#and them being written to mirror each other

[phenomenalgirl9]

Idol! Bangchan x Reader: I Missed You 🔞

A/n: I haven't posted in ages, so sorry if this sucked! This is nothing but a self indulgent fic written while I was feeling extensively horny. Ngl. Its short and just letting out my feelings. But Minors DNI 🔞

Summary: Chan was away touring for months and you missed him a lot. (Idk how to put it)

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It's been a while since you've seen Chan. He's been overseas for months touring America and Europe, with the Straykids. And he was coming home today, you wished you'd be there when he entered home but you had an important meeting and you were out all day. And now you were rushing home to finally meet your boyfriend.

“Channie?” you called out and found him in the kitchen, you had texted him that you were coming back so he started some ramen. The two of you rushed and hugged each other and she picked you up and spun you around. “Babygirl! I missed you” he said, setting you down and holding you tight in his embrace. And just like that you felt like all your troubles and worries had walked away. “I missed you so much” you said, as you sniffed him, that same familiar smell filling your senses. He's here now, there was so much you both missed about each other but being in each other's arms was what you missed the most. 

You took his face in your palms and kissed him, him immediately kissing you back. His lips mirrored the sense of urgency that you felt. You needed him and he you, badly. 

You fisted his t-shirt and pulled him closer and he pressed your body to his by your waist. 

“Fuck I missed you” you whispered against his lips. “I'm here now. Right here” He said, and kissed you deep, you giving him way to explore every crevice of your mouth as your other hand travels to his hair, your fingers intertwining with them.

You pulled on his T-shirt and in one swift motion he took it off and chased your lips. Your hands lay on his toned chest as it traveled all over his torso. He pulled onto your top that was tucked into your pants and took it off of you his lips immediately attacking your neck and his one hand on you boob and the other on your waist leaving no space between your bodies. You guided him back on the couch and straddled his lap and you attacked his lips and lightly bit his bottom lip, making him gasp. He unhooked your bra and a sigh of relief left you and his hands traveled up and down your body. He pushed you back for a moment, surprising you. “Gosh I love you” he said with a lovesick smile, with eyes raking all over your bare body. 

You smiled and dived onto his neck as you felt him hard inside his half pants underneath you. You bit into his soft skin and your waist moved against him, making you both groaned in unison. “Bed. now.” you instructed as you rubbed your nose down his collarbone and bit on his chest. He groaned in light pain yet broke into giggle “yes, maam”. He picked you up and moved you both towards the bedroom. 

He dropped you onto the bed and kissed you down your neck leaving breathy butterfly kisses tickling you and you giggled. His hands traveled down your waist and he undid your pants and you kicked them away. You pushed on your elbows and sat up and pulled down his pants. You were about to take his member into his hands but he stopped you and pushed you onto the bed. “I need to be inside you or I'll combust” he said and you laughed. “What are you waiting for then?” You taunted and as if in reply he pushed himself into you all at once. You moaned in satisfaction, no matter how much you tried to do it yourself nothing felt like him and nothing will ever feel like this how you feel when he's inside you. 

He moved in and out as his mouth found abode on your nipples teasing him as you fist his hair. “Chan…” you moaned.

“yes, babygirl?”

- “I missed you”

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Masterlist

[jonathanbyersphd]

No you don't GET it she's in a red jacket and he's in a black jacket with a flannel underneath and she's in a red jacket and he's in a black jacket with a flannel underneath.

[bahoreal]

just everything about the love stories of maggie and nina and crowley and aziraphale being different but the same, crowley being in love for forever and wanting to be with aziraphale more than anything bc his heaven related cynicism lets him want things for himself but aziraphale still believing heaven can change things and feeling like he needs to have a purpose (he never stopped being an angel he still needs that purpose!) and believing heaven is the way... im just biting the walls i cant stop thinking about the kiss and aziraphale touching his lips after, like crowley introduced him to the delights of food and liquor and crowley introduced him to this too and it felt awful and it felt amazing and he liked it and he wanted to like it but he just wants crowley to want what he wants and try and work with heaven and without that he cant indulge, he cant want crowley back, its just the wrong time and the right being, like we're meant to expect that crowley will still be there waiting for him ("i hope she'll be there when im ready but there isnt any guarantee" "there is") but crowley spent all his time following aziraphale around, crowley is living like all he wants is aziraphale, and aziraphale isnt on the same page, and aziraphale is going to get whisked away and distracted and the crowley he finds again when he comes back wont be the crowley that he left

[fromtheseventhhell]

The only good thing about TWOW not being out is that it lets me be delusional about Arya being the third head of the dragon 😁😚

[padfootastic]

out of all the marauders sirius is the one who has the most apparent dark side right? i read something on tumblr a while ago that said that sirius would have been like the male version of bellatrix had he joined the death eaters. honestly dumbledore should have been grateful that sirius wasn't a part of the so called dark side, because if he was, then the story would have taken a completely different turn. i mean just imagine sirius and bellatrix duelling together on the same side.

ooh, i must say--i think james is the only one who doesnt have an apparent dark side, actually.

peter, we saw his dark arc in real time. sirius, based off his capabilities, temper, and intensity as well as our own hcs. remus, more subtle but the manipulation + cowardice/running away + apathy & detachment sets a very good base for a dark side. also, if u want to go by some fanon interpretations of lycanthropy and the wolf being a separate entity. oh, also his ease with killing is a plus here.

with james, though, there's swm, yes but he was also a teenager who was incredibly spoiled and pampered with a b&w morality so i wonder how dark he truly could be.

that being said--absolutely the world would shudder in fear if sirius joined the dark side bc i truly think he had the ability and power to raze everyone to the ground. it's like,,,he was treated SO badly by the light side i wouldnt blame him for joining the DEs lol (read a few like that for harry. yum.) and then where would they be?

but even if he doesnt, and just chooses to go with a third side of his own, i still think he'd be formidable. not just because of his magic or his power, but because he's loyal to the bone and if he has to protect soemone, he'll do anything for them.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ideal scenario is that i like thinking about this like, essential short story adventure where winston and tuk hook up w/a couple [that bachelorette party] members, and as a foursome/quartet because they have these parallel stories of two pairs of friends who are like "sure i'd have sex with you if things aligned for that" and now are living that short story about expanding a dynamic & becoming closer friends for the end of it (of course billions only wrote winston as standing next to tuk next episode, instead of rian as he's often written to be standing with incl in a previous finale, to shove him out of the path of getting material and let taylor have confusing nonresolution w/rian based on this proximity and coincidence instead. but who can't say that that, And winston next not even trying to sit with tmc in the last finale appearance which at this point is probably for the best and instead again hanging out with tuk and then ben, isn't about having been closer for whatever all happened there in obtaining casual sex together)

and they can have perpendicular stories of also just having some nice chats and enjoying other interactions together such that maybe it's just fun for this one night of crossing paths, maybe anyone stays in touch at all, who even knows, if winston or tuk are dating anyone it's probably only going to come up again in how they were last dumped for being too much effort for how unepic they are, so godspeed to offscreen unmentioned dating. but just friendly acquaintanceship, or again this one-time spontaneously crossed paths night's acquaintanceship, is also a lot of fun. and why not imagine that winston "he's not allowed to not feel self-loathing or, by doing basic things like talking or initiating Or oppositng anything, Not operating as though he's too low in a social hierarchy here to be allowed thusly" type of material where his spontaneity, vivacity to bon vivantocity, self-assurance that is apparently arrogance/aggression to every who thinks he ought to be self-effacing instead, etc, is actually just a social success in other less wretched non-work situations, and his personality is taken as a contribution to the proceedings even before anyone takes up his proffered contribution of himself as a potential sexual partner. and lending confidence to tuk as like one person who won't, at any given time, go into hostile mode with him or even like take up the position of issuing this criticism, which is an inherently elevated (over tuk) one when it's a unilateral thing. such that tuk's personality can be a potential contribution as well. and winston and tuk's Friendship Developing Moments can be happening then, too, b/c Maybe they've hung out outside work on their own aleady, but also maybe they've never really been interacting with a larger group outside work, such that that group is less likely to include some people, or entirely people, who will suddenly go sicko mode on either or both of them. and then meanwhile, who knows anything abt this bachelorette party, could be already a cohesive friend group who all see each other all the time, or people who see each other more infrequently meeting up on this trip, or a mix; could be fun and chill or something so scheduled/demanding it's kind of like a work trip, or fluctuate....and of course zero info abt the individuals such that imagining anything abt them is entire OC territory, and i'm bad at that, or at coming up with stories, so not exactly a lot of details here from me but godspeed if two of them unlock another tier of friendship here b/c like parallel to winston and tuk, they're like hmm okay so we're mutually down re: potentially having a foursome here, and spending some time away from the larger group

(or of course the scenario that tuk and winston can also have that moment but just as putting "and/or: a threesome?" as an option, and that tips the scales for someone who might've otherwise felt more indecisive like "hmmmm casual convenient hookup, or spending more time out & about like this / whatever other activity...." but then is like oho Well, if it's a threesome, i'll seize that opportunity, sure....such that then maybe afterwards [winston and tuk hanging out together] happens sooner, if the third member feels more third wheel about things lol, since now they'd be the only two who already know each other. like ooh who knows, round n+1 in the aftermath just one on one (and/or i mean, maybe another thing the third party's still around for, re: further casual sex opportunities that don't just fall into your lap every day), and/or talk, watch tron together, go back out on the town even. where the conclusion of this truly is the essence of "it Is easy to imagine that winston and tuk are real Genuine Friends for the implicit further offscreen time spent together outside work / interactions between them here. and fun" and with that flair of "and give that a juxtaposed parallel in it being the same for a couple bachelorette attendees, why not, good for them"

[wonlovie]

— RACING, BEATING.

You didn’t mean to show up to one of the most important meetings of your year completely hungover. No, in reality you would have preferred being sober when you met the man your father was marrying you off to. But how could you resist those dark eyes and plump lips that tempted you on your final night of freedom?

— starring. illegal-racer!heeseung x model!reader

— tags. arranged marriage!au but they kind of not really hate each other for like one scene, reader is touch starved af, smut [mild public sex (car, elevator), vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), face-fucking, establishment of a safeword but it's never used, degrading (use of whore and stupid bitch) [MINORS DNI]]

— word count. 11.9k

— notes. there was a whole other part to this but i kept rewriting it until i could not anymore 💀 if i do finally get it written the way i want to, i might release it as a part two to this 👀👀 lmk if u'd be interested!!

You were used to playing pretend. As the daughter of an influential CEO, you were born in the spotlight, never knowing what living without a camera pointed at you was like. By seven years old, you were a master at faking a smile. A gentle smile, never too broad because people would call you an overachiever but never too little, or you’d be caught up in unhappy scandals. 

By fifteen years old, your father had announced your title as the face of his company and your ‘normal’ life as you knew it was gone forever. You no longer had time for actual studies nor for the fruitless relationships you had gathered. Instead, you spent your hours practicing your runway walk and your model face. Almost every wall in your lofty house was lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, never allowing you for a second to forget how you looked to others.

Your father was never one to miss out on making money, priding himself on his cynical and opportunistic ways of life. If something could be monetized, he was always the first one to come up with a foolproof plan to capitalize on it. Which is why you weren’t surprised when he announced to you that you were to be married off to the heir of a big company whose name you saw almost everywhere. 

Years spent watching your peers grow up normally, studying hard and partying harder, left behind a bitter jealousy that you could never voice. For once, you wanted to feel normal. For once, you wanted to feel like your father’s daughter and not his employee. For once, you wanted to forget the world and experience true freedom. 

That was how you found yourself sitting on an uncomfortable barstool, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop with a glass of some mystery drink hanging from your fingertips. The dress you wore stuck to your skin, showing off more of your body than you were ever allowed to in public. There was a dull burn in your calves from the stilettos you wore, but you paid no mind to them as you sipped gingerly on the liquor.

Tomorrow, you would be meeting the man your father was giving you away to. You knew nothing about him other than the fact that he was one of your father’s business partner’s son. You silently tipped up your drink, a silent toast to your last night of freedom. Knocking your head back, you winced at the unfamiliar burn as you emptied the glass.

When you ungracefully dropped the empty glass onto the counter, red lips stained the rim. “Another, miss?” you vaguely heard the bartender ask. You nodded without thinking, eyes staring forward without focus. Your cheeks felt warm from the few drinks you’d had since you sat down. As the bartender poured you another drink, you allowed your gaze to drift, scanning the room in curiosity.

Red lights lit up the space, random spotlights moving about from the ceiling. The music played loud enough to leave a slight ringing in your ear, your bones vibrating to the beat. Hundreds of people flooded the floor, you noted. Some pairs danced against each other provocatively, intriguing you as you eyed a girl making out with a taller man over her shoulder. Some people danced alone, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize.

As you looked around, your eyes met a stranger’s from across the bar. He sat alone, unlike the many other patrons of the club, a half-emptied pint in front of him. From where you were, you could make out the details of his attire—a dark blazer that fit snugly over the expanse of his shoulders. He wore a silk button-up, rudely unbuttoned low, allowing you to see the curve of his collarbones down to the lines of his chest.

When your eyes flit up to glance at his face, he was already staring at you. His expression, which you can only describe as alluring, prompted you to suck your bottom lip under your teeth, gently biting at the skin. Dark eyes watched you from across the room, looking you up and down slowly before settling on your face. You watched carefully as a tongue flicked out to lick his pink lips before the corners pulled up into a smirk. He rose a brow at you, hair pushed back enough to let you see his silent beckon.

You mirrored his expression, taking a sip of your drink as you stared at him through the glass. The man held a hand up, showing off silver rings wrapped around his slender fingers that made you want to sin. Clearing your throat, you looked away and down at your drink, amber liquid sloshing around in the glass. Before you could even take another swig, a shot glass slid in front of you, its contents almost spilling out.

Looking up in confusion, you called over the bartender, who’d already turned his back to you. “Excuse me? I didn’t order a shot,” you yelled over the blaring music. The bartender glanced at you for a second before nodding his head in the direction of the man who, when you looked, was already gone. The bartender continued, already pouring a drink for another.

Knitting your brows together, you brought the shot glass up to your nose, scrunching it when the strong smell of vodka invaded your senses. A cough tickled your throat as you held the offending shot glass away. Your eyes danced over the many heads in the room, but the mystery man was nowhere in sight. Heaving a sigh, you tipped your head back, swallowing the bitter liquid as quickly as you could. Wincing slightly, you let out a breath as you placed the glass next to the other one.

“Atta’ girl,” a smooth voice crooned in your ear, tickling your skin and leaving behind goosebumps. A hand reached around, grazing the tops of your thighs as its owner spun your barstool around. Face to face with the man of the night, your breath hitched as you found yourself inches away from him. You wondered if he could hear your racing heartbeat over the pounding music.

Up close, you could see his lip ring, plump pink lips pushing against the silver as he peered down at you. His hand moved from the barstool to your waist, his warmth spreading over your skin like wildfire. His other hand leaned on the counter behind you, surrounding you in his essence. His attention was overwhelming as you caught his eyes glimpsing down at your lips before dropping to the curve of your breasts under your dress.

Your hands hovered over your lap, clenching and unclenching as you tried to figure out what to do with them. Keeping eye contact with you, the man leaned forward until he was a hair away, closer than any other man had been. “I’ve never seen you here before,” he spoke lowly, your ears just barely grabbing onto his words. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing stuck at the bar, hm?” 

You bit your lip, his eyes quickly darting down. “Just… enjoying the night,” you mumbled, resisting the urge to lean forward. The air in your lungs felt trapped as your mind filled with incoherent thoughts. 

The man tilted his head at you, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he bore his gaze into you. The hand on your waist pulled you forward until you were almost pressed against him, his thumb rubbing up and down over the fabric of your dress. “Didn’t seem like you were enjoying it,” he said, his breath fanning over your neck as he leaned to whisper in your ear. “I know how you can really start enjoying your night, sweetheart.”

When his lips brushed against your jugular, you had to stop yourself from throwing your head back, the simple touch sending you haywire. “Yeah?” your voice came out breathy, your hands finally settling to rest on his chest. Bent over you like this, his shirt rode lower than ever, letting you see his chiselled torso. You brushed a thumb over his skin, burning to the touch as he leaned back to look you in the eye. “How so?”

He smirked, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. He pulled you closer by the chin, using his thumb to pull at your bottom lip gently. Your heart raced as he came closer, his nose nudging your own as your eyes subconsciously started to close. “Just let me take care of you,” he rasped, his lips brushing against yours. The cool metal of his lip ring sent a shiver down your spine, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him as his grin seemingly grew. “Let’s get outta here, yeah?”

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow the man out of the crowded club, guided by a hand on the wrist. With as many drinks as you had in you, it might’ve been worrying with the ease with which he was able to take you by the hand. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care as excitement bubbled in your lower abdomen. 

Even his back was attractive, all broad shoulders and straight lines. A few earrings hooped around his ears, glinting under the strobe lights. When he pulled you outside, the cool night air was starkly different from the hot temperature inside. Goosebumps rose on your bare arms, causing the man to glance back at you with a worried look. Not another word was said as he brought you to a car you’d never seen anyone actually drive around town.

It was a bold red colour, something that reminded you of a crimson fire. You blinked when he opened the passenger side door for you as it swung upwards. The car was low, and you felt a bit awkward climbing in with your stilettos, but the man waited patiently until you were inside before closing the door. You watched as he walked around the car to the driver’s side, the head-up display blinking on the windshield when he started the ignition.

“Wow,” you mumbled dumbly, easily getting comfortable on the leather seat. He spared you an amused look, one eyebrow raised, paired with a smug smile. Leaning over, your breath hitched as he pulled the seatbelt over you, the click of its buckle cutting through the silence. He stayed there for a moment, hovering over you with eyes so intense you felt your mouth dry out. 

“So fucking pretty,” he whispered, finally leaning in to kiss you. The kiss was aggressive, his calloused hand cupping your face and forcing you closer. Your teeth clashed as he licked into your mouth, but the searing feeling in your stomach made it impossible for you to care. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, eliciting a moan as his hand wandered down to your outer thigh. His fingers danced across your skin, pushing your skirt up until your black lace panties were exposed. 

You threw your head back as he pressed his thumb against your folds, feeling how wet you’d gotten over the course of your earlier conversation. He breathed harshly, attaching his lips to your neck as he grazed a finger up and down your clothed cunt. You had no doubt that by morning, you would be painted with bruises. The thought was exciting to you.

He slipped a finger underneath the fabric of your panties, groaning when he felt your slick coat him in an instant. “So wet for me,” he almost growled, pulling his hand out despite your whines of disapproval. He pulled back, eyes flitting over your heaving form before settling into his seat. His lips were smudged red with your lipstick, and you found it unfair at how hot it was.

He was quick to pull away from the curb, the engine roaring to life as he drove down the busy street. It felt uncomfortably sticky between your thighs, rubbing them together. He was quick to grasp your thigh, pulling your legs open as he drove. While the hand on your thigh was still, his impatience showed in the hand that held the steering wheel, his finger tapping against it whenever he’d hit a red light.

You weakly moaned when his hand drifted higher, his pinky brushing against your core. You spread your legs further, urging him to do more than just light touches, but he didn’t give in to your silent pleas. The ride to, what you presumed was his place, was unbearably long as he continued to tease you. He would grip your thigh tightly, his rings pressing into your skin, and suddenly move up to flick at your covered clit. His sporadic movements left you a whining mess, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Need you so badly,” you whined, flushing in embarrassment at how you sounded. 

He scoffed, scraping his nail over your thigh, making you jump. “I can tell,” he said, his tone degrading as he pinched your skin. “Whining like a whore in my front seat, like it’ll make me fuck you any faster.” You gasped, his words going straight to your cunt. You could feel yourself get wetter, your panties sticking to your folds agonizingly. 

You bit your lip as he pulled into an underground parking lot, the orange-hued lights casting an intimidating shadow over his face. When he finally parked, you realized he had brought you to a fancy apartment building. The parking lot was empty, not a soul in sight. Despite his words, he still opened your door for you, pulling you out of the car roughly. When the door closed, he pressed you against it, forcing his lips against yours as he ground his hips into yours. You moaned into his mouth at how hard he’d gotten, gripping at his blazer with shaking hands.

His kiss left you breathless, and you found that you really liked the feeling of his hands harshly holding your hips, keeping you from moving too far from him. You tongued at his piercing, taking his bottom lip into your mouth as he moved to push your dress up again. Pulling away, he was quick to kiss your neck as your eyes darted around the empty lot.

“Not here,” you gasped when he bit at the skin under your ear, “what if someone…”

He bit down harder, making you whine. “Let them see then,” he spat. “Let them see how much of a slut you are for me, sweetheart.” You made a noise of disagreement, causing him to pull away. You looked like a mess in heels, hair tousled, no longer in neat waves as you had them before, and makeup smudged. The glassy look in your eyes made him grin at you, a menacing curve of his pink lips. 

He grabbed your wrist again, tugging you to the underground elevator as his car beeped behind you. The few seconds it took for the elevator to reach the parking lot felt agonizingly long, your legs shaking in anticipation.

The second the doors opened, he had you pressed against the frigid elevator walls, his hand blindly reaching to touch one of the top buttons. He pushed your dress up past your hips, fingering the lace undergarment between his thumb and pointer. Without wasting a second, he tugged. The sound of fabric ripping took you out of your trance as you realized he had completely torn them off you.

“Hey,” your voice was clipped as you frowned. “Those were expensive.”

He rolled his eyes at you, tucking the tattered fabric into his back pocket. “I’ll buy you a new set,” he said, annoyed that you had interrupted him. “Now shut up, princess.” He took your lips again, his hand moving to wrap loosely around your neck. He swiped his tongue over your lip as his free hand grasped at your hips.

