainbase Tower, or the fact that he hasn’t looked up from his cigar for the past ten minutes while you read the latest intel on rebel activity in Alubarna. His golden hook taps idly on the desk — not impatiently, not angrily — just slow, deliberate metal against mahogany.

“...So,” you finish, voice smooth. “Shall I prepare an extraction order or wait for further verification from Agent Daz?”

Crocodile exhales a long plume of smoke before finally looking at you.

His eyes narrow a bit. “Is that all?”

Your spine straightens.

“Yes, sir.”

A pause.

Then a low chuckle.

“I asked for a full report,” he murmurs, cigar between his fingers. “This is hardly worth the ink you wasted printing it on.”

You swallow. It’s not the first time he’s pushed. But it’s rare for him to lean back in his chair like this, eyes heavy-lidded, voice dipped in that gravelly tone that only comes out when he’s not expecting an audience.

“Maybe you’ve gotten too comfortable in your position,” he continues lazily, eyes on yours. “Or maybe you think I won’t notice when you hold back.”

“I would never—”

“Would you?” he interrupts smoothly. “Then prove it.”

You blink.

He doesn’t move. He just rests his hand on the armrest of his chair and jerks his chin toward the space beneath the desk.

Your heart thuds.

“I want a personal report,” he says, voice low. “Thorough. On your knees.”

You don’t hesitate. This isn’t the first time, but the thrill never dies. You slide off your heels and slip beneath the desk, your expensive pencil skirt bunching up your thighs as your knees hit the plush rug. The moment you’re under, you see the bulge pressing against his slacks.

“I trust you remember how to behave,” he murmurs above you, shifting just slightly to give you better access. “No teeth.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

Your hands move with practiced ease, fingers unbuckling his belt and sliding down his zipper. He’s already semi-hard — heavy and warm against your palm. You hear the rustle of his jacket as he leans back, watching, waiting.

The thrill crawls up your spine.

You begin slow, your tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft as you stroke him. He lets out a low breath, hips twitching once. You smirk.

“Don’t get cocky,” he warns, voice rough. “You still owe me a convincing argument to keep you around.”

You look up from under the desk, locking eyes with him briefly as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and take him in deep — inch by inch, until your throat tightens and your eyes water.

Crocodile groans — quiet, but unmistakable.

You bob your head in slow rhythm, tongue tracing every vein, every ridge, and he fills your mouth so fully it forces tears to prick your lashes. You don’t stop. You’ve done this enough times to know what he likes: the suction at the base, the way your throat flexes when you swallow him down, the soft gagging sounds that echo beneath the desk.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hand resting lazily on your head. “You really have been keeping the good reports to yourself.”

You pull back for a second to catch your breath, a line of spit clinging to your bottom lip as you stroke him with your hand.

“Just giving you something worth listening to,” you murmur, voice husky.

“Mhm...then don’t stop.”

You take him back in, deeper this time — faster, more eager. His thighs tense under your hands as you grip them for leverage. You hear the faint creak of his chair, his breathing growing heavier. One large hand grips your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself — firm, possessive.

Outside the door, voices echo briefly — two agents talking in the hallway. You freeze for just a second, but Crocodile doesn’t. He taps the desk with his hook again — slow, warning.

“Don’t stop now,” he growls. “You wanted to be thorough.”

The danger spikes in your blood.

You take him in all the way again, this time swallowing around the head until your gag reflex kicks and your throat convulses. He groans — louder now — and you feel his cock twitch against your tongue.

“Keep going. Faster.”

You obey, tears slipping down your cheeks as you fuck him with your mouth, messy now, drool dripping onto your hand, the sound of it obscene in the otherwise silent office. His grip tightens in your hair, and you know he’s close.

“You know what I like, don’t you?” he rasps, voice sharp with restraint. “That filthy mouth. Always pretending to be so professional. And yet here you are.”

You whimper in response, the sound muffled by his cock. You feel him throb, and then—

“Swallow.”