“Fuck,” you whined highly when he traced a line up your cunt, collecting your juices on his fingertip. He made quick work with you, swiping over your clit with his thumb as he pushed two fingers into your sopping hole. The hand around your neck pressed down lightly, sending your senses into overdrive as he kissed you again. 

“My name’s Heeseung,” he said against your lips. “Moan it for me tonight, yeah?” You nodded feebly as you spouted your own name in a mess of stutters.

When the elevator beeped, indicating that you were on the designated floor, he unwillingly pulled away from you. He stared at you darkly, pupils blown as he sucked his fingers clean. Your eyes trained on the way his tongue flicked at his rings, your slick disappearing into his mouth. You pulled your dress down as he guided you out with a hand on the small of your back.

When you made it into his apartment, you didn’t have time to gawk at how fancy it was, decked out with marble tiles and sleek glass light fixtures. As the door closed behind him, he pressed himself against your behind, grinding into your ass as he groaned lowly in your ear. His fingers dragged the fabric of your dress up to your waist, leaving your lower half exposed as Heeseung left dainty kisses against your bare shoulder.

Pulling the dress up and off, he ushered you further into the apartment, pushing open the door to his bedroom. He dropped the dress in the corner of the room before turning you around to face him. He took your lips, pressing deeply against you as he felt you up. His hands roamed as he licked into your mouth, one hand cupping and groping your left breast while the other shifted downwards. Resting on your hip, he brought you closer to him, pressing your bare cunt against his boner.

You reached down, palming his hard-on through his pants. He threw his head back in a silent moan, allowing you to continue with your ministrations. You hastily unbuckled his belt, tossing it on the floor next to your dress. Pushing his pants and boxers down past his knees, you almost moaned at the sight of his pretty cock.

It was long and thick, twitching as it wept pre-cum at the tip. It was a pretty flushed colour, enticing you closer. Looking up at him through your lashes, you watched Heeseung’s reaction as you licked the mushroom head gingerly. You scrunched up your nose at the bitter taste, but Heeseung’s wanton expression urged you to continue.

Taking the whole tip in your mouth, you sucked gently. You could feel yourself gush at the sound of his loud moan, pressing your thighs together as you tried to take more of him. He grazed the back of your throat before you could even take half of him. The sight of you struggling on his length made him feel impossibly hard, his ringed hand moving to grasp at your hair. Determined to make him feel good, you traced one of the veins that stretched along the length of his shaft with your fingernail before taking his cock in your fist.

Bobbing your head slowly, you matched your pass with your hand wherever your mouth couldn’t reach. Heeseung breathed heavily at the feeling of your hot cavern taking him in, your tongue swirling around his tip in a way that drove him up the wall. He could barely imagine how being in your cunt would feel, the mental image making him thrust unexpectedly against you.

When you gagged at the suddenness, Heeseung groaned, using your fisted hair to guide you up and down his shaft. “Fuck, baby,” he sighed, head thrown back and eyes scrunched in pleasure as you gained speed. “That mouth of yours is so fucking perfect. Like it was made for my cock.” He hissed when his head pressed against the back of your throat, holding it there until you swallowed around him, tears welling in your eyes.

The sounds that you were making would normally disgust you, the wet gags and spit dripping down your front as you struggled to take his girth, but with Heeseung, it only turned you on more. You rubbed your thighs together, feeling your slick coat your puffy folds.

Using his other hand to grip at your hair, he held you still as he fucked into your mouth, jaw agape as he watched you suckle on his length. You looked like the embodiment of sin, on your knees and taking his cock so well. He rubbed at the smudged mascara underneath your eyes, only making it spread as tears dripped down your face. “Shit,” he mumbled, gripping your hair tighter. “Fuck, I wanna make a mess on you, baby. Can I?” 

You nodded the best you could, the thought of him cumming all over you making you impossibly wet. Swearing loudly, Heeseung pulled himself out of your mouth, using his hand to force your mouth open. You stuck your tongue out as he pumped himself desperately, chasing his release as he bore into your eyes. You gasped when he came, ropes of his cum shooting over your face and tongue.

He watched intently as you swallowed whatever landed in your mouth, wiping at the cum that dripped down your cheeks. “Get on the bed,” he said gruffly, not wanting to go another second without feeling your cunt drip around him.

You wasted no time in following his instructions, scooting further up the bed as he crawled on after you. He spread your legs roughly, situating himself between your thighs. Heeseung leaned forward, kissing you again as one of his hands rested around your throat. As he kissed you, sucking on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, his free hand traced down the side of your body.

Without warning, he touched your core, collecting your wetness on his fingertips as he rubbed up and down your cunt. You moaned loudly as he switched between teasing your entrance and swiping across your clit. “You’re so fucking wet, princess,” he groaned, kissing you deeply as he finally thrust two fingers into your hole.

You cried out into the kiss, arching your back up and into him as you held on. You gripped at his bicep that flexed with each movement, his fingers curling up into you. It didn’t take long for him to find your G-spot, rubbing dedicatedly against the spongey walls of your cunt. He sped up, thrusting his fingers into you with ease, slipping around your juices.

“Fuck, Heeseung,” you almost screamed as you neared your orgasm, “I’m so, so close, please—”

He pulled his fingers out, making you whine in disapproval, your eyes opening wide as you begged him to keep touching you. He ignored your silent pleas, taking his soaked fingers into his mouth as he had before. You watched, in a trance, as he swirled his tongue around his slender digits, the sight making you squirm in anticipation.

He reached over to his bedside drawer and pulled out a few packages. You glanced at them through your ditzy stupor, surprised to see several condom wrappers. Upon closer inspection, you realized they all had different flavours. “Pick one,” he instructed in an almost joking manner as if he didn’t just bring you to the edge with his fingers.

You contemplated just grabbing one at random, not wanting to wait any longer to feel him inside you. Reaching for one, you subconsciously made a face when you read what flavour it was.

“Not a fan of strawberry?” he asked rhetorically as he took the wrapper from you and tossed it back in the drawer. Impatient, he picked one and threw the rest back where he got them. You watched with intrigue as he opened the package with his teeth before rolling it onto his already hard cock.

“Hey,” he mumbled once he got the condom fully rolled on. “If you want me to stop at any moment, just say… Bambi, okay?”

You looked at him warily. “Bambi?”

He didn’t elaborate any further, pressing the tip of his cock against your folds. He rubbed the head through your slick, bumping against your clit before pressing into your tight entrance. He groaned in unison with you at the intrusion. You winced at the stretch, shoving your face into one of his pillows.

When he bottomed out, he pressed a sweet kiss against your cheek before pulling back and slamming into you. Your breath caught in your throat as you gasped for air, his sudden harsh thrusts surprising you. He breathed heavily as he moved, draping your legs over his shoulders as he leaned into you. 

“So deep,” you cried, squirming at the stimulation. “Fuck, Heeseung!”

He moaned at the sound of his name on your tongue, leaning down to kiss you. The position only made him go deeper, and you struggled to kiss him properly, mind foggy with pleasure. His balls slapped against your ass, echoing against the walls. The sound of your sex was burned into your mind, Heeseung’s breathy groans and moans of your name bound to haunt your dreams from now on.

Heeseung pulled out and flipped you onto your side, re-entering you with ease. The position was something you’d never done before as Heeseung held your leg against his torso as he thrust harshly. He moaned out your name as he closed his eyes, as lost in the pleasure as you were.

“‘M gonna cum,” you warned, your voice high and shaking as you reached down to circle your clit. At the sight of you touching yourself, Heeseung sighed with rapture, trying hard to get you to the edge. 

“Cum around me, baby,” he hushed as his thrusts grew harder, rougher. “Come on, you can do it.”

At his words, it felt like a cord had snapped inside of you, and you cried out as you came. He helped you through your orgasm, thrusting shallowly as your body shook and jolted. Once you had calmed down, he pulled out and fisted himself over the condom, the lube mixed with your wetness making it easy for his hand to slip up and down.

You watched, exhausted, as he leaned over you, a look of concentration on his face as he got off on your body. White filled the condom, low groans of your name reverberating in his chest as he collapsed on the bed next to you. You barely processed him standing to throw out the used rubber or how he came back with a warm towel and wiped you down gently. 

Your eyes closed, and you felt yourself succumb to slumber.

When you awoke the next morning, you swore. Head pounding, you pressed your face into your pillow in annoyance. Of course, you would be having the worst hangover of your life. You didn’t even want to think about what your father would say if he knew you’d be walking into the meeting in a few hours, completely hungover.

You paused, pressing your face further into the pillow. The smell was unfamiliar, you noted. Not a second later, you sat up, eyes wide. Your lips parted in disbelief as you remembered where you were, memories of last night quickly returning to you. Holding the blanket up to your bare chest, you willed yourself to look over at the other side of the bed. 

Heeseung lay there, rolled over onto his stomach, his cheek resting against the pillow as he slept. His hair was messy, sticking up in different directions almost cutely. You made a face when you caught a glimpse of angry red scratches down his back.

He looked unnervingly peaceful, considering the stampede your heart was experiencing. You swore under your breath again, quietly stepping out of the bed. The floorboard creaked underneath your weight, your head snapping back to see if the noise woke him up. Fortunately, he stayed blissfully in rest. You held your breath as you collected your discarded dress and your heels, also picking up the silk button-up you had thrown off of him last night. 

He’s rich, clearly, you justified, taking a brief look around the room. His closet was cracked open, revealing several more expensive-looking clothes. Though, in your haste to make it to the bedroom, you didn’t get a good look at the rest of his apartment. You knew that it was huge if the building’s name wasn’t an indicator already. He won’t miss one shirt.

Not wanting to risk waking him up, you tip-toed out of the room before getting dressed in the hallway. You slipped the button-up on top of your dress and made your way to the front door, heels in hand. As you pushed the door open, you panicked when it beeped in alarm. With haste, you ran outside and closed the door before Heeseung could catch you sneaking out.

Without bothering to put your heels on, you booked it to the elevator, making it inside in time for you to hear Heeseung call your name. With wide eyes, you pressed the close doors button more times than necessary, only relaxing when they finally did close.

You opened your phone, only to see a text from your father asking where you were. Making an excuse, you used the reflective elevator walls to fix your appearance.

If anyone saw you, they would be none the wiser to the previous night. The automatic doors to your father’s company opened as you approached, a gust of air from the air conditioning pushing your freshly styled hair out of your face. Any marks that littered across your neck and shoulders were expertly covered up, and your eyebags were concealed just as well.

The sound of your heels, which your father insisted you wore in public, in the otherwise quiet lobby gathered the attention of the gaggle of people. Having so many eyes on you didn’t bother you as much as it had before, something you’re grateful to have gotten used to. Smiling politely at the pair of receptionists, you were quick to make your way up to your father’s office.

The elevator dinged, and you couldn’t help but think back to last night. The feeling of Heeseung’s warmth pressed against you as he fingered you and touched you was a thrill you don’t think you could forget if you tried. Clearing your throat, you looked at yourself in the mirrored walls, another habit you couldn’t get rid of. 

Deeming yourself as presentable, you stepped out of the elevator and into your father’s large office. He sat at his desk, typing away at his computer. If he heard you come in, which he must’ve, he didn’t react. His graying hair stood out under the sunlight that the floor-to-ceiling windows let in. The glasses perched on his nose bridge threatened to fall down as his fingers tapped relentlessly. 

“Good morning, Father,” you greeted, sitting down at the chair adjacent to his desk. He didn’t look up. “I’m a little early.” You crossed your legs, resting clasped hands on top of your knees. It didn’t surprise you when he didn’t say anything in reply, so you opted to look out the window. Being on the top floor, you could see most of the town. You could watch the bustling traffic and pedestrian-filled streets for hours, the busyness of life fascinating to you.

You weren’t able to stare for too long before a familiar ding interrupted your daydreams. You straightened your back, facing forward as your father stood to greet the newcomer. Unlike when you came in, your father straightened out his blazer with a warm smile, something that looked foreign to you. You watched quietly as he manoeuvred around the desk to formally greet the guest.

“Ah,” your father greeted placatingly, his timber voice filling the space.. “Lee Heeseung, it is great to finally meet you. I have heard much about you from your father.”

You felt your heart stop when you heard his name. Unwilling to turn around, you stared into the window’s faint reflection in hopes of seeing the man’s face. Maybe your Heeseung wasn’t the only Lee Heeseung in town. Surely, it wasn’t too uncommon of a name because there was no way that your one-night stand just happened to be your husband-to-be.

If your heart stopped when you heard his name, your soul left your body when you heard him talk. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, sir. I am honoured that you picked me out of all of your daughter’s candidates.”

As subtly as you could, you slapped a hand over your mouth.

You heard their footsteps grow closer. “Well, please have a seat,” your father ushered. “She’s right here. You ought to meet your future bride, right?” With each of their perfectly synced steps, you could imagine another foot of your grave being dug. “Heeseung, this is my daughter.” You inhaled sharply and took his cue to stand.

When you turned on your heel, you were sure that Heeseung’s shocked expression matched your own. Recognition burst behind his eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses, and his lips—which you noticed was missing its piercing—parted in shock. You silently willed him to keep quiet about the night before, looking at him with widened eyes and a painfully fake smile.

“It’s you,” he blurted out, pointing at you with the slightest bend of his elbow. If you weren’t in front of your father, you could have smacked him over the head. “I was wondering where you went.”

Internally screaming, you put on a faux confused expression to match your father’s. “You two are acquainted already?” he asked, looking at you for confirmation. You were quick to shake your head no, glaring at Heeseung when your father looked away.

Bowing your head slightly, you smiled up at Heeseung as you would any other businessman. “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you lied through your teeth, desperately hoping he would catch on. “We have never met before today. But it is nice to meet you.” You held out a hand for him to shake, which he did after fumbling for a bit.

Heeseung looked at you with a confused gaze, eyebrows knitted together before a lightbulb went off. “Right,” he smiled graciously, putting on a persona completely different from the one you met before. “My apologies. It is nice to meet you. I’m Lee Heeseung.” Letting go of your hand, he nodded when you introduced yourself. 

Clapping his hands together, your father grinned widely at the both of you. “Now, I have some work to tend to, but the two of you can continue to get to know each other downstairs.” Wanting nothing more than to escape the stuffy room, you agreed stiffly. “I’ll have the wedding planners contact you both later on.” Your father nodded at Heeseung once more before returning to his desk, the sound of his noisy keyboard filling the room again.

Heeseung followed you out after saying goodbye to your father, standing far too close to you in the elevator. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” he drawled out, voice dry. “The very woman who I happened to have a fun night with, only to wake up with her nowhere in sight, is the very woman whom I’m marrying.” He bore his gaze into you as he leaned against the elevator wall, his prim posture long gone. “How exciting, is it not?”

“Please, Heeseung, do not bring up last night.” Your voice was terse as you pinched your nose bridge in frustration, your ears and face warming up. 

Heeseung raised a brow at your request, pushing off the elevator wall and stepping close to you. Your eyes widened as he backed you into the wall, eyes darting to the LED screen that showed which floor you were on. If anyone were to need the elevator, they would catch Heeseung pinning you to the wall, and you would have no excuse for it. “Come on, princess,” his voice lifted into a tease, “that’s not how you were begging me last night.”

You groaned, dropping your head and hitting it against the wall behind you. “Heeseung,” you hissed, glaring at him. You tried very hard to ignore the way that his glasses framed his face nicely and made him even more handsome, which you didn’t think was possible. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Do not bring up last night unless you want me to castrate you.”

Heeseung pouted at you, resting a hand on his chest as though you’d mortally wounded him. “But if you castrate me, how am I supposed to please—”

“Heeseung!”

He laughed openly at you, shoulders shaking as his lips split open into a grin. “You’re so easy to rile up, princess.” He leaned toward you, hovering himself above you by resting his forearm against the wall. You glanced at the screen again, silently cursing your father for owning a building with slow elevators. “I don’t know what’s so bad about people finding out that we’re—how do you say it?—well acquainted.”

You breathed out in annoyance at his ignorance. “Did you hit your head? I don’t know about you, Heeseung, but I do care about how the public perceives me.” You jabbed a finger at his chest, though it had no effect on him. “If people find out, then…” You trailed off, your brows furrowing as you looked at the ground, the recently shined tiles sparkingly under the fluorescent lights.

“Then?”

You bit your lip, thinking back at your father and his cold demeanour. “Look,” you started, shoulders deflating. “If my father finds out that I went to that club at all and had sex with some guy that I didn’t know… He wouldn’t react well.” You spoke lowly, the topic dampening your mood immensely.

“Ouch,” Heeseung joked, tilting his head at you. “So, I’m just some guy to you?”

You deadpanned at him, unimpressed with the small snippet of information he chose to focus on. “You get what I mean, asshole. So please, just stop bringing it up. At least, not in front of him.” Your faith in his compassion was dwindling by the second, and his silence wasn’t doing much to help. When the elevator doors opened, you were ready to give up and began formulating an apology to your father for your behaviour.

Before you could duck under his arm to make your way out, he laid a gentle hand on your wrist. “Okay, okay. I won’t talk about it again. You have my word, princess.” You balked at his sudden sincerity, but before you could even utter a thank you, he opened his mouth again. “No more talking about how we had the most mindblowing sex—”

“Lee Heeseung!” You chided, quickly ducking under his arm and rushing out of the elevator. Your face burned as you walked through the lobby, no doubt catching the attention of curious onlookers. Embarrassment flooded your veins as you exited the building, standing on the curb with your face in your hands.

Not wanting to be there any longer, you pulled out your phone and searched for your personal driver’s contact. Before you could press the green call button, your phone was snatched out of your manicured hands. “Hey—!”

To your surprise, or perhaps you weren’t surprised at all, Heeseung stood next to you with your phone haphazardly dangling between his fingers. “What are you doing?” You asked as you reached to grab it. He pulled it away, grinning when it left you pressed against him.

“What are you doing?”

You rolled your eyes, jumping to grab your phone. Once it was back in your possession, you went to call your driver. “Going,” you answered simply.

“Going where?”

“Going anywhere but here.”

He clicked his tongue, pulling a pair of keys out of his pocket. “I’ll drive you. There’s no need to wait for your driver.”

You eyed him suspiciously, your thumb hovering over the call button. “I don’t think you understand. When I said I wanted to be anywhere but here, here is referring to here with you.”

He gave you the same look as he did in the elevator, lips upturned into a pout as his eyebrows arched upward. “You really do wound me, princess.” He pressed a button on his fob, and you could see a car’s lights flash a few meters away. It wasn’t the same one he had driven you in last night, so you looked at him in question. “I have two cars. One for business, one for fun,” he winked at you when he said the last word, only laughing when you pretended to vomit in your mouth.

“Come on, princess,” he took your wrist for the nth time. “Let’s go.” You begrudgingly followed, not missing the way several workers from inside had lined up against the window to watch the interaction. You smiled politely at them again, waving goodbye as Heeseung practically dragged you along.

Just as he had the night before, he opened the door for you. This car was much simpler in design than the bright red one, with a dashboard instead of a HUD and a simple touch screen instead of dozens of buttons and features you were too distracted to play with.

As he drove off, you stared out the window, refusing to look in his direction. He had pushed up the sleeves of his blazer, showing off his toned and veiny forearms as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the middle console. “I’ll take you home,” Heeseung claimed as he slowed to a stop for a red light. “But let me show you something first.”

You looked at him incredulously but only nodded before looking out the window again.

You didn’t pay attention to where he was taking you, watching fondly as groups of friends walked down the streets, wide grins splitting their faces as they talked. It was rush hour, and you ended up paused in traffic long enough to watch a couple emerge from one of the street stores, arms linked and full of shopping bags. They were wearing matching sweatpants and sweaters, making you look down at the dress you wore. Pursing your lips, you stopped looking as you pulled your skirt down.

“Y’know, last night your skirt was getting pushed up.”

At his words, you glared at him. “You are so sleazy.”

Heeseung only grinned, never taking his eyes off of the road. “Something’s on your mind. Had to get you out of that head of yours somehow.” He briefly glanced at you, “Did it work?”

You blinked in surprise before looking away. Your hands clenched on your lap. “Where are we going?” you asked, changing the subject. You pretended not to notice when Heeseung stared at you, opting to look straight ahead.

“Somewhere I frequent. I’ll give you some leverage over me.” You peeked at him as he made a left turn, tracing over the lines of his arms. “Sound good, princess?”

You could only scrunch your nose in confusion. “Why would you want me to have leverage over you in the first place?”

Heeseung shrugged. “It’s clear you don’t trust me. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t bring us up again in front of your dad, but I don’t think you believe me ‘cause you’ve barely looked at me since you got in the car.” You winced, not liking how he read through you so easily when you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “So, I’m bringing you somewhere that I’ve kept secret. You’ll be the only one who knows who could actually, you know, get me in shit with my dad.”

Unsure of what to say, you stared at his side profile in shock. “You are so confusing,” you muttered, leaning over to look out the window. You rested your chin on your palm to cover your warming face.

Before long, Heeseung pulled into an indoor race track’s parking lot. You looked out the window in confusion. Even from outside, you could hear the revving of engines and the squeaking of tires against asphalt. You spared Heeseung a look, climbing out of the car wordlessly. He nodded his head at you, guiding you to the entrance. 

When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the yelling. Specifically, the sounds of fifth graders screaming as they circled the track in their go-karts. “Heeseung, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but a kiddie go-kart track isn’t exactly a best-kept secret.” A kid zoomed by on his kart, screaming at the top of his lungs as he pressed hard on the gas.

Heeseung only rolled his eyes at you, “So impatient.” Taking your hand in his, he tugged you along the back wall until you reached a staff-only door. Before you could argue, clearly neither of you was staff, Heeseung pushed the door open as if he owned the place. You gawked at him, whipping your head around to see if any staff were coming to kick you out.