His hips jerk, and hot ropes of cum spill into your throat. You moan around him, swallowing every drop, your throat working as he empties himself into you with a low, rough growl of satisfaction.

You don’t stop until he lets out a long breath and releases your hair.

When you finally pull back, your lipstick’s ruined, saliva clings to your chin, and your chest is heaving from the effort.

There’s a silence between you, heavy and thick.

Then—

“Clean up,” he orders.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and tuck him back into his slacks with care. His breathing steadies as you finish buttoning him back up, and you sense the shift — from dominance back to distant professionalism.

You slip out from under the desk, adjusting your skirt. His eyes linger on your face as you straighten up.

“I’ll file the rest of the paperwork,” you say, voice slightly hoarse but otherwise calm.

He nods once. “Do that.”

You start to walk toward the door.

“And (Y/N),” he calls.

You pause and glance back.

“There’s a conference in ten minutes with the executives. If you look like that,” he says slowly, “everyone will know what you’ve been doing.”

You wipe at the corner of your lips with your thumb. “Then maybe I’ll give them something worth speculating about.”

A smirk tugs at his mouth — small, rare.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “I might start asking for daily reports.”

You shut the door behind you, heart still racing. And gods, if he asks again tomorrow — you’ll be ready.

[novaursa]

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children. 

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

[kitkat13001]

✦ — 2. black sheep

⋆.˚✮ prev ⟡ m. list ⟡ next ✮ 2.5k words

-> hitoshi shinsou x pro-hero!reader

✮ with you and hitoshi constantly at each other’s throats, this mission is seeming more and more impossible. will a break in the case make things better or worse. . ? ✮ tracklist: black sheep - brie larson and metric, complicated - avril lavigne, snap out of it - arctic monkeys, transparent soul - willow smith, taking what’s not yours - tv girl

it takes some time for you and shinsou to settle into a half-decent routine. it’s rocky at first, both of you struggling to gauge being in such close quarters after being apart for so long. 

it’s weird. it normally takes you a while to get accustomed to working with others. you’ve always struggled to adjust to a teammate, and you’d never been able to keep a sidekick. 

your quirk is better suited for combat versus support, so you’re often sent out on your own. that combined with your headstrong personality makes you an easy standalone, so aside from working with your fellow lurkers, you don’t work in teams a whole lot. 

still, with your career riding on this operation, and edgeshot keeping a close eye on you, you try to make an effort to be civil. but it’s hard. you and hitoshi have always been polar opposites, but where that used to be strength has now turned to nuisance. 

patrol, paperwork, recon, debrief, report. awkward silence, meaningless small talk, avoidant glances. sarcastic comments, clenched teeth, childlike bickering. you spend the next few days in these strange spirals. 

it takes some adjusting, and you find yourselves butting heads frequently, but you’re surprised by how quickly you both seem to fall back in together. time (and a lot of other things) has warped your relationship, but there’s muscle memory underneath it all. 

the shift gives you whiplash. you walk and you argue. you sit in silence in the office. but a villain comes along, some low-threat thug on the street, and taking him down is effortless. you and hitoshi seem to work in seamless tandem. 

you notice things the longer you work with shinsou. 

he always walks just slightly behind you. he usually doesn’t speak first. on patrol, he moves when you move, like magnets. 

he always eats at his desk and then disappears, presumably for a smoke break on the roof. he always waits until the last minute to turn in his mission reports, but he never files them late. he takes his coffee black, which normally you would assume he only does to seem cool — except that you know he’s drank it like that since high school. 

he catches you staring exactly once. you’re both on a roof during a recon run, leaning against the railing. he’s gazing down at the city and you’re deep in thought, studying his side profile. 

four years seems like a long time, but he actually doesn’t look too different. he’s a little taller (or just standing more straight now?), and he’s got a couple new scars. his hair is longer. 

you’ve seen him occasionally on the news, of course, but only briefly. he hates the press, never takes interviews or public missions if he can help it. photos of him are rare, and usually blurry candids taken from afar. nothing like seeing him up close, anyway.