To your surprise, the man behind the front counter only nodded in acknowledgement before going back to his morning coffee.

Heeseung kept walking, his large hand never leaving yours. You subconsciously balled them, swallowing thickly when Heeseung untangled your fingers to interlock them with his. Sneaking a look at you over his shoulder, he cheekily stuck his tongue out. The hallway beyond the door was empty, aside from a few bulletins with weekly events posted on them. 

Once you reached the end of the hall, a staircase leading to a basement came into view. You pinched your eyebrows together in suspicion, rooting your feet on the ground before Heeseung could pull you any further. “Look, I’m not really in the mood to be murdered today, so I think we’ll have to reschedule—”

Rolling his eyes at you for the nth time that day, he pulled harder on your hand, almost knocking you off your feet. He caught you with ease, his warm palm pressing against your waist as he waited for you to steady yourself. “Trust me a little, please? I promise you won’t get murdered.” At the end of his sentence, he held out a pinky. You stared incredulously at him, decked out in office attire yet holding out his baby finger to you like an adolescent.

“Are you five?”

“Hey, cut me some slack. I’m six, actually,” he teased, wiggling his pinky at you as he silently urged you to follow through with it. Heaving a sigh, you latched your finger with his.

After following Heeseung down the dingy staircase, you were met with a similar sight. A large racing track encompassed the room, looping and curving in a way that filled the space. However, unlike the track you saw upstairs, this one was occupied by cars you’ve seen in racing movies. A deafening rush of cars drove past, sending a gust of wind your way.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled, staring at the cars drive uncomfortably close to one another as they made another harsh turn.

Heeseung smiled at your awed expression, a sense of pride blooming in his chest. “Well,” he exhaled, “this is my secret.”

You turned to him quickly in disbelief. “You race?” As surprising as it might’ve been, the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe it’d be hard to believe that the Heeseung in front of you was a racer, but the one from last night? With his dark demeanour and fancy car, you’d believe it in a heartbeat.

“Only on my work breaks,” he winked. “I’ve been coming here for years. This is where loads of the street racers in town come to get their fix when there are no races going on up top.”

“Street racers?” you echoed. “Like… the illegal ones?”

“Totally like… the illegal ones.”

You slapped his shoulder at his remark, bristling as you turned away. Heeseung only laughed, a loud laugh that stemmed from his tummy as he threw his head back at your displeasure. Ruffling your hair, he walked away, leaving you standing at the bottom of the staircase. You sputtered, moving to follow him, but before you could take another step, a man blocked your view of him.

“You must be Heeseung’s girl.”

You frowned at the assumption, even if it was technically true. “What on earth are you talking about?” you combatted, looking over the man with disdain.

He threw his arms up in surrender, silently telling you he meant no harm. “Relax! I just assumed because Heeseung has never brought anyone down here before.” He paused for a moment before smiling at you with a glint in his eye. “But you were also holding hands just now, so…”

Your face flushed at the prospect of getting caught. “Shut it. Who are you, anyway?”

The man’s smile widened into a grin, showing off his pearly whites. “I’m Jake. I run this place, so I’ve known Heeseung for forever. You, on the other hand,” he jutted a finger in your direction. “You’re a new face. Usually, newbies need clearance before coming down here, but I’ll trust Hee on this one. ‘Sides, I’ve seen you on a few posters here and there.��� He whistled lowly, looking over his shoulder at the direction Heeseung left in. “I knew he was some hotshot, but I didn’t know he could actually pull someone like you.”

“Like me?”

Jake raised a brow at you, scanning your face as if you’d just insulted him to his face. “Uh, yeah? You’re a model, right? You’ve got the looks, so don’t be so bashful down here.” The sound of loud engines cut him off. The excitement seemed to burst from within him as he immediately ushered you over to some bleachers. “C’mon, they’re starting soon.”

He sat next to you as you tried to make yourself comfortable, feeling jittery from being left alone with a stranger. Not that Heeseung was any less strange to you, but it was better than being sat thigh-to-thigh with someone you’d just met.

“Purple car’s Yang Jungwon. The silver one is Park Jongseong,” he listed off to you as if you would know who either of those people were. You couldn’t help but nod along, his golden-retriever-like excitement rubbing off on you. You’ve never watched a car race in person before, nor have you ever gone to any event like it. “Green is our baby, Riki Nikimura. He just started racing a few months ago.”

As he talked, a familiar red car pulled up next to the others, revving its engine loudly as if to proclaim I’m here. “You probably know,” Jake continued. “But that one’s Heeseung.”

A whistle blew, and suddenly the four cars became blurs. It was as if you’d miss half the race if you even dared to blink. You watched, astounded, as the racers circled the track with ease, not bumping into each other a single time. 

The race was over before you knew it, four laps around the large track driven in a matter of minutes. The victor, Heeseung, erupted out of his vehicle with a large grin on his face, pulling at his cheeks in pure joy. The other racers met him on the tracks; their car doors opened as they joined together on the asphalt. 

You watched from a distance as they conversed excitedly, too far for you to make out any of their words. Beside you, Jake nudged you with his elbow. “Cool, huh?”

You breathed out, making eye contact with Heeseung as he beamed at you, sending you a wave before turning back to the other three. “Yeah,” you said simply. “Really cool.”

After Heeseung showed you the race track, you ended up seeing each other more often than you first thought you would. Turns out your father was serious about your engagement. True to his words, wedding planners met with you the day after the meeting. And the one after that. And the next.

A whole week of wedding planning sped past, and by the end of it, you were exhausted. You had one more stop on your schedule for the day, a simple cake tasting with Heeseung. You made it to the bakery first, standing outside idly on your phone as you waited for your husband-to-be to arrive. Your driver and security guard waited in the car parked nearby.

An engine revved twice, something that you’ve come to know as Heeseung’s way of greeting. When you looked up, he was already locking his car across the street, jogging across the empty road to meet you. “Hey,” he breathed, running a hand through his locks. “Sorry, I’m late. Riki’s engine was busted, and the kid doesn’t know how to fix ‘em yet. Normally we get Jay or Sunghoon to do the mechanic work, but they’re out scouting for spots.”

The mention of a possible race piqued your interest. You shook your head, smiling softly at him. “I just got here. You’re fine, Hee. Let’s head in?” He nodded, opening the bakery door for you before following you in.

The smell of fresh cake invaded your senses the second you stepped in. You closed your eyes in delight, taking in the scent blissfully. Heeseung chuckled at your antics, using his hand to guide you further into the building by the small of your back.

Before long, a head popped out from the back, a rather young-looking boy with a tall chef’s hat placed neatly atop his cotton-candy pink hair. His eyes were bright as he caught your gaze, cheeks pinkening at the sight of you. “Hi,” he greeted the both of you, dusting off leftover flour on his apron. “You must be Lee Heeseung and—” the boy turned to you, awestruck as he sputtered out your name. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare,” he apologized bashfully, bowing his head. “You’re just prettier in person. The magazines don’t do you justice.”

You had the gall to blush at his words, turning your head in slight embarrassment. “Thank you,” you paused to read his nametag. “Kim Sunoo. That’s very sweet of you.”

If possible, he turned redder at the sound of his name coming from your cherry lips. Beside you, Heeseung watched the interaction with displeasure soaking into his skin. “We’re here to taste your cakes,” he cut in before Sunoo could say another word, knocking him out of his reverie. “For our wedding.” If Sunoo noticed that Heeseung had stressed the last word, he didn’t say anything. You nudged him gently, telling him with your eyes to behave. 

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his lips together.

The two of you followed Sunoo to the back, where an assortment of cake slices were laid on the counter. Your eyes bulged at the sight, counting over twenty cakes. “Your wedding planners gave me a list of what flavours you both had mentioned wanting,” Sunoo introduced, gesturing to the cakes with a wave. “There were… quite a few between the both of you, but luckily some overlapped.”

A few seemed to be an understatement. Heeseung looked over the variety of cakes before pointing at one. “Is this one strawberry?” he asked, inspecting it closely. You hovered by his side, gazing down at the many plates. Sunoo nodded in confirmation, clasping his hands in front of him. “Are any of the other ones strawberry-flavoured?”

“We have a few, yes—”

“Take them away; we won’t be choosing those.”

You blinked in surprise at his firm standing, as did Sunoo, who tilted his head in confusion. The movement reminded you of a puppy, and you fought the urge to giggle at it. “But the strawberry flavours were on your profile.” 

At his words, you turned to Heeseung with a frown. “If you picked them, shouldn’t we at least try them first?” You surveyed the many strawberry cakes that Sunoo was in the process of putting away. “You obviously like them.”

Heeseung didn’t even spare you a glance. “You don’t like them.”

You stared open-mouthed at him. “How do you know I don’t like strawberries?” At your question, Heeseung finally met your gaze, only smirking at you as he rested his weight against the countertop, leaning on his palms.

“Do you really want me to get into that story here, princess?” You frowned in confusion. However, when you looked over at Sunoo, it seemed as though a light bulb had gone off for him, as his face became redder than the strawberries on the cake he was holding. A second passed before realization dawned on you, and you refrained from smacking Heeseung upside the head.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, ignoring the heat pooling in your tummy. “Let’s just taste these cakes and go home.”

Heeseung chortled, not even minding the fact that he may have left a rather lewd image in the younger man’s mind. “Whatever you say.”

After the first hiccup, the cake tasting went smoothly. You and Heeseung had finally decided on a cake with multiple tiers, allowing for multiple flavours. All of the bigwigs will be invited, Heeseung argued. Might as well appease them all.

A long hour had passed before the final order was set, and Sunoo told you to come by a couple weeks before the wedding to finalize the cake. Before you left, Sunoo came up to you, notepad in hand. “Sorry to bother you,” he spoke lowly, looking at you with a pretty smile. “Could I get your autograph?”

You agreed wordlessly, taking the pen from his outstretched hand. After signing it, Sunoo didn’t even give you the option of returning the pen on your own, instead taking your hand in his fondly. “I did mean it,” he said with sincerity dripping from his honey voice. “You really are prettier in person.”

You didn’t get to reply before Sunoo’s hand was slapped away. Heeseung’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you close to his side as he stared daggers at the baker. “Might I remind you that the woman you’re talking to will be my wife?” He spoke firmly, leaving no room for questions as he turned, dragging you out of the bakery. Your driver and security guard were long gone, having left at Heeseung’s promise to bring you home. 

“What was that?” You asked in disbelief, glancing over your shoulder in time to watch Sunoo disappear in the back. “He’s just a fan, Heeseung.”

He said nothing, opening the door for you before promptly slamming it once you were situated. You flinched at the aggression, eyes trained on the man as he made his way into the driver’s seat. He started the engine silently, the keys jingling as they hung from the ignition. His left hand wrapped around the steering wheel, but he made no motion to pull away from the curb.

Instead, he leaned over the middle console and pulled you closer by the chin, three fingers gripping you tightly. You gasped at the sudden forceful movement, staring widely into his dark eyes. You felt his breath tickle your skin as he stared at you, eyes fixated on you as if you’d disappear if he looked away.

“You’re driving me mad,” he uttered, lips just barely brushing over yours as he spoke. He had his lip ring in today, and you shivered at the feeling. “Ever since that night, you’ve been on my mind. And it’s driving me insane because I can’t do anything about it,” he hushed, his tone torturous as he bore into you.

“When I walked into your father’s office last week, you have no idea how happy it made me knowing that you were going to be mine,” he hissed, fingers digging into your skin almost uncomfortably. “You’re mine, and yet you’re here entertaining other men that shouldn’t even matter to you.”

“Heeseung,” you mumbled breathlessly, eyes darting down to his plump lips. He narrowed his eyes at you harshly, his normally rounded eyes growing sharper as irritation swirled in his dark hues. 

“You’re mine, princess,” he rasped, leaning forward. His lips pressed against yours in a kiss, his body moving fervently against yours to convey his turmoil. You moaned loudly when he bit down on your lower lip, his tongue licking into your mouth as he kept his hold on you. Unlike his other kisses, this one was messy. Your teeth clashed as he shifted closer, spit dribbling down your chin and onto your pressed clothing. 

The hand that gripped your chin moved to wrap around your neck. He didn’t press down, but the heat that surrounded you sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take you home,” he almost begged, moving to bite at your ear. “Wanna show you who you belong to.”

You whimpered at his words, pressing your thighs together fruitlessly. “My apartment’s closer,” you gasped when he bit down on your jugular, his hot tongue shooting out to lick at the teeth marks. “Go there, please.”

The ride passed by in a blur, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself pressed against another elevator wall. It was hard to contain your moans as Heeseung made his way down your neck, unbuttoning your shirt until your bra was available to him. He fisted your breasts through the fabric, eliciting a lewd groan from you. 

“Such a whore,” he jeered against your lips as he kissed you again. “Letting me touch you like this, undress you like this. You probably want to get caught, don’t you?” He groaned, grinding his growing hard-on against you through your clothes. You let out a noise at how hard he’d gotten, your mind swirling as continued to press himself against you. “Fuck, baby. You’re driving me crazy,” he sucked your earlobe, the sensation making you squirm.

When the elevator dinged, Heeseung made haste, tugging you into your apartment after fumbling with your keys. The door slammed behind you, and you felt the cool touch of wood against your back as he pressed you against it. He wasted no time kissing you deeply, hands roaming your sides as he pushed your shirt off completely. Your bra followed soon after, his expert hands unclasping it with ease. You barely caught sight of it being thrown haphazardly across the hall in a haze.

He tugged down your pants after popping the button, shoving them down your legs unceremoniously. You whined into his mouth, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Letting go of your lips, he pulled the shirt over his head before coming back for more. You could get addicted to the way he kissed you, needy and full of desire. His lip ring pressed against your skin, the contrast making you sigh.

“Jump,” he mumbled against your lips before claiming them as his own once more. With ease, he hoisted your legs around his slim waist, pressing you harder against the door as he ground into you. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his clothed dick, your thin panties doing little to mask the sensation. You briefly wondered if your neighbours could hear you, but the thought left as soon as it came when Heeseung cupped your breasts roughly. “You remember the safe words?”

You nodded impatiently, moving your hips against his desperately. “Yes! Please, just fuck me,” you begged, trying and failing to feel more of him. Your hands dragged down his toned front, grasping onto his warmth like a parasite.

“Where’s your bedroom,” he asked, pulling away to look you in the eye. His bare chest heaved, his skin turning pink. The sight of Heeseung’s bruising lips and glossy eyes had you falling apart in his arms as you directed him to your bedroom.

You were less-than-gracefully dropped onto your mattress as Heeseung stood over you, unbuckling his belt. The light from the hallway illuminated him, casting a glow around his figure. His eyes never left your body, eyes roaming up and down as he rid himself of his trousers. You trained your sight on his bulge, his boxers doing little to hide his length.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, climbing over you slowly. “Mine. Your smile is mine. Your laugh is mine.” He cupped your boobs, circling your nipples with calloused thumbs as he watched you carefully. “These are mine.” Heeseung leaned forward, pressing his clothed cock against your cunt. “Fuck—this pussy’s mine too, yeah? You were made for me, all mine.”

You could only nod, not trusting your own voice, as he moved to pull your panties off. You whined when you felt the fabric stick to your folds, your slick acting like glue. Heeseung balled up the fabric, unceremoniously shoving it in your mouth. You whined, the noise coming out muffled as Heeseung pulled off his boxers, revealing his hard dick.

“You don’t need to talk,” he growled, leaning down to bite at your neck. “Clearly, you’re just a stupid bitch who doesn’t know when she should speak. Why else would you let that fuck flirt with you in front of me, huh?”

You shook your head adamantly, attempting to speak through your cum soaked panties. 

“You think he knows that you’re laying here, spread out for me like this? Do you think he knows just how fucking wet you are for me?” He slapped your cunt as he spoke, causing you to jump. A sick look of pride took over his features at the sight of your glassy eyes, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. He dragged two fingers up your cunt from your weeping entrance up to your puffy clit. 

“Shit,” he groaned at the touch. “Gonna make you mine. Gonna fill you with my cum, so everyone knows, yeah?” Using your slick as lube, he rubbed his shaft slowly, never taking his eyes off you. You lifted your hips off the bed, wanting nothing more than for him to rail you, but he was quick to push your body down, his large palm pressing against your tummy firmly.

You cried out as best you could when he rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds, collecting your juices as he fucked against your clit. He pressed the fat tip into your entrance, the familiar burn causing your eyes to roll back. He groaned lowly as he pressed himself into you, heaving when his hips met yours.

He watched as his cock slipped in and out of your clenched hole with ease, your heat sucking him in. Pushing your legs up against your chest, Heeseung steadied himself on his knees as he buried himself in your pussy. “Fuck,” he drawled out, his head thrown back in pleasure. Your eyes trailed down his neck, his Adam’s apple jutting out deliciously as he swallowed. 

Pushing down on the back of your thighs, pressing your legs almost uncomfortably against your body, he moved with the same passion he used to kiss you in the car. You almost screamed, biting down on your soaked panties as he drilled into you. The sound of your wetness slipping against his cock was obscene, but God did Heeseung love it. He moved faster and faster, pistoling into you with an unrivalled enthusiasm.

Releasing one of your legs, he reached down to circle your clit, making you jolt up from the bed. You threw your head back, loud cries escaping your throat even through your improvised gag. “So fucking good for me,” Heeseung groaned, draping his body over you as he shoved his face into the crook of your neck. His pace never faltered, strong and hard thrusts pushing your body up the bed. “Fuck—! This fucking pussy was made for me.”

Without warning, he pulled your panties out of your mouth, now dripping with saliva. He dropped them somewhere on the bed, his hips slamming against yours as he kissed you. You moaned into the kiss, hands grabbing blindly at his back. “H-Heeseung!” You cried, burying your face into your comforter as hot tears burned the corners of your eyes.

“Come on,” he hushed, pressing against your clit faster. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you cream around my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” You blabbered out nonsense, unable to make any coherent words as his hardness dragged along your gummy walls. You could feel the rope in your stomach tightening as his thrust became more desperate. His rhythm stayed constant, even as the back of his thighs burned and his cock twitched.

“F—uck,” he almost sobbed, his voice breaking as he fucked into you ruthlessly. “God, baby, feel so fucking good. Gonna cum inside, yeah?” His voice echoed in your ear, leaving goosebumps on your skin. You couldn’t tell if you were nodding or shaking your head to his words, your mind a mess, as all you could focus on was the feeling of his cock. “You’re gonna take it for me—shit—take it all. Don’t want any of it coming out.”

You felt something snap as you arched your back, your orgasm washing over you in brutal waves, like a tsunami crashing against your body over and over. You sobbed as Heeseung kept moving, never relenting in his pace as he chased his own release. His fingers kept circling your clit, even with your feeble attempts to push them away. “Heeseung,” you cried as overstimulation racked your body.

Heeseung swore under his breath, kissing you gently, contrasting his harsh thrusts. “I know, baby,” he sighed, sweat rolling down his face as he pecked your lips. “Just a bit longer for me, shit, you’re taking me so well.” He moaned loudly as he neared, gripping your hips tightly as he plunged into you.

He bit your shoulder as he came, ropes of thick cum painting your walls white. His hips stuttered, a quiet fuck, fuck, fuck spoken into your shoulder. Heeseung didn’t stop thrusting into you gently until his orgasm faded away, pressing his softening cock deeper into you. You could feel his cum seeping out of you, soft whimpers rumbling in your throat at the feeling.

His breath was heavy as he all but collapsed on you, using what little strength he had to hold himself up so he didn’t crush you. He left gentle kisses on the marks on your neck, making you shiver in sensitivity. He pressed a lingering peck against your lips before leaning back slightly to look you in the eye.

Heeseung shifted to move a stray hair out of your face, and you couldn’t help but melt at the way he was rubbing circles on your hip. Leaning up, your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him, wrapping tired arms around his nape as you brought his body flush against yours. The movement made him accidentally press against your clit, and the both of you moaned into the kiss. You swiped your tongue over his lip ring, sucking it into your mouth as you moved your hips slowly.

“You’re insatiable,” he mumbled against your lips. Despite his words, he felt himself grow hard when he glanced down at your shifting hips and the ring of white around his shaft. 

“You love it,” you countered, holding him against your body tighter.

He scoffed, pressing a kiss against your forehead before rolling you over so that you were sitting on his lap, dick still inside. You squeaked when he took your hips and rolled you back and forth over his cock, your cunt still sensitive. “No more running away,” he rasped as he fucked up into you slowly.

You leaned down to kiss him once more in silent agreement.

©WONLOVIE please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

[hyunverse]

wherever you are ☆ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x fem!reader. childhood best friends to lovers. slowburn, pining. fluff, angst. suggestive. a hyunjin birthday special.

wc: 12.9k words.

warnings: reader often referred to as "girl," suggestive. mentions of sex.

note: this fic is my baby. it might be one of my favourite things i've ever written so far, please treat it well <3 feedbacks are very much appreciated.

playlist.

Hyunjin promised you that he'll be wherever you are. What do you do when your best friend of years — the only person you've ever loved disappears without saying goodbye? Especially when you've spent your entire life with Hyunjin, you didn't know of life without him.

one.

“Happy Birthday, Hyunjin.”

It was Hyunjin’s 10th birthday. 

Despite already singing him a happy birthday song, you muttered the wish once again in the comfort of his tree house. He sat adjacent to you, feet dangling over the platform, the large leaves hovering over the tree house’s roof providing shelter from the blinding sunlight. 

He hummed in gratitude, eyes busy watching Kkami running around below the tree house. Afternoons with Hyunjin were often spent like this — hanging out in the tree house as Kkami played around on the grass, its barks mirroring its happiness. For years, you’ve spent enjoying the fact that your afternoons were spent like this — were spent with Hyunjin, in childish innocence. 

After letting the silence take over for a while, Hyunjin turned his head towards you, a little surprised once he saw that you were already looking at him. He tried his best to not let his surprise show. 

“Why did you want to come up here? I thought you were enjoying the party inside.” 

Indeed, you were enjoying the birthday party, a little too much for Hyunjin’s liking. The boys from Hyunjin’s school came to the party, and you seemed to get along with them quickly, despite being the only girl at the party. Hyunjin hates to admit it but he was a little envious. He told himself that he’s jealous because he’s your number one best friend, so you should pay more attention to him. It was true, but only partially — he was jealous because they were all boys. Not that he would ever admit that to himself.

To Hyunjin’s question, you responded by extending your arms to him, revealing a white box in your palm. He took it, quickly recognizing it as a jewellery box. He’s received one of them after purchasing a Mother’s Day gift. Quietly, he examined the engravings on the box, and the pristine look of it. Honestly, he was impressed by how clean you have kept it. You had always been one to dirty your white clothes. 

“What’s this?” he asked, answering his own enquiry by opening the box with you sitting close, peering over his hands.

Hyunjin’s heart skipped a beat.

In the box laid two necklaces, black strings with Lego pieces as pendants. They were matching necklaces. The Lego piece of each necklace formed a heart when joined together. His brown eyes widened, in disbelief of the gift. He’s never received something like this — something matching. It made his heart flutter — no, it beat faster than it does while playing soccer. Hyunjin turned to look into your eyes, and it was as though he had found a new revelation in yours. The more Hyunjin looked at you, the more the realization seeped in, until it overtook his senses.

You’re a girl. 

You weren’t just the kid from next door, you weren’t like his other friends — you’re a girl. You like Disney princesses, you have a pretty face, you like Sanrio characters, you have soft hair, you like painting nails, you have pink lips from your strawberry lip balm, you like matching necklaces — you’re a girl. 

A very pretty girl.

It felt like a revelation after having been friends with you for over five years. As though the necklaces in the box held some sort of power to snap one from a trance. Hyunjin realized that you were different from his other friends. For one, you have softer hands. Moreover, you’re someone he can develop a crush on — or whatever girls call it. 

His finger traced the pendants, feeling the bumps of the Lego pieces. He smiled, one that reached his ears. You felt yourself releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I love it soooo much. Thank you.”

Unlike other boys (the stinky ones from your school), Hyunjin didn’t cringe at the gift. The way he gently examined the necklaces mirrored the appreciation he felt towards it. If he was any other boy, he would’ve probably laughed at the gift, then poked fun at you. 

Then again, Hyunjin had never been like the other boys you knew.

He was different in the way he spoke softly to you (softer than he would to his guy friends), and how he would let you change the TV channel from Snoopy to Totally Spies. He had always been different, that being the reason why you were so fond of him. 

“You like it? Really?” you queried, staring at him. You watched his expressions carefully, trying to sense for any lies.

“Really! Which one do you want?” he answered, absolutely no hesitations. He wasn’t lying.

Hyunjin panned the box towards you, prompting you to pick which necklace. One was in black, the other in white. As always, he gave in to you, letting you be the one to choose. 

“White!”

The sun was setting when you both swayed your legs, wearing the matching necklaces. Hyunjin was genuinely happy, one of his hands wouldn’t stop fiddling with the pendant. The party was still lively inside, but he much preferred sitting with you — his one and only best friend. 

“Yn,” your best friend’s voice broke you from your trance. “What do you want for your birthday?” 

“Hm,” you pondered, tapping your pointer on your chin in a cartoonish manner.

He was looking at you, an expectant expression on his face. You pulled up your legs to cross them as you thought. 

“I think…” your voice trailed, “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!” 

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, “at least make it something I could give you!”

You pouted, “but that’s what I want!” 

The boy sighed, laying back on the rough surface of the tree house. He looked up, observing the little glow-in-the-dark stars plastered onto the tree house ceiling. He recalled putting them up with you. You were impossible to deal with. Hyunjin desperately wanted to know your wish — something he could give you for your birthday. Your gift to him made him really happy, and he wished to return the favour. 

“Then, I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris with you.” 

It was such an innocent, child-like answer — straight from a 10-year-old’s desire. Untainted by the boulevard of broken dreams. As if anything in the world was possible, and that the universe was kind all the time. 

“Really?” you chirped, looking at him with disbelief in your eyes. You giggled in glee and plopped yourself down beside him. “Really really? You really really really mean it, Hyunnie?” 

At that point, Hyunjin could only giggle and nod. “Of course! I’ll be wherever you are.”

The manner in which you hugged him expressed your excitement. You were practically suffocating him, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing tightly. 

“You’re my best friend in the world!” 

Hyunjin felt like he could die. 

His heart continued beating rapidly, worsened by you nuzzling your face into his neck. Hyunjin knew, it was just you being your usual self. However, the revelation he experienced minutes earlier made the tips of his ears turn red. 

“Hyunjin! Come down here! Your friends are about to leave!”

At that very moment, Hyunjin silently thanked his mother for saving him.

two.    

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

A question which had you staring into space — the walls of Hyunjin’s bedroom for a while. The blue walls were plastered with posters of numerous musicians and self-made artworks.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know the answer. You knew. Ballet had been a part of your life since small, it was your everything. It wasn’t that you were unsure if you wanted to do ballet, you were unsure if you should be doing ballet. 

Uneasiness settled into your stomach, but you tried to keep them in. You were in no mood to be going through an identity crisis.

“Ballerina,” you stated, matter-of-factly. Your eyebrows furrowed when Hyunjin chuckled.

“What?”

“Your answer hasn’t changed,” Hyunjin laughed, but not in a humorous way. Rather, it was in an expectant way, as if he knew that’s what you would answer. 

You straightened your posture and tilted your head. Hyunjin laughed even more, making a comment that you looked like Kkami.

“Have you asked me the same thing before?”

He nodded, “sort of? Kind of. On my tenth birthday, I asked you what you wanted.” Hyunjin cleared his throat and took a deep breath, mimicking the voice of younger you. “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!”

“Oh, shut up!” you rumbled, hitting him with his bolster repeatedly. “That’s not how I sounded like!”

“It so was!” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t quite recall the memory. You didn’t doubt Hyunjin though, it did sound like something you would’ve said. 

You queried again.

“What did you answer then?” 

Hyunjin turned silent. He didn’t like where this was going, not fond of recalling the cheesy answer he gave you. As he looked away from your gaze, you pressed him further. Even threatened to dog-nap Kkami.

“Fine. I said… I said I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris too…” his voice trailed, getting smaller, “said I’ll be wherever you are…”

Your eyebrows raised, scooting closer to him in mock confusion. “Sorry? Didn’t hear you.” 

A pillow hit your head, and you burst out into peals of laughter. It was hilarious, the cheesy answer little Hyunjin gave, but what amused you even more was his face turning red. 

Touches of laughter echoed in the room, and Hyunjin found himself praying the moment would last forever. The conversation quickly escalated into a pillow fight, ending up in Hyunjin leaning against his headboard, exhausted, and you laying on his lap. 

You looked up at him, eyes fleeting to the stubble growing. Mindlessly, you grazed his cheek, feeling his sideburns prickling against your thumb. 

He was growing, you realized it then. You were growing too. Neither of you were little kids anymore.

A fact you didn't want to accept.

It’s the softness of your fingers that froze Hyunjin in his tracks. He held his breath, as if you would stop if he moved. He didn’t want you to, wanted to let your fingers linger, to etch the sensation into his memories. 

In a soft tone, you spoke, “Did you really mean it?”

“Hm?”

“Would you be wherever I am?”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, a lump growing in his throat. If he spoke, he feared his feelings would become too real. For as long as he could, he wanted to bury his feelings deep down. Life was already risky as it is, he didn’t want to take any more.

It’s platonic. It’s platonic. It’s platonic.

They repeated in his brain like a mantra. Maybe if he chanted it, it’ll manifest to life.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin swallowed, “of course I will. You’re my best friend.” 

Like magic, your worries about the future disappeared into thin air. Would it be foolish to trust Hyunjin so much, that you believed life would be fine as long as he was with you? 

Dear universe, be good to me.

You smiled, one that Hyunjin swore could light up the entire sky. The stars must envy you, for the way you could brighten up darkness effortlessly. 

“I’ll be wherever you are too.”

Yeah, Hyunjin would love it if time froze.

three.  

Don’t be a coward. 

Four words Hyunjin told his reflection as he got ready. He was dressed in a basic tee and a pair of jeans, hair slicked back like the one time you told him it looked good. He spritzed his cologne behind his ears, on his neck, and on his wrist before repeating the four words again. This time, he whispered it, letting it soak into his brain, in hopes his heart would have courage. 

It’s been too long. The feelings he harboured for you piled overtime, the crush he once thought was temporary transforming into fondness. It was becoming too much for Hyunjin’s heart to bear, he needed to let it out. If he didn’t, he felt like his heart could burst. And if it did, it would be confetti-shaped memories of you. 

Chatters echoed outside your ballet academy, Hyunjin watched through the lowered window for your face among the sea of people. He had a plan in mind — he’d open the door for you, put the seatbelt on for you, and tell you about his feelings. In front of your academy wasn’t the most ideal place for a confession, he knew, but God — he couldn’t bear sitting in silence with you as a storm raged in his head. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to say it as soon as he could. 

Hyunjin’s eyes were still busy looking for you when suddenly, your face came in his peripheral vision, along with another face. The other person was lean, jet black hair with bangs and puppy-like eyes. The boy opened the door for you before Hyunjin could. 

Okay, step number one failed. 

“Hey, Hyunnie!” your voice chirped, getting into the car. Your hand moved to buckle your seatbelt before Hyunjin could. He was too busy analysing the stranger in front of the door.

“Hey,” Hyunjin replied nonchalantly, looking at the boy from head to toe. “And this is…?”

“Seungmin. And you?” the boy said, tilting his head. To Hyunjin, he was being challenged. Seungmin’s tone was more daring than he liked, so he felt an urge to one-up the guy.

“Hyunjin. Been friends with Yn since were in diapers.” he replied, the extra detail a pathetic attempt at one-upping Seungmin. 

Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows, nodding as he shut your door, “Uh. Cool? Bye, Yn. And the friend since diapers.” 

Oh, Hyunjin really didn’t like him. 

“Wait, Seungminnie!” you called out just as Seungmin was walking away. He looked back at the car, raising an eyebrow. You turned to Hyunjin with puppy eyes. “Can you give Seungminnie a ride? He takes the bus and I think the next one’s in an hour.”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, eyes fluttering from your pleading eyes to Seungmin’s figure outside the car. If it was all up to him, he would probably run the guy over. But God knew how much he cherished you, how he would rather cut his tongue than tell you “no,” so he agreed.

“Mm. Sure,” he replied, swallowing back a scoff. 

Your eyes brightened, “Seungminnie! Come, we’ll give you a ride!” you yelled, tempting Hyunjin to mock the nickname you’d given him.

It was going to be a car ride straight out of hell. 

Hyunjin’s knuckles were white against the steering as he pulled up to Seungmin’s residence complex. The building standing in front of him definitely belonged in a gated community, ritzy and luxurious. Somehow, that pissed Hyunjin off even more. He glanced at the unwanted guest sitting in the back seat through the rear-view mirror.

“Want me to drive you to the lobby, or what?”

Seungmin looked back into the mirror, peering at the reflection through his bangs. “Nah. They don’t let random cars in. Here’s just fine,” he mumbled, unbuckling the seatbelt. “Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.” 

The car door closed behind Seungmin, leaving the two of you in the car. Hyunjin sighed, feeling the nerves creeping up him again. Now that it was only the two of you, it was time for Hyunjin to confess his feelings.

Before he could, you spoke, “Seungmin’s my friend in the academy. He’s really smart,” your eyes didn’t leave the crossroad before you, watching as Seungmin walked. 

Hyunjin had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He tapped on your thigh, trying to gain your attention. It worked as you looked at him, batting your eyelashes. “Hm?”

He licked his lower lip, mustering all the courage in him. It was now, or never. “Look, I have something to tell you.” 

“Yeah?”

You shuffled in your seat, tilting your body slightly towards his way. Now that you had your full attention on him, Hyunjin felt even more nervous. He scratched the skin around his thumb, tongue-tied as his brain tried to form coherent words. He’s never done this before, always made fun of his friends for struggling to express their feelings but now that he was in the same place, he wished he could take back all the insults. The brown eyes looking deeply (and anxiously) into yours were profusely blinking, as though he was at the brink of tears. You grew worried.

“Hyunjin, what’s up?”

He scratched at the back of his neck. Why did his tongue feel so numb? Why did his brain feel empty yet so full at the same time? His heartbeats were so fast, he couldn’t quite catch up. Hyunjin was on a rollercoaster — you were waiting at the end of the ride.

Finally, he managed to muster words. “Look, I’ve pondered over —”

Two knocks on the window at the back. They’re followed by the door opening, an exasperated Seungmin popping his head into the car. Immediately, you both looked back, utterly bewildered. 

“Sorry. I left my bag. Thank God you’re still here,” Seungmin said, grabbing his messenger bag and slipping it onto his shoulder. “Thanks and sorry!”

The door closed, thus silence blanketed the atmosphere once again. This time, with unresolved tension. You looked back at Hyunjin, tilting your head in curiosity.

“You were saying?” 

Dazed, the raven looked at you. His face was a mixture of exasperation and confusion. His head? There was a storm raging, along with curse words aimed at Seungmin. 

“Um…” He licked his lower lip, racking his brain to find back the words he wanted to say. They were all lost. He was already at the end of the rollercoaster, the bumps along the way forgotten, and the thrill subsided. All that’s left was the remnants of anxiety. He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he’s forgotten the things he wanted to say, and the moment disturbed by your dear friend Seungmin.

So, he put the gear on to drive. He shook his head and made up a white lie.

“I think I want to try a new ice cream place today.”

four.  

The taste of cookies and cream could not beat the bitterness on Hyunjin’s tongue. 

It may be because the bitterness has seeped into his head. 

“I’m going to your room,” you announced, swinging the front door of his house open. “Hi, Mrs Hwang!” you cheered, running up the stairs after. 

“I’m going to talk to my mom a little bit,” Hyunjin said, hanging both your coats on the coat hanger. 

Nothing could’ve prepared Hyunjin for what was to happen next. 

Both his parents were crowding the kitchen countertop when he walked in, skimming through a piece of paper. They were beaming, eyes crinkled as they smiled. A reminder that Hyunjin resembled both his parents. He blinked in confusion as to why his parents looked so happy. He didn’t think he'd seen them this happy before.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, peering over their figures to look at the paper. 

On the paper were words he’d only seen in his dreams. Never in a million years he would’ve thought it’d manifest to life. His heart skipped a beat as he read the words over, and over. 

“You made it, sweetheart,” his mother’s soft voice spoke, confirming his suspicion. “You got accepted. Beaux-Arts de Paris.”

“Eomma,” he mumbled, as if he was pleading. Pleading for this dream to stop. Somebody’s got to wake him up from this nightmare of a day. “There’s no way.” 

Hyunjin picked up the letter, inspecting it closer. As though if he looked any closer, the words on the pristine white paper would change. Reject him. Or maybe, the logo of the prestigious school would magically transform into a logo of a school in Seoul. Anything, anything, that would keep him here. In Seoul. With you. 

“You did it, sweetheart. Your dreams are coming true,” his mother keenly said, pulling him into a side hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

His dream? It was his dream, and, yours. No, scratch that — it wasn’t truly his dream. It was yours. His dream had always been to be wherever you are. 

He didn’t think he would be accepted. When you told him you were rejected from the Paris Ballet School, he told you that he was rejected, too. He didn’t tell you that he was waitlisted, under the impression that he was never getting out of the waitlist. What was he to tell you now? 

Hyunjin hid his sadness, wanting to make his parents proud, “Yeah. I did it. I’m so happy, eomma, appa.” 

A series of praises left his parents, and he allowed for them to engulf him in a hug. 

“Don’t tell Yn, ‘kay?” he muttered, before excusing himself to go upstairs. The acceptance letter was neatly folded, tucked into his pocket.  

When he swung his bedroom door open, you were standing in front of his full-length mirror. Clad in only his t-shirt, you inspected yourself. 

“Hey, Hwang Hyunjin,” you muttered, turning your body. “Your clothes are bigger than me now. You used to be so small.”

You looked at him, mock dismay in your face. “I was so much taller than you before. You were a dwarf.” 

How was he meant to tell you about Paris?

“I was never a dwarf. You were just too busy looking down on me.”

Giggles left both of you. Silently, he observed the way you were examining yourself. You had the mannerisms of a ballerina, each gesture as gracious as your dance. Hyunjin adored the curves of your body, but God knew he loved that of your smile even more. 

Later, you were both laying on his bed, you in a starfish position. Hyunjin was at the edge of his bed, trying his best to not fall. 

“Ballet was so hard today,” you sighed. You turned your body sideways, burying your face into Hyunjin’s chest. He could smell you in this closeness.

“Are you wearing my deodorant?” he queried, bowing to clasp his nose onto your shoulder. It felt like a kiss to him. “This is literally the smell of my deodorant.” 

You shrugged. “Yeah? What about it? You should’ve gotten used to me taking your things by now, Hwang Hyunjin. I’ve been doing this our whole lives.” 

Touché. The boy sighed, letting you fill in the silence with your babbles. Wordlessly, he listened to your words, letting it be the white noise to his thoughts. 

His head was clearly not there. Unbeknownst to him, you knew of this. He’d been off all day. You’ve picked up on each signal, knowing him like the back of your hand. As much as you wanted to know what was wrong, you knew not to pry. You resorted to comfort instead. 

Your fingertips met at the back of his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He was never one for physical touch but sometimes, it helped. You leaned your head into his neck. 

Gingerly, you whispered the words you thought he would need. 

“You’re always here, around me. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

The exact words he did not need to hear that day.

How was he meant to tell you of his feelings now? 

Especially when he was leaving — oceans away. 

five.  

Hyunjin had always loved soccer.

Whether it be being in the bleachers, or playing in the field. He loved doing both. There was something about the thrill of watching people play, and the adrenaline as he chased around the field. 

Sitting in the bleachers, Hyunjin watched as his soccer team played. The sounds of his teammates laughing made the blazing sun a little more bearable. He lowered his cap to prevent the sunlight from getting in his eyes, chuckling when he saw Beomgyu falling face-first onto the grass.

He loved his soccer team. Every time he observed them play, Hyunjin’s heart always got overwhelmed with pride and joy. At that moment, he felt melancholy taking space too — the thought of not being able to play with them anymore hurting him more than he thought it would. 

Hyunjin allowed for the melancholy to take space, allowed himself to feel — so much so that he didn’t feel Minho’s presence. Not until the older cleared his throat. 

Minho sat beside him, “Why the long face, Hwang Hyunjin?” 

“Huh?” startled, he looked up, face softening when he saw Minho. “Oh. Nothing. You’re not playing?”

“Nah,” Minho replied curtly. He silently analyzed the younger’s facial expressions before speaking up again. “For someone who’s going to Paris in two weeks, you sure don’t look too happy.”

Of course, Minho out of all people would notice the change in his mannerisms. Always the analyzing one, quick to notice changes in demeanour. There was no point in lying, not with Minho — so he let out the sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“It’s bittersweet, you know?” he mumbled, fiddling with his fingers.

“It’s Yn, isn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“You don’t want to part ways with her. It’s what’s holding you back.” 

Right on. It was as though Minho was a mind-reader. A heavy weight pulled on Hyunjin’s heartstrings, made his heart even heavier than a few minutes prior.

“Yeah,” he didn’t lie, again. He looked at Minho, and the older could clearly see the uneasiness written all over his face. “If you were me… would you tell her about your feelings?”

“The fact that you like her?”

“Yeah.”

Minho fell silent. He pondered over the question, looking at the sight before him. The sun was setting, orange hues painting the sky. Hyunjin wondered if Paris sunsets would look the same.

“I think…” Minho turned towards the younger. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell her.” 

“Why?”

“Won’t benefit you, I don’t think.” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Listen. If you were to tell her, and she accepted, do you think you could get into a relationship with her?”

“I mean —”

Minho cut him, “Realistically, do you think the relationship would succeed? I mean, the time zone between Seoul and Paris is pretty big. The distance, too. I don’t think it would work out. And that’ll be bad, you know? You’ll both be left wondering what could have been.”

The truth hurt. The distance, the time — none of them were on Hyunjin’s side. 

“And, if, God forbid, if she were to reject you… do you really want your last memory with her to be the hurt you’ll feel?”

Hyunjin shook his head. The other sighed, and patted him on the back. 

“There are things better left unsaid. You should take her out. Spend your last time with her nicely.”

Despite Hyunjin’s stubbornness, he took Minho’s advice. It took him a lot of contemplating (and crying), but he followed it anyway. Whether he liked it or not, Minho’s advice had a lot of truth in it. 

Bitter truths, but true regardless.

six.

“Where are we going?” you whined, trailing behind your dear friend. The sun was setting in two hours, orange hues were beginning to paint the sky. “Hyunnie, if you don’t tell me where we’re —”

“Please, stay patient. Will you?”

Hyunjin looked behind. He was wearing a blue knitted vest. In one hand, he held a picnic basket. The other, is your handbag. You never have to carry your own with him.

“But we’re literally in the middle of nowhere!” 

“Please just trust me,” he pleaded. One hand was stretched towards you, a silent offer to hold his. “Come. If you’re too tired, I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

Ever the opportunist, you took up on the offer. Alas, Hyunjin was left walking the remaining distance, you happily singing road trip songs while clinging onto his back. To butter him up, you told him that he must’ve been a blessing sent to you by God. Although he groaned at the remark, you couldn’t see the small smile on his face.