“do i have something on my face or what?”

your cheeks heat up when he glances at you in his peripheral, but you hold his gaze and squint. “you have such rbf it’s insane.”

hitoshi stares at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“this is why nobody wants to work with you, huh?”

you make an indignant noise, shooting him a cutting glance. you wish you had a good comeback but it’s the truth. you can’t keep a sidekick or partner to save your life. 

“whatever.”

he laughs dryly, satisfied with your lack of response. smug bastard. 

you both return to the increasingly familiar silence, watchful eyes focused below. 

the weapons shipment is set to go down at the end of the month, according to kamihara’s contact. until then, you and shinsou are supposed to be collecting evidence and keeping an eye on known operatives — though it’s really glorified busywork. 

you heave an irritated sigh. “i hate this reconnaissance crap,” you huff, kicking at a pebble on the ground. “i feel like such a loser just waiting around.”

“has anyone ever told you you’re way too impulsive for your own good?”

you click your tongue. “yeah. you, about a million times. and edgeshot, pretty much daily. kamui, too. not takeyama, though, ‘cause she’s the exact same.”

“dream team,” he replies loftily. 

you peer at him through the corner of your eye and he’s got some faraway look in his eye. 

“you keep in touch with anyone else from school? i haven’t seen you in many team-ups.”

he raises one eyebrow with a half-smirk. “you keeping tabs on me?”

you snort. “huh! you wish.”

“kaminari and i talk sometimes. if i’m in the area we’ll patrol together. once in a while monoma and i get paired up if i feel like traveling.” he shrugs, tugging lightly on his capture scarf. “i like working alone. easier that way.”

“i’m gathering that. you know, i…” you trail off, realizing that he’s not listening. you scowl, ready to say something about it until you see the way he’s laser-focused on the scene below. you peer over the ledge, watching as a suspicious-looking figure slips out of the building below and slinks off. 

shinsou hops the railing, rappelling down the building in pursuit with you right on his tail. you two keep a good distance as you trail the presumed villain, ducking behind a pile of empty crates. 

you peer out, trying to see where he’s headed, but he’s looking right at you and takes off at the sight. 

you curse, sprinting after him as he runs across the street and shoves through the crowded square. shinsou peels left, climbing up to run parallel to you along the rooftops.

the villain clambers through the crowd but he’s hard to miss with all the people he’s shoving over screaming. you cut through the crowd, in hot pursuit, shouting for people to clear away. 

someone to your right screams and dives away as a large red disc sails right at them. sirens ring out and the crowd begins to disperse as law enforcement aids evacuation. you keep running, dodging more of those sharp discs the villain sends at you. you’re agile, but the constant dodge slows you down. 

where the hell did hitoshi go? you wonder. you can’t let this guy get away…

you duck another disc, sprinting to catch up when you see hitoshi drop down on the opposite end of the street. cornered, the villain rears back for another vault of discs, this time headed right for shinsou. your body reacts quicker than your mind and you dive forward to deflect them. the tendrils of hitoshi’s capture scarf dart over your head as you block the disc, and the villain shouts as he’s swiftly detained. 

you get to your feet, brushing yourself off as hitoshi steps forward, standing over the villain. “you all done there?”

“ha!” he spits back, “not a—” he stops, face and mind going blank as shinsou’s brainwashing takes hold. 

“alright, enough. get up and walk,” shinsou commands, watching with smug satisfaction as the villain obeys immediately. 

he’s stronger, you think to yourself, awed more than you care to admit by hitoshi’s power. his compulsion was so strong you almost felt like obeying him yourself, even though he hadn’t directed the command at you. you and him trail behind as the villain ambles toward the police officers that have collected around the square’s perimeter. 

“that was some move,” you whistle lowly, trying to sound nonchalant with the compliment. shinsou doesn’t turn his head. 

you think he’s just trying to focus on keeping the guy under control, but then he huffs a little under his breath. “thanks for almost letting him get away.”

the nerve! you think, offended once you get over the shock of his backhand. “thanks for ditching me back there!” you retort, skin prickling and hair on end. “you would’ve got skewered back there if it wasn’t for me!”