After a few minutes, you understood why Hyunjin was adamant about going out that day. Before you, green plains stretched as far as your eyes could see. Scattered across viridian shades were wildflowers. Some yellow, some pink. 

Hyunjin had brought you to a flower field.

The picnic basket, and the Polaroid camera finally made sense. 

Without any more words, you jumped off his back and ran into the field. The yellow sundress you wore matched that of the wildflowers. In Hyunjin’s eyes, you blended right in. 

You were as pretty as the flowers. 

“Careful, Yn! Don’t fall!” He called out, his voice echoing in the space. He watched you from afar. There was an urge to run among the flowers too, but he was much more content with watching you. 

From a distance, in silence, he observed your every move. He couldn’t help the giggles that left his lips. The smile that lingered on his lips. He wanted this memory to last, to be ingrained in his brain forever. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to witness your happiness. 

“Hyunnie, you need to come here! It’s so nice!”

Chuckling, he carefully placed the picnic basket on the ground. Hyunjin was done with setting up the picnic spot. He ran towards you, lifted you off the ground and twirled you around. You broke out into giggles and held onto his arms. 

Among the flowers, two silhouettes danced with each other. Swaying to the same melody as the peonies. Despite being a ballerina, you kept stumbling onto Hyunjin’s feet, giggling each time he elicited an “ow.” 

Like a scene from a movie.

Like he wasn’t going away soon.

Before the sun could set, Hyunjin convinced you to sit on the picnic blanket. He wished to dance with you longer, but alas, time awaits for no mortal. 

“How do you want me to pose?” you asked. You were facing him, legs tucked sideways.

Hyunjin scooted closer to you, and wiped breadcrumbs off your lips. He commented on you eating messily. “You can pose however you want.”

You nodded, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Okay. Make sure you get my good angles, yeah?”

“You look good from any angle.” 

Crimson crept up your face. You hadn’t expected that remark. You hoped he wouldn’t see you blush, you would just tell him it’s the sun then. 

“Okay…”

Two clicks, then a flash went off. Your eyes widened, caught off-guard.

“You didn’t even count to three!” 

Your whines were responded to with a giggle. The camera whirled, apprising you of a Polaroid developing. Hyunjin took it, fanning the Polaroid with a grin. He was excited to see it.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“Candid photos are better,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? Everything’s prettier when it’s genuine.”

“So you’re calling me pretty?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Have I ever said you’re ugly?”

Right. He has never. 

You prayed to God the heat on your face was from the sun and not from blushing.

Once the Polaroid fully developed, Hyunjin made sure he was the first to see it. To your dismay, he held it close to his face, shielding it from you. His cheeks dimpled, illustrating his happiness. You looked so pretty, the sunlight on your face giving you an angelic glow. If he looked closer, he was sure he’d see a halo. 

Hyunjin wanted to keep this forever. 

If he couldn’t freeze the time, he figured he’d trap the memories in photographs.

“Let me see!” you whined. “It’s a picture of me! I have the right to see it.”

Scampering towards him, you waved your hands, trying to get the photograph off his hand. To no avail, Hyunjin had quick reflexes much thanks to his soccer experience. 

“No! You can’t — it’s for my eyes only!”

“Ridiculous! That’s my face, Hyunnie!”

“It’s my camera film. So it’s mine!”

Neither one of you would let up, legs entangling against each other as you fought over the photograph. He was determined to not let you even see the picture. One of your palms pressed against the picnic blanket, the other reaching up towards his hand. Hyunjin used his free hand to push you gently but alas, he underestimated his own strength. In one swift move, you lost your balance, toppling over him. 

“Ow,” he fell back and winced in pain. He looked up, and all the back pain was suddenly replaced by shyness. There you were, on his lap — face just as flushed as his. 

Hyunjin didn’t know what to do now. 

Pathetically, he just stared into your eyes, finding himself getting caught in them. He could feel your hitched breaths against his chest, he was very aware of your trembling fingers on his arms. There was a strong urge to kiss you as his eyes fell onto your lips. He wondered how they’d feel on his lips. He imagined it in his head — missing the way your eyes stared at his lips too. 

If you were a flower, Hyunjin would be a bee. He desired you, eyes tracing the shape of your lips. Over, and over. If he kissed you, would your lips taste like honey? 

He ought to find out. Hesitantly, he inched his head closer to yours. The warmth of your breath against his skin marked the closeness between you.

Numerous scenarios flashed in Hyunjin’s mind. Of him kissing you senseless, then whispering a love confession in your ear. Of your cold fingers pressing into his skin as he tells you each perk of yours that he loved endlessly. The more he imagined, the closer he was. You shut your eyes, waiting for his lips to finally press onto yours. 

Paris. The one-way plane ticket to Paris.

Against his heart’s desire, his fingers cupped your chin instead. Subtly, he pulled back, eyes trailing back up to your eyes. He ignored the look of confusion in your eyes.

Reaching down, he pocketed the photograph. His heart clenched as he spoke, but he did anyway. 

“I win.”

The two words pulled you from your trance — they tore off your heart like paper. You blinked, watching the playful smirk that graced Hyunjin’s porcelain face. 

“Oh.”

The whole journey home, bitterness sat on Hyunjin’s tongue like the aftertaste of tangerine pulp. Did you want the kiss too, or had his libido fabricated things? 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t kiss you. Not when he had suitcases packed for Beaux-Art de Paris. Not when it’s all his parents could talk about. 

Minho’s words played in Hyunjin’s mind like a broken record. They served as a reminder of what could not be. For the sake of his heart, he told himself that it had all been a figment of his imagination.

Tension cloaked the front door of your house. Neither of you made a noise, save for the jingling keys in your carabiner. You observed Hyunjin, who was busy looking at his shoes. Once again, his mind wasn’t in his head. It had been that way for a few weeks. 

“See you soon?” you mumbled. 

Hyunjin looked up, nodding at your words. He pulled you into a hug, one that almost crushed your bones. Shakingly, he nuzzled his head into your neck, burying his face into the skin like you would dissolve if he didn't. It must’ve hurt his back but you made no comment, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, in hopes it'll give him solace. By the front door you held him, so tight that it was as though the two of you were one, the curves of his fingers burning through your skin.

You didn’t know that it was a goodbye. It had to stay that way. 

Once more, his heart clenched in his chest. Two hands cupped your cheeks, as gentle as he could be, like you would break. He engraved this version of you into his memory — kind eyes boring into his with a soft smile plastered across the face he'd grown to adore. He vowed to always remember this face. 

Deeply, he inhaled his breath. Preparing the next words — lies to say to you, no matter how tight his chest felt.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The last words Hwang Hyunjin muttered to you. 

seven.  

One day before your birthday. 

It had been two days since Hyunjin brought you to the meadow. You hadn’t seen him much, just glimpses of him as he played around with Kkami in his backyard. You figured that he was busy.

“Hello, I’m home!” you said in a sing-song voice as you stepped into the Hwang household. Kkami who’d usually greet you wasn’t in his usual spot, so you trudged straight to the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s mother was sitting. “Hi, Mrs Hwang.” 

She looked up, lips twitching into a smile, a cookie-cutter of Hyunjin’s. Under the kitchen light, you don’t miss the dried tears by her eyes. You pursed your lips, wondering if she was watching a sad drama. Hyunjin inherited his trait of easily crying from his mother, after all. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” she looked at your outfit from head to toe. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“Oh,” you muttered, giving her a little twirl. “My birthday outfit! Is it pretty?”

“Of course.”

You smiled at her, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. Keenly, you looked around the kitchen for any traces of Hyunjin. You realized that the house seemed much quieter than usual, emptier than normal. 

“Where’s Hyunjin?” you asked. The reason why you’d come over was to show your best friend your birthday outfit. Now that you were there, he was nowhere to be seen. “Is he home?”

Sympathy materialized in the mother’s old eyes. She tilted her head at you, lips pursing as she thought of the correct words to say. 

“My girl, did he not tell you?”

Confusion would be an understatement. Hyunjin told you everything, everything — from pointless thoughts to his deepest, darkest secrets. You were his secret keeper, his companion — there was nothing he wouldn’t tell you.

Was there? 

It had to be something unimportant, right? Perhaps he was off to an art workshop and forgot to tell you. But looking at his mother, it felt like something big. You grew anxious under her sympathetic gaze. 

“Tell me what?” you questioned, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“We just came back from Incheon Airport. He’s on a plane to Paris,” the lady replied. She stood up, inching closer towards your trembling figure. “Did he not tell you, Yn? I thought he did.”

“Paris?” you asked, blinking. “Like. For a vacation?”

“No, sweetheart. Beaux-Arts de Paris. He got into the school.”

The words felt like bullets on skin, penetrating and chagrining you deeply. It felt unreal — a hoax.

You scoffed, “What? He wouldn’t go without telling me.” Your eyes searched for humour in his mother’s eyes. “Is this like, a birthday prank?”

Her eyes saddened even more. “No, sweetheart. He really went.”

Another betrayal came in the form of tears cascading down your eyes without warning. The emotions hit you faster than your brain could process things. Speechless, you took steps back from his mother, before running up the staircase to his room. 

He had to be there. Sitting in his swivel chair and laughing at your face. He’ll tell you it was a prank and wipe away your tears. 

Hyunjin was your best friend of a lifetime. He wouldn’t do this to you. He had to be there.

When the door to his room swung open, a sob was knocked out of your mouth. 

All traces of life in the bedroom were gone, save for the soft purrs of Kkami sleeping on the bed. The bed was stripped of its bedsheets, and the towels hanging behind the door were gone. The laundry bag was empty. 

All traces of Hyunjin were gone. 

The realization hit harder than his mother’s words. If the words hurt like bullets on skin, the sight of Hyunjin’s lifeless room felt like a knife twisted in your gut. It felt like sanguine dripping from wounds, and Hyunjin’s holding the knife. It felt like a betrayal. 

“Hyunjin,” his name slipped from your lips like a plea. “Hyunjin.” 

More choked sobs escaped your windpipes as you searched around the room. First, it was his wardrobe. The oak material was practically empty, all that remained were a couple of sleep tees and the shirts you’ve left over the years. You rummaged through the hangers, finding that he had brought one of your sweatshirts along. 

The confirmation of his departure was the emptiness of his study table. Each nook and cranny of his table used to feel like Hyunjin, from the stacks of sketchbooks to eraser dust. Everything was Hyunjin — but at that moment, there was nothing. There was only a void — that of his desk and your heart. 

Your best friend was truly gone. 

“Hyunjin,” the name wrestled its way past your lips again. This time, it was out of longing. “Hyunjin.” 

The manner in which you walked to his bed echoed your feelings. Quivering, like a toddler’s first time walking. Your body fell onto the bed, earning a soft whine from Kkami. Gently, you held Kkami in your arms, letting a stream of tears cascade down your cheeks. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to cry, to feel, to mourn. 

If someone were to tell you that Hyunjin out of all people would make you cry that much, you would’ve laughed. Never in a million years, you’d say. The only times he had made you cry were from laughter. 

“Kkami,” you cried. The chihuahua nuzzled its head into your arms, as though it could feel your sorrow. Perhaps it could. “I miss Hyunjin.”

The dog whined. It looked up to you, placing its paw onto your arm. You cried even more. 

“I wanted to tell him about how I feel today,” through sobs, you managed to speak. “How could he make me feel so many things in one day and disappear the other? He didn't even say goodbye.”

It felt like the chihuahua was mourning with you — the way it nudged its head onto your arm, letting out soft whimpers. As though it was telling you that things will be okay. 

You weren’t sure that it would. You spent your whole life with Hyunjin by your side, you had never known life without him. Now that he was ripped from your grasp, you didn’t know how to go on. No — he voluntarily released himself from your grasp, without warning. It was worse. 

Physical traces of Hyunjin in his room were gone. There was only his scent — the smell of his shampoo, and his cologne. It lingered in the room, mocking you.

In your melancholic state of mind, you could only weep.

eight. 

“Coffee, or tea?”

A female voice broke Hyunjin from his trance. He looked up at the stewardess standing by his seat, the sweatshirt doused in your scent crumpling in his tight grip. 

“I want to get off this plane,” sat on his tongue and dissolved. He took a deep breath. 

“Um,” he looked at the cart, “Plain water, please?”

Coffee would only force Hyunjin to stay awake, forcing him to listen to his own brain’s torments for 14 hours straight. Tea reminded him too much of you, of the times when you were little and would make him play tea party with you. He’ll think about the times you’d cheekily kiss his cheek, an attempt to woo him into playing with you. It worked each time. 

The stewardess nodded, handing him a water bottle branded with the aeroplane’s logo. He muttered a thank you, yet the stewardess still didn’t walk away. She looked nice, her eyes analyzing Hyunjin told him that he must’ve looked like the epitome of a wreck.  

“First time flying?” she questioned. It wasn’t his first time, having gone on many vacations before yet he nodded. “I see. It’ll be fine, just sit back and relax.”

The woman, whose name tag said Chaewon flashed Hyunjin a hospitality smile — one he didn’t think he deserved — then walked away. Hyunjin pursed his lips, wishing that she hadn’t walked away. He didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, he didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to be in this plane — there were a lot of things he didn’t want to do, but had to do. 

Hyunjin wanted to turn back.

Silently, he looked out the window, watching as the landscapes of Seoul grew smaller, slowly becoming covered with clouds. He desperately wished to get out, praying to God that the plane would miraculously turn back and the tableau of Seoul would become bigger. Had he told the stewardess named Chaewon he wanted to get off, would they have let him? Had he told his parents he didn’t want to go to Paris, would they have understood?

If he tells you he’s sorry, would you forgive him? 

Regrets and memories clouded his mind, tears making their way down his cheeks. Each thought strangled his heart, and he could feel it physically aching. In a melancholic state of mind he sat, clinging onto your sweatshirt like it was his lifeline, allowing slumber to slowly take over. 

The break from his own thoughts did not last long enough.

Seven hours later, Hyunjin woke up to dried tears on his cheeks. He straightened his posture and glanced at the window, feeling a wave of emotions at the change of landscapes. Hyunjin wasn’t sure in which city they were flying over, but he could say with certainty that it did not look like Seoul. It did not feel like home, it did not feel like you. 

Unable to fall back to sleep, he couldn’t help the thoughts that poisoned his mind. Looking over the landscapes, he came to a realization much too painful for his heart to bear. 

You and him — you were the Sun, and he was the Moon. Two people of different circumstances, who’ll never meet, ripped away from the merciless hands of time. For your timezones were different — horizons even more. 

As a wave of new tears descended, Hyunjin wondered if he would ever forget about you.

The answer came to him one afternoon three years later, as he laid on the couch in his Parisian apartment. 

No, he’d never forget about you. At least not in three years. Maybe not even in five. 

Sunlight seeped in through the balcony, providing Hyunjin the warmth he wasn’t able to receive from a person. His roommate was a French guy who was always out and about, leaving Hyunjin to soak in his own company for hours on end. Sometimes, for days. Hyunjin loved and hated it at the same time. 

His limbs stretched across the burgundy couch, a yawn eliciting past his lips. Brown eyes stared at the canvas in front of him, black and white hues scattered on white, forming a half-finished painting of you. 

Years later, and you remained at the back of his mind — his muse.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

nine.  

There are five stages of grief. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance. Denial was the hardest for you, having spent your entire birthday staring at the front door of your house, praying Hyunjin would walk in. When your friends sang you a Happy Birthday, it sounded like a morose ballad playing from a broken record. Without Hyunjin, gloom sat at the centre of even the happiest things. 

Then came a sixth stage — one that seemed to exist for you.

Motivation.

After coming to acceptance that your best friend had gone, without any farewell, you spent many hours a day in the ballet studio. Pirouette, arabesque, plié — you managed to polish each move with the amount of time you spent cooped up in the studio. You weren’t born with ballet feet, but the times spent in pointe shoes had somehow moulded you into having them. 

Perhaps, it was distraction, disguised as motivation.

Nevertheless, the tireless hours of practice granted you a position in the Paris Ballet School.

Paris felt bittersweet when you first landed. It was the city of your dreams, but the reminiscence of the person it took from you made you loathe it. 

Withal, life had to go on. To cope with the Parisian lifestyle, you managed to get a job at a cafe near your academy — Desir Cafe. You worked night shifts as a kitchen crew but if traffic was overwhelming in the afternoons, your shitty excuse of a boss would make you come in anyway.

Unfortunately for you, it was one of those days. Clinks and sizzles reverberated in the kitchen, the peg board overwhelmed with sticky notes of orders. You were everywhere in the kitchen, from piping icing on cupcakes to sprinkling chocolate rice on pastries. 

“Yn,” the main baker yelled, “Tell Double C’s we can’t stock up on macarons! We’re out of almond flour!” 

The Double C’s — Charlotte, and Colette. They were a duo who worked as waitresses, always gossiping. Birds of the same feather, attached by the hip. 

Exasperated, you headed to the front, swinging the kitchen door open to see the duo gossiping. Charlotte was leaning in towards Colette, whispering into her ear, earning giggles from the other. You sighed, wondering what the topic was that afternoon. Curious as to who they were gossiping about, you looked towards the direction they were looking. 

Seated alone at the corner of the cafe was a guy, blonde hair gleaming golden from the sunlight seeping through the big window. His utmost focus was on the sketchbook in front of him, frail fingers dancing across paper, entrancing any eyes which fell upon him. You couldn’t help but stare, your face gradually contorting into disbelief.

He resembled too much like Hyunjin — your Hyunjin. 

Your gaze lingered on the man, analyzing each crease of his face, matching it with the one you had in mind. He looked just like Hyunjin, from the shape of his nose to the mole under his eye. The only difference was the hair. Hyunjin’s hair was raven black, but the person in the cafe had golden blonde hair. You felt your throat tighten. If the man sitting at the corner was him, then time had done good on him. He was beautiful, face sculptured beautifully by time’s gentle hands.

“Ooh, look who’s ogling!” a high-pitched voice interrupted you. You looked up to see the Double C’s looking at you, wiggling their eyebrows mischievously. Charlotte smirked, “Think the guy’s cute?”

“Huh? What guy?” you lied, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

Colette rolled her eyes. “The dude over there! Don’t lie, you think he’s cute.” The brunette wiggled her eyebrows even more, subtly pointing at the man. 

You didn’t say anything else, but your eyes travelled back to the familiar silhouette. The sense of familiarity tugged on fragile heartstrings the more you looked at him. Colette could sense your curiosity, so she parted her lips to speak.

“That’s Hyunjin. He’s a student in Beaux-Arts de Paris,” she muttered, unbeknownst to her the mixed emotions that dawned upon you. “He comes here almost every afternoon. Maybe that’s why you’ve never seen him before. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Excitedly, Charlotte nodded her head. “A total heart-throb, honestly.”

“I mean…” your voice trailed, “He’s quite alright.”

How were you supposed to react to finally seeing the one who got away? Were you supposed to feel excited, or upset? It was like the moon had suddenly dropped down onto your lap. 

You were confused.

Charlotte continued speaking, not realizing the mixture of emotions in your face. “Sometimes, the students have exhibitions about ten minutes from here. His artworks always make it to the exhibitions. I’ve seen them, and they’re really beautiful.”

You turned towards her, “Exhibitions?”

She nodded, still naive as to your shift in behaviour. “I think the school has an exhibition every three months or so.”

Unfaltering, your eyes bored holes in Hyunjin’s back. He was in his own little world, evidently absorbed in whatever piece he was working on. Just like that, the memories you spent years suppressing came rushing back. 

It was unfair, the impact he had on you. There he was, lounging in a corner while your heart grappled in your chest. He looked older, better — and you were still the little girl in the tree house. Swaying your feet as they dangled, as though you had all the time in the world.

Charlotte and Colette exchanged looks as you stared at him. To them, you were simply developing a crush on a stranger. They wouldn’t understand the conflict brewing in you, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend the ache that stirred in the depths of your heart.

“What? You’re interested in him?” Charlotte spoke, breaking you off your trance. You looked at her, blinking. “Don’t even try. I’ve tried. I think he’s gay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“He’s not gay — oh my god, Lottie!” it was Colette’s turn to speak. Playfully, she smacked the other’s arm. “I asked that guy he’s always with, the songwriter — Felix. Cute guy, that one. Felix told me that he’s got a secret lover or something.”

“Secret lover?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he likes to draw this one girl. His sketchbook’s filled with her,” Colette murmured, glancing at Hyunjin. “Felix asked her who she was, and he said it’s a girl of his dreams.”

Your heart dropped. You weren’t sure to which news you should react first, either Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin, or that he has a secret lover. Either way, it made you pathetically jealous. Your heartstrings thrummed in anger as you imagined a beautiful French girl spread out on his bed, and Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin.

How could he go on with his life when you spent years mourning him?

Crimson tainted your lip as you bit on it hard, the taste of metal at the tip of your tongue. 

Perhaps, you never made it past the anger stage of your grief.

ten.

You truly tried to be happy for Hyunjin.

For days, weeks — you spent convincing yourself that you had to be happy for him. Sure, he hurt you three years ago. Sure, you spent years in agony, regretting not telling him how you felt earlier, wondering what could’ve been. Sure, you hoped that you’d see him in Paris and he’d tell you that he’s in love with you and kiss you senseless — but those were just desperate prayers, weren’t they? Those were simply hopeful scenarios. You hadn’t expected them to come true, had you?

Hyunjin was your best friend of years. He deserved happiness, even when you didn’t feel happy. You had to let things go. You had to be happy for him.

Clearly, you failed at convincing yourself.

In front of a building you stood, the sound of people walking past becoming white noise. You stared at the banner standing in front of you, the words Autumn Exhibition displayed, with the logo of Beaux-Arts de Paris at the top. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

A week ago, Charlotte told you that the university would be holding another exhibition, and Hyunjin’s artworks most likely made it into the exhibition. You knew then, that you had to go. If you didn’t get to see him, then you at least wanted to see his pieces. To not be a part of his life was devastating, you wished to at least witness glimpses of it. 