“i would’ve been fine!” he scowls, turning away to unravel the stupefied villain and hand him over to the authorities for detainment. “i just don’t see how this entire operation is even a two-person job, that’s all.”

by now you’re practically boiling over with frustration. “you know what, ‘toshi? i didn’t ask to be partnered with you, okay? let’s just get through this stupid mission and then we can go back to never talking again.”

he studies you for a long time with an exasperated expression, before finally asking, “that’s really what you want?”

you don’t really know how to answer that, so you just frown. “i…well, yeah, i guess.” 

isn’t that what he wants? from all this attitude, it’s clear he wants nothing to do with you. 

“fine, whatever. thanks for the save.”

you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not this time, and you don’t know even know which is worse. you just stand there, smarting and feeling incredibly stupid. 

“i hate him!” 

mt. lady looks up when you slam your locker door, collapsing onto the bench in front of you. she gives a half-smile. “that bad?”

“i’m going to wring his neck if i have to be in the same room as him again in the next twenty-four hours,” you reply with a deadpan expression. 

“well, good thing you’re done for the day, no?” she gestures to where you’re changing out of your hero costume into your casual clothes. 

you stifle a loud groan into your balled-up shirt. you heave a sigh when you come up for air, the very picture of absolute misery. “no. we gotta be there for the interrogation. we think he’s involved in the syndicate we’re tracking right now.”

takeyama blinks, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “good lord. well, don’t strangle him too hard! he’s too pretty to kill, you know?”

oh, you know. but that’s the least of your problems right about now, so you just wave her off and take another moment to collect yourself before you have to go back. 

you make your way to the lower levels and find hitoshi leaning against the wall outside a detainment room. his head is ducked to avoid eye contact and you don’t bother to greet him. you peer through the one-sided glass and find the same villain from earlier cuffed to the table, absolutely seething. detective tsukauchi is seated across from him, looking equally vexed. 

must be serious if he’s here. you’ve worked under kamihara on cases with him, and you know he’s one of the best at what he does. 

you watch as tsukauchi gets up from the table and exits the room, meeting you and shinsou outside. 

“afternoon,” he greets you both politely with your hero names and a nod. “apologies for dragging out your duties, but it seems he won’t talk. we’re suspecting he’s not much more than a grunt, but it does seem that he knows something, particularly pertaining to the shipment i understand you two are tracking.”

“if he does, i’ll get it out of him,” shinsou assures him. tsukauchi nods, moving aside to let him through. 

you trail behind as he adjusts his modulator mask, striding into the room and calling out with tsukauchi’s voice. 

“ready to talk now?”

“yeah, right! you’re gonna hafta bring in that mind-control freak ba—”

he stops short in the middle of his sentence, his face going slack and eyes turning white. you almost wanna laugh. 

“aww, careful now,” hitoshi replies, back to his normal voice and sarcastic tone. “you might hurt my feelings. not the sharpest tool in the shed, y’know, falling for this twice.”

he slides into the chair opposite the villain and you perch on the table, waiting. 

“talk.”

a shiver runs down your spine when you feel the wave of cold control that passes through the room. 

the man speaks like he’s in a daze, slow and robotic. “my name is hiroto kaori. i’m thirty-six. i live on—”

hitoshi pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s warding off a headache. “about the weapons shipment, the organization you work with. what do you know?”

“a huge order of illegal firearms and other weapons is supposed to be imported for the syndicate.”

“where? when?”

“a week from tomorrow. i don’t know where.”

your heart jumps a little. “a week from tomorrow?” you ask before you can stop yourself. “the briefing said it’s not supposed to be for another three weeks!”

“why did it change?” shinsou asks, brows creased. 