9:45 p.m. was displayed on your screen, people were beginning to leave the exhibition. There weren’t many people around, which was what you were hoping for. Visiting the exhibition in daylight meant potentially bumping into Hyunjin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

One day you ought to meet him, but not today. Not when the fragments of your heart have yet to be mended.

After taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to step into the exhibition. A gust of wind hit your face, and you shivered, clutching your coat tight. The art display seemed to be painting-themed, the way frames of canvases were scattered around the building. Baroque paintings were displayed all over, each piece as beautiful as skies at dusk.

The tapping of your heels against the ceramic tiles sounded as you walked, the romantic lighting of the room providing you with a sense of comfort. Wildly, your eyes observed each piece, letting your heart be swayed by the beauty. 

They were all beautiful — but they didn’t feel like Hyunjin. 

Until your eyes trailed to a certain piece.

It was the centrepiece, the piece — little bulbs of lights were installed above the frame, making the piece feel alive. The moment your gaze fell on the artwork, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in, taking hurried steps towards it. You stared, unable to take your eyes off the hues on the canvas.

There weren’t many hues, just black and white. It depicted two figures on swings. You couldn’t see the figures clearly but you could tell they looked happy. You could see through the strokes of paint that they were happy — though the artist not so. There was a certain sadness in the painting, one that screamed nostalgia. 

The longer you looked at the piece, the more you realized. 

It was a fragment of your memory. 

Your breath hitched. In came a memory of you and Hyunjin — running around the park before playing on swings. It was a particularly memorable day, you could recall falling off the swing and Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, kissing the bruises on your knees with the tenderness of a feather. It was the first time you felt so protected, and so loved. 

A rush of emotions overcame you, you wondered if that was how Hyunjin felt when he painted it. Had he thought of you, and wept by his easel? Had he stained his cheeks with charcoal as he wiped stray tears off his face? 

You wondered, so much so that you failed to realize a silhouette entering the display. 

Hyunjin didn’t enjoy art exhibitions in daylight. They felt pompous. The people who visited the exhibitions would usually walk around casually, and took photos. They didn’t harbour any sort of deep appreciation towards art, they didn’t sit and admire.

Therefore, Hyunjin loved revisiting exhibitions in the comfort of twilight. When the expositions were empty, he enjoyed revisiting them, taking his sweet time to admire each piece. 

When he spotted a figure standing before his piece — his most vulnerable piece, he felt his heart drop. He watched from afar as this person observed the artwork, body as still as a mannequin. He had never witnessed someone admire a piece this intensely, especially with it being one of his pieces. He felt flattered, his heart swelling in pride and joy. 

Silently, Hyunjin approached the figure. Usually, he was shy, not the type to approach people first but somehow, he felt the strong urge to this time. Fate was pulling him by his heartstrings.

“That’s my painting,” Hyunjin spoke, ensuring his voice was as soft as possible. 

The sudden voice startled you. You whipped your head towards the source of the noise, eyes widened in shock. They widened even more at the sight before you. 

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. His heartbeats escalated, taking in the figure standing in front of him. His fingers dug into the skin of his thumb, lips quivering. Brown doe eyes mirrored yours.

“Wh — what?” he spoke again, breathless. “Yn?”

A few steps were taken, inching closer towards you. His eyes scanned your face, lips quivering even more when he realized that it was you — you were real, and you were standing in front of him. You looked the same as you did three years ago, except more beautiful. How’d you get more beautiful? The passage of time had seemingly been good to you, the way it had carved your face into one Hyunjin could imagine himself filling his canvases with.

“Hyunjin,” you willed yourself to speak. You ignored the way your eyes watered. “It’s you.”

“It’s you, too. You’re here.”

Another few, brave steps were taken. You, on the other hand, didn’t move an inch. 

“I hate you,” the words spilt past sanguine mouth before you could stop them, its venom contrasting the hushed tone of your voice. They crushed Hyunjin’s heart, though he knew he deserved them. “But I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” was all that he could say. Hyunjin meant it. He really was sorry. He was sorry as he sent you back from the meadow, too cowardly to bid you goodbye. He was sorry when he packed his bags, stealing one of your sweatshirts for solace. He was sorry when he was on the plane, wishing he could turn back time. He was sorry when he painted numerous portraits of you. He was sorry as he stood before you, watching tears flow down your cheeks because it was the least he could do — a form of punishment for what he had done to you.

You shook your head, palms rushing towards your face to wipe away tears. 

“It’s not enough, I know,” he mumbled, moving closer towards you to wipe your tears, like it was instinct, feeling his heart clench when you took steps back. “But I truly am sorry.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” you sobbed, vision blurry. “You didn’t even contact me.”

“I know, Yn, I know — I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t,” he rambled, cupping your cheeks and rubbing on the skin. You allowed him to. “I swear, I wanted to write to you, but I was too embarrassed, and by the time I had enough courage it was already too late.”

Sobs wrestled their way past your lips, barely able to form coherent words. You kept shaking your head, blurting out the words you’ve kept for years.

“You just left me, Hyunjin — you left me. A day before my birthday,” your whimpers got louder, “I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you, on my birthday. Hell, three years later and I’m still in love with you.”

Hyunjin’s face paled. He had expected curses, and cries — but he hadn’t expected that. Anything, but that. His limbs moved before his brain could process things, lifting your chin to meet eyes. Your eyes were tinted with tears, but you were still beautiful. You’re always beautiful.

“What?” he squeezed your cheeks, “Yn, what?”

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again. It's fucking pathetic.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Hyunjin knew he was supposed to feel remorse, but God — his heart bloomed at the words you had whispered to him. You’re in love with him. You’re in love with him, the same way he was in love with you. “Fuck, Yn. You can't just say shit like that.”

Feather-like touches grazed your lips. There was a certain look in Hyunjin's eyes, one that you couldn't quite figure out — they were a look of longing. How could you know it was longing when you had never bear witness to them? You could feel his breath against your face, warm like his fingertips.

“You have no fucking idea how long I've been in love with you. You have no idea how much I missed you. Fuck, I think about you every fucking day,” he whispered, “You have no idea how much I regret getting on that plane.”

At that moment, all you could feel was Hyunjin. His deep, brown eyes staring into yours and his thumb pressing onto your lip.

“Kiss me,” you whispered back, “Kiss me, Hwang Hyunjin.”

And kiss you, he did. His lips crashed against yours with fervour, moving his lips to the same beat as his racing heart. You kissed back in the same manner, letting out the emotions you had bottled up. 

I love you, I love you — each movement of his lips was a love confession, etching his adoration onto the curves of your lips. You caressed his cheeks akin to holding stars in your palms — careful, precious.

Finally, you pulled apart to catch your breaths, bodies heaving against each other. 

“Please, give me a second chance.”

It’s odd the way human minds work, because at that very moment, you were reminded of Colette's words. Ones that mentioned a rumoured secret lover.

“But,” you felt silly for saying it, “Your secret lover?”

“My secret lover?” the boy's eyebrows furrowed. He then chuckled upon realization. The rumour must've spread to you. “Ah, that secret lover. It's you, idiot.” 

He smiled. You didn’t think anyone could look as beautiful as he did.

“It's always been you.”

eleven.  

“Careful — come on, get under here.”

Giggles echoed in the alleyways as two shadows lingered in the darkness of midnight. It was raining, the pavements darkening with wetness and the wind howling a sweet melody. At that particular hour, under the moonlight, Paris looked like the city of love. 

You rushed out of the exposition hall, getting under Hyunjin’s leather jacket. He’d promised you the date of your lifetime that night, and he wasn’t one to break his promises. 

Hyunjin’s back was damp from the rain, but it didn’t matter as long as not a droplet landed on your body. It only took a few minutes (and a lot of giggles in between) to reach Hyunjin’s so-called secret spot. 

Streetlights shone on a bench, and clusters of flowers surrounded a little pond. The spot overlooked the city, you could see the city lights from all the way up here. You gasped in awe, it’s no wonder Hyunjin insisted on coming here.

“So beautiful,” you whispered. Hyunjin smiled softly, moving closer towards you on the bench and wrapped an arm around your waist.

While fondly looking at your visage, he muttered. “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“How’d you find this place?”

“I found it while I was walking one night,” he explained, resting his head on yours. You could smell his shampoo in this closeness. “I was sad. This garden reminded me of the one we used to go to when we were kids.”

Your heart swelled at the confession. 

“It does resemble that one a lot.”

The skies were still drizzling rain, but you were both a little sheltered much thanks to the oak tree above you. Only droplets dripped, falling onto your head but it was a nice sensation. Besides, you couldn’t feel the cold when you’re nuzzled in Hyunjin’s arm, blanketed in his familiar warmth. You allowed silence to third-wheel you, eyes busied with observing the sight. Silence was always comfortable with Hyunjin. The time spent apart hadn’t changed that. 

He wouldn’t leave you alone, his skin constantly touching yours. It burned against you. You didn’t mind it. Instead, you basked in his love, listening to the sounds of his heartbeats as your head rested on his chest. He intertwined your fingers together, his thumb rubbing against yours. He wouldn’t let go of you, not even when he bent down to pluck a flower, slipping the daffodil onto your ear. 

“I missed you,” he murmured. You weren’t sure how much he’d repeated that phrase but you liked it. “I truly did.”

For the thousandth time that night, you responded. “I missed you too.”

The conversation changed into one about your lives, catching up on each other’s shenanigans. It was comfortable, being with Hyunjin. Topics changed seamlessly. You didn’t have to put much effort into talking to him, you just had to be there.

Softly, his hands moved towards your feet, taking off one of your shoes. He held onto your ankle, tracing his pointer across your sole. You giggled, the feather-like touches tickled. 

“You still have the feet of a ballerina.”

“Of course, silly,” you scoffed, “I am one after all.”

“I’m so glad that your dreams came true,” he whispered, putting your leg down. He cupped your cheek, showcasing a fond smile that stretched to his ears. “I’m really happy that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you repeated. “You told me you’d be wherever I am. It’s only fair I returned the favour.”

The words knocked out Hyunjin’s breath, and it filled his soul with so much adoration, he felt like he could burst. A pleading expression was written all over his porcelain visage, the way in which he squeezed your hand expressing his feelings even more.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I need to be yours.”

You kissed him, for the second time that night.

“I’m already yours, Hyunnie.”

twelve.  

Things with Hyunjin had been going exceptionally well. 

After the fated night, you carried on with so much happiness that you practically beamed everywhere you went. One time when you clocked into work, the Double C’s made kissy noises at you, and Charlotte had whispered, “You must’ve had crazy good sex last night.”

You couldn’t deny it, of course.

Date nights with Hyunjin happened thrice a week, with coffee runs in between classes. The Paris Ballet School and Beaux-Arts de Paris weren’t that far from each other, allowing you to sneak lunches together almost daily. Though you had to admit that even if the universities were far, Hyunjin definitely wouldn’t mind spending extra time just to see you. Sometimes, he’d watch you dance, and sometimes, you’d watch him paint. 

It was like you were both making up for the lack of each other the past three years.

After just two weeks of your relationship, you were acquainted with the comfort of Hyunjin’s home. His roommate was barely home, so you felt comfortable with coming over often. Most weekends, you’d spend the night over. 

Morning birds chirped a jolly ballad, waking you from your slumber. You stretched, feeling the heat of Hyunjin’s skin against yours. You couldn’t help the smile that grazed your face when you looked at him, fast asleep under the duvets beside you. Sleepily, you pressed a kiss onto his bare shoulder, then traced the memories of last night, tattooed on his skin in the form of bruises. It pulled a whine from him, moving under the duvet to press himself impossibly closer towards you.

“Flower,” he mumbled, morning voice husky, “I'm cold.”

“Then come cuddle.”

He did as told, wrapping strong arms around you. You felt his fingers ghost against your naked spine, sending heat straight to your core. You couldn't help the whimper that left you, earning a playful grin from your boyfriend. 

“It's too early to get in the mood, no? Baby?”

Flushed, you smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

Hyunjin giggled, leaning towards you to press kisses onto your face. Mornings with him were often spent like this — limbs entangled, as if you were one. 

“Need to shower, baby,” he sighed, “Have an exhibition today.”

To your dismay, he slowly pulled away from you, missing the warmth of his body. 

“You coming to the exposition?”

“Of course,” you hummed. “Go shower. Can I borrow your laptop while you're in the shower?”

“Yeah, baby. The password's your birthday.”

He got up from the bed, and you flushed as you looked at his bare body. Unluckily for you, your boyfriend quickly noticed your flushed face, taking it as an opportunity to throw a pillow at you and call you a pervert. You rolled your eyes, watching him enter the bathroom before getting up, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. 

You walked towards his study to retrieve his laptop, smiling at the artworks displayed on his peg board. One was of you — a painting of the Polaroid he took of you back in the meadow. The Polaroid itself sat at the back of his phone case. He had never taken it out since the first time he put it in back then.

Whilst humming to a melody, you kicked in the digits of your birthday. The laptop unlocked, showcasing the unclosed tabs. 

Your eyes widened at the words written on the screen.

Congratulations, you've been chosen for a student exchange programme to Rome.

Your heart skipped a beat. Repeatedly, your eyes skimmed the words on the screen. You didn't mean to pry but you scrolled through the email, feeling your heart sink upon seeing the date it was sent.

Over a week ago. 

Yet Hyunjin hadn't told you anything. 

After all these years, he was still keeping secrets from you. You couldn't handle it, and so for the sake of your heart you exited the tab, and shut down the laptop. Careful as to not make much noise, you got dressed. 

“Hyunjin,” you knocked on the bathroom door. “Need to be at the academy now. Bye.”

You needed to be away from him — you needed to clear your head.

thirteen.

You hadn't seen Hyunjin for a week.

The texts from him you didn't avoid, responding each time he sent a message. However, you'd been dodging his requests of meeting, under the guise of practice when in truth, you hadn’t gone for classes in a week. You spent your days moping in your apartment. 

Perhaps it was a little childish of you to do, but you couldn't bear the thought of going through what you did before. You'd tasted a life without Hyunjin, and you were certain you didn't want to live through it again. This was your way of mentally preparing for that life again. 

Your limbs lazily stretched across the cotton duvet as a vinyl played in the background. A melodramatic song played, matching the current tune of your heart. You weren't entirely sure what time it was, but the sound of the apartment bell ringing hinted that it was afternoon. It must be the takeout your roommate ordered.

“Reine,” a familiar voice reverberated in your apartment. “Where's Yn?”

“In her bedroom,” your roommate, Reine replied in her thick French accent. “She's been in there moping all week.”

Damn you, Reine. 

Quickly, you buried yourself in your duvet, anticipating the footsteps which approached your room. Soon, your door swung open, and you could smell the white gardenia in his cologne.

“My flower,” his voice tempted you to look, “What’s going on, sweet girl?”

It didn’t help that each syllable that slipped past his lips felt like honey.

You felt his hands pull down your duvet before you came face to face with your boyfriend. He stood before you, hair slicked back and the white blouse he wore accentuated his shoulders. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, patches of peonies and daffodils peeking from the wrapper. 

You didn’t utter any words, simply looking at him with watery doe eyes. He didn’t miss the glint of tears, immediately setting the bouquet on your nightstand to get onto the bed. Tenderly, he pulled you onto his lap.

“You look so sad,” he mumbled, “Can my sweet girl please tell me why she’s so sad?”

Damn, him. How were you supposed to stand a chance when he was so ridiculously handsome and sweet?

Trembling, you parted your lips to speak. 

“You’re hiding things from me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What things, baby?”

Your eyes shot daggers at him, bottom lip forming into a pout. Hyunjin had to stop himself from leaning in and biting it.

“You got offered to an exchange student programme,” you finally bit the bullet. “You’re planning on keeping it a secret and just leaving me again, aren’t you?”

Ah.

Hyunjin’s eyes softened. He sighed, caressing your cheek in his hand. He shook his head as his free hand rested on your thigh, massaging the supple skin.

“No, I’m rejecting it,” he answered. “I didn’t tell you because I thought there was no point in telling you if I didn’t even want to go.”

“What?” you responded, voice a little higher than you intended it to be. Your eyes scanned his for any lies. “Hyunjin — it’s a good opportunity.”

“What, you don’t want me here anymore?” he joked, raising an eyebrow at you. “Baby, Paris is already enough for me. I don’t really want to move again.”

You nodded at his words. A huge part of you felt relieved — and you felt awful for feeling that way. 

Love, sometimes, is about being selfish after all.

“Were you sad because you thought I was going?” your boyfriend queried, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You shrugged. “A little. I was more mad that you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, I just didn’t mention it because it felt insignificant.”

“I want you to tell me things,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck. It left goosebumps in its wake. “I want to know these things.”

“Okay," he mumbled. Something about his compliance made you feel fonder of him. "I'll start telling you these things."

A sigh of relief left your lips. You had known Hyunjin for years, but being with him was different. A good kind of difference. It would take you a while to adjust to these changes — but it was the kind of changes you'd want to adjust to.

Hyunjin's fingers trailed to your hips, ghosting over your skin until they reached your thighs. He traced the stretch marks there, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You couldn't help the whine that left your mouth, and the heat that arose, tainting the tips of your ears in crimson. Hyunjin enjoyed this — flustering you with his ministrations. He allowed you to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering as he felt your lips litter kisses on his most sensitive spots.

"I love you," he confessed, like honey dripping from lips. "Promise I'll be wherever you are."

disclaimer — © 2024 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

taglist: @zoe8stay , @starlostseungmin , @starlostlaiba , @hwajin , @sleepyleeji , @skizzel-reblogs, @jdopes-recorder , @sherryblossom , @cb97whoree , @alyszaen , @aaliyahxsx , @jeonginsyoungestsibling , @hyunluvxo , @bokk-minnie , @ghostyycat7 , @fortunatelyhertragedy @yongbokkari @ameliesaysshoo @seoli-16 @jisungsdaydreamer @soobnny @seolboba @in2heartz @jehhskz @astraystayyh @mnwrld

[pr0cyon-lotor]

AU where Shen Yuan is transmigrated into the beast taming peak's head disciple that looks absolutely nothing like him (obviously not named sy but for clarity sake I'm saying Shen Yuan) when Shen Jiu comes in. He's barely paying attention to the beef this scrawny teenager has with him because he's too focused on hating his reflection because his body feels wrong and his mind is telling him his body is wrong (body dysphoria)

He just avoids mirrors and learns how to get ready without looking at his reflection. He's in a constant state of panic because his body feels wrong and he knows it's wrong.

And through accidents and pure vibes he gets Shen Jiu to somewhat like him. He doesn't even mean it, he was just was a decent person. They hang out with each other sometimes and eventually Shen Yuan gets close enough to Shen Jiu that he's allowed to help him cultivate and fix his meridians.

But the longer he's in the body, the more his soul rejects it. The meridians don't align with him, the limbs are too off, he's the wrong size, his hands are wrong, everything feeling wrong, even his eyes are wrong. And his soul knows it's wrong and is rejecting it.

Eventually it's Shen Jiu having to help him cultivate instead of the other way around. Shen Yuan is forced to step down as head disciple and there's even talk about him getting kicked out of the sect since he can't even properly cultivate anymore.

Their shishu from Qian Cao even starts to check on him and only finds bizarre things that have only been written about. That the soul was suddenly misaligned and it's trying to pass qi through meridians that doesn't fit it. Everyone points to the violent qi deviation he apparently had a while before.

Shen Yuan just lets it go in one ear and out the other. He knows why his soul is rejecting the body, but he says nothing. Suddenly everyone is treating him like glass and he's barely allowed to do anything "dangerous".

Shen Jiu doesn't baby him that much, but he's clearly worried. And during one of the times he's trying to help Shen Yuan with his cultivation, he notices something strange. He notices that the soul isn't misaligned, it just doesn't match. It's a barely noticable offset, but he did catch it.

Once Shen Yuan leaves, he immediately goes to Qing Jing's library to figure out any possibilities. The best thing he could figure out is possession. Supposedly, the changes started after Shen Yuan had his qi deviation, which is likely when the possession occurred, but that happened before Shen Jiu entered the sect so as far as he's concerned this Shen Yuan was his Shen Yuan. He couldn't mourn a man he never knew.

While Shen Jiu was doing research, Shen Yuan went to Shang Qinghua to ask about the sun moon dew mushroom. Shang Qinghua hesitantly makes a request for an off peak exploration with Shen Yuan. He lied a bit (a lot) and said it was to test a supposedly mystical spring said to help with such things.

The quest for the seed was a success (Su Xiyan probably helped). Shen Yuan is forced to use his deteriorating cultivation to grow the body. Shang Qinghua helps as well and is the one constantly checking on it since Shen Yuan isn't really allowed off the peak too often.

Around the 3rd year Shen Yuan is forced to be bedridden and uses spirit stones as a way to transfer his spiritual energy to the seed with Shang Qinghua being the one to bring them to the seed.

By the 5th year, his soul has practically fully rejected the body and was ready to just hop into the plant body. Everyone has been increasingly worried since Shen Yuan looks just about to drop dead and absolutely no cultivation seems to help.

Eventually Shen Yuan's Shizun suggests that they used a sun moon dew mushroom to save him, but the whole talk with Huan Hua was unsuccessful and took too long. By the time the Old Palace Master even allowed them to even look for the mushroom, the plant body was done growing and Shen Yuan finally dropped dead.

This obviously crushed a lot of people. Especially his Shizun who saw Shen Yuan as a son. And VERY MUCH Shen Jiu, who became an even worse shut in and his temper got worse.

When Shen Yuan finally crawls out of the ground, the Qing generation ascended. Shen Qingqiu is known to be an even worse shut in than he is in PIDW to the point that even a few of his own disciples don't know his face.