“i don’t know.”

you curse, sliding off the table to pace the room. 

shinsou turns to you. “think your boss has a bad contact?”

you shake your head. “kamihara wouldn’t send us in without being sure. maybe they found out somehow? changed it up hoping we’d be too late to catch them…”

“maybe,” he murmurs, before turning back to the villain who’s still sitting placidly. “what else do you know?”

“that’s all.”

hitoshi sighs, standing up with a huff. the villain blinks slowly, bewildered as the control wears off. you and hitoshi file out as he begins to shout profanities after you until the guards inside subdue him. 

“a week…” you huff in disbelief. that’s much sooner than you expected. “and they’ll probably be expecting us now if they find out we’ve got this guy.”

hitoshi is quiet for a while before responding. “not necessarily. they think they’re ahead but there’s still a chance to catch them by surprise.”

“we don’t even know if it’s the same location,” you reply despondently, sliding down the wall you were leaning on until you’re on the floor. you stifle a long groan into your palms. “the fucking report on this is going to be a nightmare. and we’re probably going to have to stakeout, that’s going to be great.”

you keep rambling on, so caught up with the nightmare unfolding in your mind that you’ve half-forgotten shinsou standing right in front of you. 

you look up, almost surprised. “what?”

he’s looking at you strangely, some odd expression on his face. like he wants to say something. four years ago, you would’ve been able to tell what it was without a problem. now you just wait.

hitoshi shifts, visibly uncomfortable. “i’m…sorry about earlier,” he mumbles, voice strained like it’s physically paining him to admit this. “i…i shouldn’t have said those things. after agreeing to do this mission with you, and now…maybe i shouldn’t have said…”

you resist the urge to squirm under his intense gaze. he’s always had eyes that seem to look right through you, almost boring into your soul.

“um, thanks…? i guess…”

he nods resolutely, more to himself than to you. he makes a face. “and after all the hassle it took to take this mission. tch. maybe it’s a good thing it’ll be over quicker.”

his words puzzle you, and your stomach dips as he turns to leave. you get up quickly, trying to make sense of it. 

“‘toshi, wait!” you reach for his hand to stop him before he disappears. “did you…i thought you were assigned to this?”

he looks at your hand on his wrist, cheeks reddening. you quickly drop your hand, embarrassed. 

“i was offered. but i thought…” he trails off, shaking head again. “it doesn’t matter what i thought. i just wanted to apologize for being an ass is all. so i’ll stay out of your way and this whole mess will be over soon.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to respond (not that you think you could’ve come up with anything to say anyway) before he’s stalking off down the hallway, leaving you with hot cheeks and a pit in your stomach. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, header by kitty with pics from pinterest!

taglist: @deadhands69 @frvv @cccandynecklaces @tokeposts @lover-no-lover61 @getvaccinated @accidentpronedork @crushmeeren @p4rkcha3w0n @cyberesc @bloomstream @eloshifts @bythevay @cc1306 @nobodybutnnoorr (ask/comment if you’d like to be added!)

writing action is hard :/ trying to the get the story moving along!! <33 moving some outline stuff around but the next chapter should be a lil more balanced i hope 🤞 enjoy! hope this lives up to excitement that’s been expressed!!

[danikamariewrites]

Hiding in Plain Sight

Cazriel x reader

Warnings: eating disorder/disordered eating, anxiety, angst, comfort at the end

If reading about Eating Disorders/Disordered Eating makes you uncomfortable please don’t read. Your health comes first.

Azriel stares at you across the table, a worried frown pulling at his lips. He watched you push your breakfast around the plate. His hazel eyes occasionally dart to Cassian, silently begging him to notice that there is something wrong with their mate.

But nothing. Cassian was busy joking with Amren and making sure Elain found it funny that he picked on the ancient being.

There wasn’t much on your plate to begin with. A small scoop of eggs, one piece of bacon, and half of a bagel. Placing your fork on the plate you nudge it away from you. No one would notice that you barely touched your food anyway.

Besides, you had a big dinner last night. There was no need for a big breakfast.

That was the problem with the River House. Every meal was big. And your absence wouldn’t go unnoticed.