Shen Yuan is finally in a body like his old one and his cultivation also massively improves because he can finally actually cultivate. He goes to live his best life as a rogue cultivator under his real name.

He visits Shang Qinghua often enough to mostly hear about the goings on in the sect. He is at first surprised that Shen Jiu mourned him and even more surprised that he was Shen Qingqiu (the signs were there).

He fights with himself if he should check on him because on one hand, that is Jiu-er and he likes the kid, but on the other hand, that is also Shen Qingqiu. So he ends up just throwing it into the back of his mind.

Later on, Shang Qinghua slips up during a meeting with Shen Qingqiu and accidentally says something Shen Yuan related. Shen Qingqiu clocks that it sounded a lot like the beast taming peak's former head disciple, so he starts interrogating Shang Qinghua.

Shen Qingqiu tells him he knows that disciple was possessed or something like that because the soul was foreign. Shang Qinghua is shitting bricks, but manages to make up a believable lie about how someone from his hometown he was friends with died young and his soul had stuck to the disciple after his qi deviation as the spirit wandered. And that was why he had gotten sick because the soul rejected the vessel.

Shen Qingqiu can tell there's parts that aren't completely true but he can't find any full lies either. He concludes that Shang Qinghua is just lying about parts that would be too personal or something.

And after more pushing, he gets Shang Qinghua to admit he knew Shen Yuan was going to die and they planted a plant body for him to transfer into. Almost instantly Shen Qingqiu demands to meet Shen Yuan, and Shang Qinghua can't weasel himself out of this one and begrudgingly arranges an excursion out of the sect. Yue Qingyuan agrees almost instantly because Shen Qingqiu never left the sect after Shen Yuan's death, so he thinks it'll be good for him.

They go to a town Shen Yuan frequents and find him pretty quickly. Shang Qinghua points him out and doesn't even bother following Shen Qingqiu and just goes off to do something else (he refuses to third wheel here)

Shen Qingqiu goes to Shen Yuan and starts bickering with him almost instantly (he got nervous in front of him crush). Shen Yuan calls him a pest as always and fondly rolls his eyes before realizing that Shen Jiu probably didn't recognize him and went to backtrack.

Shen Jiu stops it and tells him that Shang Qinghua told him. Shen Yuan is surprised and then gets awkward as he tries to apologize for not telling him. Shen Jiu cuts him off and tells him he has no interest in apologies, and also that he figured it out a while ago.

And then they idk have some totally #platonic #heterosexual gay sex in Shen Yuan's inn room. I don't know bro I didn't think about the ending. They could've just talked. Honestly whichever one you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

[doqt33th]

SINGULARITY

MIRAGE/READER

SUMMARY: You and Mirage have been pining for each other for a while now. A nasty summer storm drives you straight into his arms. Shenanigans ensue.

WORD COUNT: 18k. Sorry I’m insane

WARNINGS: 18+ and I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! Explicit PWP, fingering + oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, mild spit kink. Reader is fem and uses she/her pronouns but is written fairly androgynous. No descriptors of appearance beyond the basics and no (y/n) used.

Familiar streets flashed by at increasing speeds, traffic and pedestrians flickering by and blurring together into a smorgasbord of color, all gilded by the setting sun. Unconsciously, you dug your fingers into the seams of the leather seat beneath you, worrying the stitches. Out of the corner of your eye, the radio blazed to life with color and that oh-so-familiar symbol.

“Hey, hey, easy on the merchandise, hot stuff,” Mirage crackled out of the speakers lightheartedly, and you immediately yanked your hands into yourself like they’d been burned. In your worrying, you’d seemingly forgotten about what — or rather, who — exactly was your ride.

“Oh— my bad, I wasn’t thinking,” you said, sinking your weight back and down, instead picking at your nails to give your hands something to do. God, you were so nervous, and for what? Mirage knew all these people— these bots, and knew them well. They were all friends! Or amiable towards each other, at the very least. And they were the good guys. Saved the world and all that.

So why were you so anxious?

“You’re good, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. Your leg started to bounce. “Sooo… you wanna tell me what’s on your mind? Save me a trip to Noah’s repair shop? I’d hate for you to start taking your emotions out on me, y’know.”

You scoffed, eyes sliding to the radio. The grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth was one you were helpless to stop. He just had that effect on you, where around him you became a slave to your laughter and, additionally, also became one half of a terrible joke machine that Mirage happily completed.

Leather creaked as you nudged the inside of the door with your boot to chastise him. “You love when I take my emotions out on you, dick. Don’t lie.”

“Only the good ones,” he shot back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “You nervous about meeting the others?”

His probe was successful; you fought the urge to shrink at your feelings being read so accurately and so immediately. “I— yeah. I am, and I don’t even know why. I’m sure they’re all great, I’m just working myself up over nothing.”

Red faded to green. Carried on the tide of forward-moving traffic, Mirage rolled ahead, eventually slipping over to make a turn. You watched him twist his mirrors to check his blind spot.

“Ah, c’mon. Nobody could blame you, you’re meeting a bunch of aliens for the first time. Pretty trippy for anyone. ‘specially if those aliens are, like, double your size. And robots.” A short chuckle topped off his words.

“Right. I just don’t wanna fuck it up or embarrass myself, you know how it is. I don’t wanna embarrass you, either.”

“Oh, Primus, trust me. You’re not gonna embarrass me. I don’t even think that’s possible. Prime’s seen me in a lot worse shape than bringing you in to meet him.” The world continued to roll by. Brick buildings blotted out the sunshine in intermittent flashes. “You got good marks from your favorite bot, you’ll be fine.” The dismissive tone of his voice was working, in a weird way, to assuage your fears.

“Excuse me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest pointedly. “My favorite bot?”

“What, am I not?” A downright theatrical gasp hissed out of the speaker. “Have you been cheating on me?”

Cheeks hot with a flush at even the joking insinuation of being together, you glanced away from the impassive Autobot symbol on the radio and out the window. Still, the laugh barked out of you was sudden and sharp, and quickly dissolved into giggles. “Yes. Mirage. I’m sorry. There’s another ten foot tall alien robot in Brooklyn that’s been vying for my attention. We’re done.”

“I should throw you out on the street right now,” Mirage fussed playfully, his evident pout tinging his voice. “For breakin’ my spark. Also I’m taller than that.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m fragile.”

“I dunno. Noah gets his ass kicked around pretty good and he’s still kickin’ it.”

“I am not Noah,” came your tongue-in-cheek rebuttal. “And Noah just refuses to give up even when it’s good for him.”

“Thought qualities like determination were supposed to be big things with you guys.”

“In moderation.”

Mirage barked a laugh. “Ha! Should tell that to Prime. He’ll blow a gasket.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be cut off. “No, seriously, tell it to Prime, we’re here.”

The easy confidence that your playful back-and-forth had teased out instantly chilled into a dense mass in your stomach; Mirage was rolling slowly up to a nondescript warehouse buried deep within the old industrial part of Brooklyn, and the way the worn brick loomed over you even in the car made your heart rate pick up.

Now or never.

Familiar alien whirs and clicks of shifting and setting metal filled your ears as Mirage rose into his bipedal mode, the driver’s seat gently ejecting you onto your own two legs on the pavement. Following the motion, you took a few steps forward, but still balked a little at the half open door. Inside, you heard voices of varying timbre, and you fought the urge to turn tail.

Now. Or. Never. Gritted teeth accompanied the repetition of your thought.

The displacement of air behind you — and the soft, constant mechanical noises emanating from his body — signaled Mirage’s presence before his voice.

He said your name with surprising care, using a tone that only came out when he was really being sincere. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed at it as you turned, craning your neck up to meet his gaze. “Hey, you, uh, you want me to go in ahead of ya? Normally I’d be like ‘ladies first’ and all that, but you said you weren’t feeling too jazzed about going in—“

“Yeah, actually, if you could, that would be… great. That would be great.”

“Gotcha. Let you psych yourself up a little more before you go in, I see how it is. Let me do the talking,” he affirmed with an easy grin and a nod, bouncing on the balls of his pedes a few times before striding forward. His long legs folded easily under him as he ducked under the lowered garage door, and you traipsed after, smoothing your thumb over your knuckles repeatedly.

The warehouse yawned beyond you, orange shafts of light cutting gashes into otherwise brownish darkness. Old graffiti sprayed across the walls told you that Ramona had been there once, then Nick, then Darnell, and a million others. And you were there now, feeling impossibly small, yes, but a little more resilient with the fading sunlight at your back and Mirage, like always, at your side.

He’d become a permanent fixture in your life from the day you’d met him — when you’d strong-armed Noah into giving up his secret about his Porsche, and the mysterious car had ended up being a twelve-foot-tall robot with a literal motormouth that made a playful pass at you within the first hour of your first conversation. You’d been flustered out of your mind, but had just kept coming back out of unfettered curiosity and outright fascination. Aliens were real, and Noah was friends with one, and it— he could turn into a Porsche.

Mind-shattering observations on the surface, yes. Mirage tended to deflate the grandeur, though, because he never acted like aliens did in the movies or in books. There was no ‘We come in peace!’ bullshit. He was so easy. Everything with him was so easy. He was loudmouthed and extroverted and genuinely hilarious; you spent hours in Noah’s garage trading terrible jokes — mostly bad sexual innuendos — or buckled to Mirage’s driver’s seat as he flew down Central Avenue on the wrong side of the limit and blasted Haddaway so loud it nearly busted your eardrums.

Weird to say an alien robot was your friend, but he was. He gave you rides to work, to your lectures, to your labs, wherever; in fact, he got petulant when you dared to take the bus one day to give him a break, and made it a point to pry your routine out of you so that he could take you wherever you wanted, no fares needed. 

So infuriating. You loved it.

You loved… maybe more than just the back-and-forth. Maybe more than the bad jokes. Maybe more than the late-night drives. You were starting to think— starting to realize you loved big blue optics, and the rumble of a 260 horsepower engine when you made just the right innuendo, and broad, incredibly intricate servos that dwarfed yours in size but were so, so careful…

Man. You tried not to think about it too much. It as a concept made you laugh with its own absurdity. Poor human chick fell in love with the giant alien robot that made her laugh. It wasn’t… debilitating. You still functioned like a normal adult. Mostly. Except for that one night like two weeks ago where you’d been arguing with him about some stupid shit and he’d scooped you up, right off the ground, in both servos and held you there, digits interlaced against your back and thumbs on your front.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ever held you like that — he’d done it a few times — but something was different that night… even if he’d only done it to gain an upper hand in your bickering. The air crackled with latent electricity, made your skin buzz in all the right places, especially when Mirage had gone quiet for once in his life as he stared at you in his grasp. When you’d prompted him with his name, he’d only responded by gently stroking a thumb over the swell of your chest, which had made you gasp air in so sharply that it burned in your throat. The metal left a tingling path on your skin under your shirt in its wake and immediately sent your heart rate skyrocketing past whatever the fuck was a normal BPM.

He’d snapped back to reality at the sudden expansion of your lungs and had attempted to play it all off as a joke. You remembered how you’d still stumbled when your shoes touched the ground, an absolutely insane feeling of genuine heat rocking you as your brain seized the feeling of his touch while it still sparked against your nerve endings and helpfully replayed it over and over and over again. Sure, the rhythm of banter came back after a stuttering beat, but you never really cooled the warmth on your face for the rest of that night — and when Mirage had dropped you off at your apartment, your door was shut and locked for about five minutes before your shaking hand was frantically worked beneath the waistband of your pants.

…Whew. Definitely something a little more than friendly there. Maybe even more than pure love, something a little slicker and deeper that buzzed against your bones and coiled low in your stomach. It made you feel a little weird — just objectively, because of what Mirage was — but damn if it didn’t feel good to indulge.

God, fuck, why were you thinking about that now, of all times? Escapist fantasies be damned, you were going to meet Mirage’s comrades-friends-coworkers and leave a good impression. Not drool over the worn-out memory replaying in your head for the thousandth time this week.

Out of the darkness and around corners, they emerged. The stealth wasn’t on purpose; you didn’t even think they could be stealthy. Oh, one was coming right for you now — tall was the only word your brain could muster. Tall and red and square were added to the list of adjectives as the stately bot approached, servos collected into fists at his sides and shoulders thrown back.

“Priiiime,” Mirage greeted warmly, throwing his arms out at his sides in his favorite pose. “Look, hey, I know what you said about bringing more people around, but I swear— Hey!”

Completely ignoring your friend’s (status pending) greeting, the bot— Prime, holy shit, this is THE Prime, was kneeling down, leaning forward, and he was right in your face. You fought the very biological urge to flinch. Blue optics considered you for a moment before narrowing and flicking to your right from his lowered position.

“Mirage,” Optimus started with a gravelly tone  from behind his faceguard that communicated exasperation above all else. “I explicitly stated that for our safety — and yours — that we were to come in contact with no more humans.”

“Sir, I gotta be honest with you. Kinda hard on a planet that’s got, what, five billion of ‘em? Six?” Mirage glanced at you for backup. You stared back flatly, refusing to say anything that might put you on the business end of a laser cannon.

“You were told to remain incognito so you could recover.” Optimus continued, his gaze returning to you. With a shunk of shifting metal, his faceplate slid away. His faceplates were weathered; the chipped metal around his optics gave the illusion of wrinkles and eyebags. Tired. He seemed tired. “This is not incognito. What is your name?”

You gave it after taking a beat to steady yourself. He repeated it back to you. “How did you come in contact with Mirage?”

“I, uh— Noah, Noah Diaz, he’s my friend. I basically pried it out of him,” you said with a nervous laugh. “So it’s not Mirage’s fault. I’m just nosy.”

At the mention of Noah, Optimus seemed to visibly relax; he moved back slightly, though he remained kneeling, and the narrowed, suspicious squint of his optics rounded out into something much softer.

“…I see. Then I assume you understand the… precarious nature of our existence on your planet.” he said, his tone grave and his optics searching your face.

You nodded, pressing the flesh of the inside of your cheek between your teeth for a moment as you came up with a suitably diplomatic response that still conveyed your friendliness. “I do, yeah. Noah told me most of it. What he could, anyway. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not— I’m not a threat here. Like I don’t work with the, uh, the government or anything. Whatever you guys need help with, I’m available, even if that just means keeping my mouth shut.”

Christ, you were glad this wasn’t your day job. You’d be such a shit ambassador. I’m available. What the hell did that even mean? Fuck yes, you were available, your brain guffawed, thinking of broad metal thumbs brushing over your chest.

You blinked hard, squeezing your eyelids together until the world came back in a photo negative, to scold yourself.

Although you’d stumbled through your reply, Optimus seemed to approve. He rose with a great creak of metal off of his knee and backed up to give you space, though he still regarded you with those sharp blue optics that felt as though they pinned you to the concrete below. “I see Noah chooses his company well. I should have assumed his sentiments would extend to his companions.” He shut his optics for a moment and dipped his head, as if considering deeply what to say next. “I am not sure how much Mirage — or Noah — divulged to you.”

“A fair amount— well. Any amount that won’t get them in trouble,” you called up, taking in deeper breaths to project your voice up the two stories of height to his head. To your side, Mirage snorted. “I know your name— Optimus, I know that, and I know about the Autobots. A little bit about the— fuck, what were they called—“

“Terrorcons?” Mirage supplied, and you were impressed at how quiet he’d been otherwise.

“Terrorcons, thank you. Other than that, not much. How much should I know?”

“Your knowledge is sufficient. All we fear — and all we risk—“ Optimus added with a pointed look at Mirage, who looked incredibly sheepish. “—at the moment is discovery. So long as you maintain secrecy, no harm shall come to us… or you, for that matter.”

It almost sounded like a threat, but Prime worded it very much like a warning. You decided it was best to heed his word — not that you really had another option.

“Right. Okay. Well— I mean, it was nice to meet you. People — humanity, I guess — aren’t bad. Most of us aren’t, anyway. Just, uh, let me know if there’s something Noah and I can get or do for you.”

Prime’s gaze shifted away from you. In fact, it seemed to shift away from the warehouse in general, looking somewhere far beyond the now-shut garage door. “Your generosity is admirable, but it is not humans primarily that we are concerned with.”

Brows furrowed at his vague answer, you thought it over for a second — and then decided not to push it. He probably knew best when it came to whatever foreboding nebulous space threat loomed over your collective heads; you would leave it up to the experts.

“Oh, well, golden rule and all that,” you still offered in terms of a response. That got his attention. His massive head tilted downwards to look at you once more with curiosity. “If I crash landed on someone else’s planet, I’d want them to be hospitable, y’know? Just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”

Like he couldn’t handle the terrible punishment of silence anymore, Mirage butted in. “See, Prime? I told you she was cool.”

A short jolt shook the broad, boxy line of his shoulders, and at first you had thought he’d coughed, and then you realized he laughed. It was barely anything, a huff of a chuckle, but you glowed with the indirect affirmation. Just made Optimus Prime laugh. Maybe you weren’t such a terrible diplomat.

He wasn’t looking at you, though, rather at Mirage, and you swore from your low vantage point you could see a barely-there smile on Prime’s faceplates communicating…was that smug amusement? As the tall bot carefully made his way past you, he stopped in front of your companion, and let a heavy servo land on the headlight adorning his shoulder.

“No matter what you may feel, you chose well, Mirage.” Optimus rumbled out, before removing his servo and traipsing off into a darker section of the sprawling warehouse, ducking through a much-too-small cutout and speaking to Arcee about something indistinguishable. However, you couldn’t care less about whatever her and Prime were discussing — what the hell did he mean by Mirage choosing well?

You turned your head towards said bot, mouth open for inquiry and one brow raised. Mirage looked mortified, in every sense of the word; he stood shell-shocked, lips slightly parted and servos up and open as if to defend himself. His head was whipped around to follow Prime’s departure from the room. A whir started, bouncing off the walls — Mirage’s fans came on and off intermittently to keep his ambient internal temperature at safe levels, but the steady hum of this fan let you infer that he was flushing something fierce.

“Mirage? What—“

Interrupting you by breaking, nearly jumping, out of his trance, he clapped his servos together and started talking at a million miles a minute. “Well, damn, look at that, haha, it’s late, ain’t it? You got work in the morning, right? C’mon, hop in, I’ll drive you home—“

“No, Mirage, hold on, what was he talking about—“

“Seriously, c’mon, he was just messing around—“

“You’re telling me Optimus Prime was joking? Is he even capable of that?”

He said your name with a finality that nearly made you flinch. “Look, I can’t really— Just drop it, please?” It wasn’t angry, nor was it even commanding; in fact, his eyes were wide and pleading with you out of embarrassment. You knew the feeling all too well, and in the interest of sparing his feelings, decided to let it go, despite your intense curiosity.

You put your hands up in surrender. “Okay. Dropped.” A few beats of silence passed while Mirage was still tamping down his fluster. “You wanna take me home now or are we waiting for Prime to come embarrass you more?”

“Please, let’s get outta here,” he affirmed, dropping into his alt-mode and popping the driver door for you. As you slid in, you couldn’t help the little mischievous smile that grew on your face as your brain cooked up some other joke to take the edge off.

The garage door opened on its own. Mirage rolled into the noticeably darker alleyway. The burnt umber glow of the sunset-stained sky was only visible overhead; otherwise you were boxed in on the sides by blacked-out buildings.

Stifling silence was broken by a joke. Your joke, actually. “…Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me.”

The noise Mirage made was only comparable to a squawk. But obviously much more masculine, clearly. Still, his tires jerked on the road, betraying his surprise. “Hey— Prime is not my sire— or dad, or whatever you wanna call ‘em. He wishes.”

“I dunno,” you mused, arms crossed over your chest and back sunk deep into the seat. Brooklyn in transition blurred by in messy constellations of lit windows. “He got you pretty good there. Pretty standard dad behavior.”

“Hey, I don’t know what suddenly inspired him to go for comedy, but I do not appreciate it. That’s my thing. He’s stealin’ my thunder!”

“Maybe you’re just rubbing off on him.”

Silence.

The radio crackled. “Ew.”

Accompanied by the loudest eyeroll you could muster, you whacked the dashboard with an open palm, though you couldn’t stop your bubbling laughter. “Oh my god, you are so gross, Mirage! I hate you!”

“Ahh, don’t say that, c’mon! You love it here!”

“You wish.”

The rest of the ride home was spent that way, bickering like normal, and although you couldn’t let go of what Prime had said, nor his knowing look while he said it, you appreciated the return to baseline. When you got home, Mirage parked directly in front of your apartment building, and you lingered on the sidewalk for several minutes after you got out of the car. With the passenger door opened so it looked like you were talking to the ‘driver’ and not completely insane, you leaned on the doorframe and traded jabs with your ride until the humidity of the night air got a little too persistent to ignore. Damn you, Brooklyn. 

“See you tomorrow?” Mirage never said goodnight. He only ever asked when he could see you again, corny bastard.

“Tomorrow. My roommate’ll take me to work, don’t worry about it. I’ll just stick my head in the garage when I get home.”

“I thought we had a thing goin’, man!” His faux petulance returned. “You movin’ on already? You just met my folks!”

Your jaw dropped for a second at the fact he’d turned the damn bit around on you. “I met one folk, and you literally said he wasn’t your dad.”

“Maybe I was warmin’ up to the idea!”

Another lethal eyeroll. Your smile still remained locked on your face. “Whatever. Get the hell out of here, asshole,” you said, playfully shutting the door just a little harder than you needed to and slapping the roof like a horse you were trying to send off into the desert.

Even as you turned to walk into your building, you could hear the way his window shot down, far faster than a normal roll. “Ay! Merchandise!”

You stuck a middle finger over your shoulder, thumb out and all, to give him an idea of what he could do with his merchandise. Tires peeled against pavement as he screeched out of his spot and down the otherwise quiet street, letting you know in return how he felt about that.