The edge of the plate presses against your fingers gently. Looking up from your lap you see a shadow discreetly moving your plate closer to the edge of the table, urging you to eat.

You raise a brow at the shadow before it scurries back across the table to rest at Azriel’s shoulders. Your eyes dart to your mate, briefly making eye contact with him.

You start to fidget nervously feeling the scrutiny of his gaze. Swallowing hard, you stand from the table, excusing yourself to your office for the day.

You were just too anxious. A permanent knot has formed in your stomach over the last week. It feels like your throat closes up on you and you can’t breathe when you try to eat. The only thing you’re able to stomach has been water.

Having Azriel look at you like that had your heart racing in panic. You feel like a burden to your mates at times, especially when your anxiety lasts long periods of time.

Sitting at your desk you take deep breaths, pouring a glass of water. After taking a few sips you get to work, focusing on the needs of the city and keeping your side of the bond closed.

Up in the training ring Azriel’s mind is still on you. Were you not eating again? Or was it just this morning? Last time you struggled with eating it ended you came to them for help. It wasn’t like Cassian and Azriel judged you or thought less of you. They worry about you only because they love you.

Cassian nudges Azriel’s shoulder as he strolls by, leaving the Valkyries to their warm up exercises.

“What’s wrong?” He crosses his arms trying to keep a stoic facade up. Azriel knew Cassian was worried and stressed. He could feel it in his own chest. Knew there were thoughts of you running through Cass’s mind because they echoed in his own.

“I think y/n is struggling again.” Azriel says bluntly, not wanting to dance around the topic as they have before.

Cassian’s jaw muscle feathers. Hurt and anger bubbling in his chest quickly. Azriel lays a gentle hand on his arm to calm him. “Listen,” Azriel growls. “I know how this makes you feel. Angry and powerless, we can’t fight this, only she can. But we can help her.”

Azriel holds the general by his shoulders, forcing Cassian to meet his gaze. “Talk to me Cass.” He inhales sharply, eyes lined with silver as he looks up. “I just…I feel useless to her.” Azriel gently holds Cassian’s face. “You aren’t. We aren’t. I promise, she needs us.”

Deciding to skip dinner, you head straight for your rooms. Exhausted from anxiety making you physically sick.

Opening the door you’re taken aback seeing Cassian and Azriel sitting on the couch. “Oh, Hi my loves.” You put on a fake smile, trying to convince your mates to not ask questions.

Azriel gives you a sad smile, striding across the room to hold you. At his touch you crumbled.

Sobbing into Azriel’s chest he rubs your back in soothing motions. “It’s ok,” he whispers against your temple.

Cassian watches from his spot on the couch. Tears of his own silently sliding down his cheeks. Feeling your anguish through the bond had Cassian wanting to crawl out his skin.

Gods, if this is what you’ve been struggling with on a daily basis you must be stronger than him.

He quickly makes his way across the room, holding you from behind. Cassian presses a long kiss to the back of your head. Scooping you from Azriel he walks you over to bed, cradling you to his chest like you’d cease to exist if he let go.

“Tell me what to do, how do I fix this?” Cassian pleads quietly. You bury your face deeper into his chest, no longer holding your emotions back from your mates. Your shoulders shake as your sobs continue.

Taking deep breaths makes your sobs calm. Sitting up you wipe at your face. Cassian pulls you right back to his chest, needing to hold you.

“I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t make it stop. Every time I think I get better it all comes back worse.”

Cassian looks at Azriel, both males giving each other a pained look. “I’m sorry, sweet pea. I’m so sorry.” Cassian whispers. “We’re here for you. And I swear I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

“We won’t let you face your problems alone, y/n.” Azriel says, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. You reach out to hold his hand.

Settling into your mates’ comforting embrace you focus on clearing your mind. “Thank you,” you say softly. Your mates respond by squeezing you between them. “We love you, y/n.”

“More than you can imagine.”

You curl into them, letting their love reach you through that precious golden string.