Smiling like an idiot as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, you felt… airy. You were always smiling after hanging around Mirage, you couldn’t help it — especially as of late. But still, you were dying to know what Prime was talking about when he was messing with Mirage earlier. You chose well. Chose what? Your brain briefly entertained the thought of Mirage returning what you felt, and it made blood rush to your face.

It couldn’t really… work. You had made peace with your physical differences weeks ago. The both of you got along just fine despite the size difference, and it never impeded your normal interactions. But you doubted Mirage felt the same; no matter how familiar, how friendly you were with him, you could never shake the feeling of being just a little too alien. Your greatest similarities were in personality. The closest resemblance you held physically was the fact you were both humanoid in shape.

That didn’t stop you. No, not at all. It didn’t stop you from dropping into bed after a quick shower with a heavy sigh, your hand inevitably sinking beneath the covers as you thought of digits — Mirage’s digits, so well articulated for their size and so careful — playing with the hem of your underwear instead of your own fingers, pushing the fabric aside just a little roughly to explore your alien anatomy. It took very little time for you to grind yourself to climax; in fact, it was embarrassingly quick, and it left your face hot with some special kind of shame as you slunk out of bed to wash your hands. The entire time, you avoided your reflection in the mirror.

Even with the ancient AC cranked on and chugging away, it took you a long while to fall asleep.

Off in the industrial district of Brooklyn, meanwhile, Mirage was burning rubber as he took ninety-degree turns at sixty miles per hour. His processor was thrumming at max capacity, and his engine felt like it was about to either stall or explode.

Primus, it was all too much. Your teasing always got him some kind of hot and bothered, tight under his interface paneling, but the acidic rush of embarrassment still prickled at his cabling. Prime, come on, man. Mirage was still floored at the fact that Prime of all bots had embarrassed him like that, in front of you, no less!

He had it bad for you, and he knew it, but apparently every other bot in that warehouse knew it too. Ever since he’d met you, you’d stuck in his processor, the way the light glinted off your eyes and your all-teeth smile and the way he could get you to laugh. Sure, his flirts were only playful at first — and he only did them to mess with Noah, who’d harbored an on-and-off crush on you for a while — but the more he did them and the more you returned them, the more he started really… considering it.

It was so shameful. Primus, it was shameful. He’d barely ever interfaced in his life — there was just no time, especially not on Cybertron — and never with organics. After that one night where he’d hefted you up with ease in both servos and completely blanked when confronted with your soft, warm weight in his hold, he’d been on a spiral. It wasn’t just enough to be friendly with you; he was plenty friendly with Noah (though with the amount of stupid passes Mirage made at him, Noah would probably say too friendly) and he wanted something more with you.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled into some long-abandoned warehouse or pitch-black deserted alley and scrabbled at his interface panel to pressurize his spike before he feverishly, frantically humped his fisted servo for relief, mental processors supplying increasingly filthy fantasies of your soft skin against his chassis and your mouth, Primus, your mouth on his own, on his spike, wherever, he didn’t care. Every single time, though, after coming down from his high with steam pouring off his lax frame, he felt just a little more discouraged than the last — because he knew that his fantasies would have to stay that way. Fantasies. Your friendship was enough, had to be, no matter how bad he wanted you, because he’d be damned to the Pit before he scared you off by being stupid and admitting his feelings.

Ugh. Ugh. He took another corner too hard and felt his tires shriek, let the burn travel upward and reverberate in his frame. The chaos in his mental processors quieted as he neared HQ. All he knew was that it was late, and he couldn’t be too loud or Prime would get on his ass for interrupting his stasis.

Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me. Your voice played, unbidden, from some file that popped open in his memory bank. He willed it away with a vengeance as he rolled into the warehouse-turned-headquarters as quietly as he could, transforming as soon as the door was shut and stretching out his back. Clicking echoed off the walls as his spinal struts reset, and the residual burn in his scraped tires tingled.

Mirage turned, and—

Yelped. Bumblebee was standing right there, shoulder against the wall and fiddling with some holographic projection from his forearm. Mirage coughed into his clenched servo to preserve what was left of his dignity.

“‘Sup,” he greeted through gritted denta. “I, uh, didn’t see you there, man. How’s it hangin’?”

Bee gave him a flatly unamused look that communicated ‘No shit, you didn’t see me.’ very well. The projection phased out of existence and left the two of them in the dimmed space in some kind of standoff.

“Well, y’know, beauty stasis and everything, I’m just gonna—“

“I wanna know, what you’re feeling! Tell me what’s your mind!” burbled Bee’s radio in place of his voice. Mirage jerked back for a second, not expecting Information Society at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.

“Look, man, I don’t really wanna talk about—“

“There are some things you can’t hide!” insisted the same song. Bee gestured for Mirage to talk. Clearly he wanted to know.

This was as good a time as ever to spill, he guessed.

Mirage groaned and clasped both of his servos over his face after explaining the bones of it, his head tilted upwards, optics fruitlessly searching the water-stained warehouse ceiling for a solution to his problem. His… very human, very embarrassing problem.

Not that he thought you were embarrassing— not at all, never. But Prime would have his head over falling for a human. Okay, well, maybe not his head; it was more like Mirage would be in for a lengthy disapproving speech about responsibilities and goals and distractions, and Primus, just thinking about it made the former option of decapitation the preferable one. Even though he seemed to approve of his choice, considering what he’d said earlier, the ‘Bots were still at war, and there wasn’t time for human distractions. Literal human distractions.

It wasn’t like he could help it. You were funny, okay? And smart. And you teased him in just the right way that made his cooling fans sputter, and you were so curious about… everything about him, he thought, remembering your impromptu Cybertronian anatomy lesson with a hot flash in his processor. He couldn’t help but be flattered by your attention.

“Ugh, Bee, I don’t know what to do, man,” he said despairingly after a moment, pacing in circles in front of said squat yellow bot leaned against the nearby concrete wall. “I mean, look at this, she’d be missin’ out if she said no,” he added, arrogance staining his words in an attempt to console himself. It didn’t work; insecurity eviscerated his bravado moments after he said it. “Or… I guess we’d both be, huh.” A short, self-deprecating laugh left him.

Mirage wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come to Bee of all bots for advice, but he was sure as shit not going to Optimus after today, and Arcee would have just told him anyway. Plus, considering that Wheeljack wasn’t even in the country at the moment, his options were slim. Besides, Bee had… experience with this sort of thing. Dealing with humans and all. Just… not in this way. But it was close enough, and Mirage was totally lost; if he thought about it by himself for any longer, his processors were going to fry.

Speaking of, Bee tittered through his gutted voice synthesizer to get Mirage’s attention. Expression drawn into a very human grimace, Mirage turned to face his friend, servos planted firmly on his hips.

“Well, you gotta tell her— wanna know what love is— want you to show me,” Bee’s radio clipped, first from a talk show, then from a nearby station, and Mirage felt energon surge to his face in a hot rush at a very personal song being blared back at him.

He had the words memorized at this point. The shape of them was practically burned into his memory files, considering how much he played it for you. It was reserved for days on both ends of the spectrum, bad and good; Mirage would pick you up in his alt-mode and take you for joyrides across the city, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge at daredevil speeds, all the while blaring music loud enough to make your head pound.

The two of you had discovered a few favorites, but the Foreigner song was at the top of the list, right next to Careless Whisper, of course. The sound of your voice belting at the top of your lungs, softened with that specific human accent, thrumming and reverberating through your chest— you sounded so alive, but so different from what he was accustomed to.

“Dude—” Mirage nearly barked, voice up a full octave before clearing his synthesizer into his fist and repeating himself. “Dude. I can’t just do that. Aliens— we’re aliens. Well. She’s an alien, too, I guess, but we,” he paused to gesture frantically between himself and Bee, “are the aliens here. I don’t really think humans are into the whole giant robot thing.”

“Noah?” Bee played a clip of Mirage’s own voice back at him questioningly.

“Yeah, well, Noah’s a different story.”

With a whir of his actuators, Bee shook his head and looked away for a moment, big blue optics considering the floor. With a soft clunk, he crossed his arms over his chassis.

“Come on, man, you gotta give me something,” Mirage urged, tilting his head to follow the other bot’s motions. “Should I just leave it? I mean, I don’t want it to be weird, I just—“

Bee straightened up off the wall, clearly done thinking. His arms opened out in a shrug and his optics squinted, communicating I don’t know what you want me to say, dude, far better than his vocal synthesizer ever could have.

His radio clipped again, this time a few seconds of a Beatles song and then Noah’s voice. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah— right?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem,” Mirage groaned, rolling his head back with a pained expression and letting his body follow the motion as he paced another tight circle. His faceplates felt hot at the insinuation. “And if I ask, it’s gonna be weird. And if I make it weird, I’m never gonna—“

He stopped rambling when a four-digit servo thumped on the headlight atop his shoulder, rooting him to the spot. Bee’s optics stared him down, wide and bright blue, and it made Mirage press his lips together firmly as he awaited whatever sage advice he was about to impart.

ABBA filtered through the radio first. “Should walk right up to her and say—“ What came next made Mirage’s brow ridges shoot up so high he thought they were going to fly off his helmet. “—when I get that feeling, I want sexual healin’!”

Mirage’s jaw dropped. Immensely flustered and ten times more frustrated at his friend’s useless advice, he shoved the other bot off. “Are you serious, dude? Primus, I never shoulda asked you. Thanks, I’ll go walk right up to her and ask to interface on the warehouse floor, that’ll go super well.”

Bee nodded quickly and gave him a double thumbs up with a series of approving beeps and chirps, the bottoms of his optics flattening into an amused look. Mirage dragged his servo down his faceplates in mortification, although his cooling fans kicked on a click higher than normal.

Sometimes he wished he’d been left on Cybertron with Soundwave and all his other goons. This was one of those times. As he dropped back into his alt-mode with an embarrassed mumble about ‘going on patrol,’ Bee whooped behind him, and the last thing Mirage heard before peeling out of the warehouse was “There’s nothin’ wrong with me lovin’ you, baby, no, no!”

Whoever gave Bee access to Marvin Gaye needed to be whacked upside the helm.

Knowing Mirage’s luck, it was probably you.

He stayed out for the rest of the night in his alt-mode, wandering the streets and staying away from your apartment, no matter how bad he wanted to go. The pool of people with any useful advice to offer for his predicament was steadily shrinking; after the disaster with Bee, Mirage just needed to stay away from that warehouse and let his processors cool.

Sometime in the morning he returned, though not to the warehouse. He almost immediately crashed into stasis as soon as he rolled into Noah’s garage, his simultaneously pent-up and exhausted processors eager for a chance to refresh themselves and defrag.

Ha, he thought blearily as he sank into stasis. Defrag.

You were waking as he was crashing, though you weren’t happy about it. The eight hour shift that loomed ahead of you on top of the bullshit from last night was a pretty potent combination for a headache of a day, especially when you couldn’t have your morning jam sesh with Mirage on your way to work. Thankfully, though, your roommate was a kind soul, and there was an extra cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter when you stumbled out of your bedroom.

As you sipped it, you wondered just how long you could keep the front up. By some small grace of God, your roommate’s schedule didn’t align very well with yours; you barely saw them in your daily life even before you met Mirage. It wasn’t on purpose, of course. It just happened that way. But on a few occasions, they’d been home when Mirage had dropped you off, and you’d been just calling him a ‘friend with places to be’ to excuse the fact that he never walked you to your door. Being somewhat prescient, they’d nudged you a couple times about this ‘friend’ turning into a boyfriend, but had never pushed it.

You just hoped it stayed that way.

Breakfast was a quick and quiet affair, though you traded a few jokes back and forth that had the both of you giggling into your food. The ride to your job was similar, and your roommate wished you a good shift before driving off leisurely — such a stark difference compared to Mirage’s affinity for peeling off into the street at Mach-fucking-10. Thinking of him made your face burn and your mind race. You tried not to.

Time was an especially cruel mistress today, though. You swore that people were actively winding the clocks back every time you looked up at them, and your shift felt like a thick slog, knee-deep, that you had no choice but to wade through. The worst part about slow shifts was that your mind wandered with nothing else to do, and like a moth to a flame— or rather, like metal to a magnet, your brain circled around to Mirage again and again and again.

Damn that bot. Damn it all. Every time you thought of him, it was some stupid joke he’d cracked or silly offhand comment he’d made or ridiculous flirt he’d lobbed your way — always accompanied by memories of his body, surprisingly lithe considering what he was made of, all legs and a dramatic waist topped with wide shoulders that made your own engine purr.

“Mirage, did you go upstate or something? You’re disgusting,” you’d laughed as you raked your gaze over his pecs, pretending to eye the dirt smeared there and not something else.

“Disgusting?! You gotta be kidding me, I’m not half as bad as the rest of ‘em. You should see Bee, dude!” He’d gestured out the door of the warehouse, where you assumed the other bot was lurking in dirt-covered shame.

“What the hell were you two even doing?”

“Pfft. Practicin’.”

“Practicing body-slamming each other?”

“Yeah, want me to show you?”

“Mirage,” you’d groaned, laughing despite yourself.

“C’mon, I know a few good ways to pin a bot down,” he grinned, winking at you. You fixed him with the most dead stare you could muster before breaking into a half-smile of your own.

“I’ll pass on the whole getting crushed thing, but I could be persuaded to spray you down by hand,” you flirted back, just for fun. 

No, not for fun. Real flirt. It was real, all of it was, and you couldn’t shake the memory of his optics widening, brightening, with eagerness and the way he’d pleaded. Playfully. Playfully?

“Please,” he begged dramatically, clasping his servos together, optics enormous. “I’ll be good! Maybe even stay still!”

You pinched your nose bridge between your fingers and tried to think about something else, because you were starting to press your thighs together a little and you were still at work, damn it. Professionalism was something you were aiming to maintain.

Hot. It was hot. That’s what you were thinking about. You’d glanced at the weather report earlier in the morning, and seeing a row of little sun icons clued you in on an insufferable heatwave that didn’t have any intention of breaking any time soon. Even now you felt sweat collect under your shirt and dot your hairline; all you could do was wipe your face with the back of your hand and keep working.

And working.

And working.

And. Working.

And then, eventually, you watched the clock tick over the last minute of your shift, and you heard angels sing a holy choir as you all but slammed your things down and sprinted to clock out. Well. You didn’t sprint, but you did speed walk, which counted for something.

Such was your haste to leave your workplace and talk to Mirage that you speed-walked headfirst into the lashing rain outside without a second thought. Genuinely caught by surprise, you stumbled back into the safety of the entryway, eyes wide as you watched the storm front swallow the last dregs of the golden evening sky and pour rain on the streets outside. Ink blots bleeding across paper. Rorschach tests. Some other poetic fluff came to mind over the supremely annoying realization that you were going to have to walk to the garage in wet clothes.

At least it was a quick walk.

Patience waning, you nearly considered calling Mirage — or even Noah — to come get you, but at the last second your roommate swooped in, pulling up outside and honking the horn a few times to let you know your knight in shining Prius was here to rescue you.

They cracked a few jokes at your expense when they saw your wet clothes, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Not after the trials and tribulations of Mirage. With a few clicks, the rest of your ride home was filled with Boyz II Men and intermittent conversation as you watched raindrops race each other down the window and considered what the hell you were going to say to Mirage tonight. 

Mostly, you were dying of curiosity to know what Prime had meant to get him so flustered. Thinking about that, though, just made you go down a spiral of what-ifs… especially considering that one of them was ‘What if he feels the same way?’

You could handle rejection. You were an adult who paid taxes. But just this one time, you weren’t sure if you could handle reciprocation. Especially full reciprocation.

Mirage’s friendship was something you felt privileged to have. You were just quite scared to fuck it all up and lose out on all the things that made being his friend worth it — including him. Jaw tightening, you blinked and looked away from the window. No use stewing in it.

At home, your dinner was quick and light — something in a Tupperware that you didn’t look at too hard after microwaving. When your roommate asked about your rush, you came up with some lame excuse about hanging out with Noah, waving your hand dismissively.

Don’t worry about me. I’m going to go break Hynek’s scale of close encounters. Don’t worry about it though.

“In this weather? You’ll be soaked thirty seconds out the door. You were soaked thirty seconds out the door.”

“I’ll bring an umbrella,” you said, barely listening to them over the cacophony of your own thoughts. Mirage. Mirage. Mirage. I’m seeing him tonight. I’m talking to him tonight. I’m not going to pussy out of anything tonight. Now or never. “The place is like two blocks up the street, I’ll live.”

“If you’re so inclined to catch a cold, I’m not gonna stop you. Not making you chicken soup, though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you snarked affectionately, and the last thing you heard before exiting your apartment was their familiar laughter. That bolstered you somewhat.

Even if the rain whipping at your face made you reconsider your stupid horny stubbornness.

Only two blocks felt more like two dozen as you tucked your chin to your chest and gripped your hood to keep the wind from snatching it off your head; in your other hand you white-knuckled your umbrella to keep it from tilting the wrong angle and washing water down your back. Thunder rattled your bones more than once and made you think offhandedly of Kris, the poor kid. He hated storms but refused to admit it out of pride; he was probably curled up in a ball under his covers right now trying to block out the worst of the noise. And you thought of Noah alongside him just out of pure association, and you weren’t sure what made your stomach turn, but it did.

God, you hoped Noah wasn’t with Mirage right now. You didn’t want to slam the door open to the garage soaking wet and wrestle Mirage’s true feelings out of him while Noah spectated. Wrestle. Soaking wet.

Fuck my life.

The side door to the garage was jammed like it always was, even after you unlocked it, and you huddled against it to stay under the mediocre cover of the awning as you shoved your shoulder into it to force it open. Old metal hinges wailed as you ground them open, and the blessed dry warmth of the garage — the temperature always heightened with Mirage’s presence — sighed against your freezing skin as you wormed your way inside. 

“Mirage?” you called tentatively as you leaned back against the door to get it to shut and latch. A beat passed before your senses came to you and your hand fumbled behind you to lock it. Not for sordid reasons, honestly. You just didn’t want anyone to even have the chance of walking in on Mirage when he wasn’t folded into a Porsche.

Speaking of, you saw him then, pacing around the garage and seemingly very involved in a conversation with himself. Although the rain outside provided a dull roar of background noise, the whirs and clicks of his actuators and soft whooms of his pedes against the concrete filled your ears with their familiarity. It was Mirage, and you knew Mirage, and it helped dull the edge of abject nervousness in your gut.

He cut a sharp figure under the hanging ceiling lights, making sure to duck and avoid smacking his helm on them. When those bright blue optics registered your existence, you swore they flared with delight; he said your name with such enthusiasm it almost made you excited. For what, exactly, you didn’t know. “Hey, sugar, what’s k— Primus, you, uh, swim on your way here? Or do I just make you that wet? Cuz I appreciate the compliment.” He grinned wolfishly at you. Sparks flew off your rubbed-raw nerves.

The unimpressed stare you gave him was lethal. “That is not how that works,” you said, shaking your umbrella off on the floor and setting it against the wall to drip dry. “All the wetness is— would be in one place, dumbass.”

“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention during my anatomy lessons. Wanna reteach ‘em to me? I’ll behave, swear on my spark.”

A scoff. “When have you ever behaved in your life?”

“When it counts! C’mon, you know you like it,” he said, gesturing down the length of his body with a flourish of his servo. “I mean, what isn’t there to like?”

“If I answer that question, I’ll hurt your feelings.” Excess rainwater dripped off your jacket as you peeled it off. Mirage’s optics followed the motion intently.

Amber lighting nearly glowed against the sleek metal of his torso. So what if your own eyes had wandered down it at his emphasis? He’d invited it. Expressly. He loved your attention, loved flaunting everything about himself just for a glance his way from you, for anything you’d give him.

It took him a second to register your words. He gasped and clasped a servo over his chassis— his spark, you remembered that from your own anatomy lesson a few weeks ago. “Gonna break my spark talkin’ like that. I hurt your feelings or something, sugar? What’s got you so bent?” With his question, he sank into a deep squat, draping his forearm over his thigh and leaning close to you.

A deep exhale left you. Your shoulders deflated. “It’s not you. Just the weather.” A short huff of a laugh, barely humorous, left you. “I mean, look at me.” You held your arms out and spun in a slow circle, errant droplets flying in every direction. “I look like a drowned rat.”

The lightbulb over his head was nearly visible. “You, uh, want a hand drying off?”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Your hands fell to your sides. Something akin to lightning danced up your spine.

“What?”

“Hold on, hold on, I got an idea,” he said,  holding his hand out at you to tell you to wait, excitement ramping up in his voice. What the hell was he planning? Nothing good, you figured. Or hoped.

Otherwise harsh sounds of metal against metal were softened by the alien chirrs and trills of the mechanical viscera working in his chassis as he settled on the ground in a sitting position. His back was leaned against the wall, carefully adjusted so his darling paint job was away from the rough concrete. To keep his balance, he rested against his tires and scooched his hips away from the wall, kicking his long legs out with a flourish and gesturing at his lap.

Although he was shorter this way, it was still a climb you didn't want to make while you were damp and the general slip hazard was high. “Can you give me a lift so I can see whatever shit you’re planning?”

“I got you, sugar, don’t even worry about it. Just hang on,” came the reply, and your brain blanked just a little at the feeling of his servos on you again, picking you up just like they had done on that night two weeks ago. With zero effort — seriously, you didn’t even hear any mechanical creaking — you were scooped upwards.

Your damp clothes clung to your body, a fact both you and Mirage were painfully aware of; the chill of the soaked fabric contrasted against that fascinating living heat of your skin nearly made the sensors in his servos short-circuit. He’d thought about this, exactly this, so much that it had probably worn a path into his neural processors. So soft. You were so soft.

A shudder ran up his spinal strut and he prayed you didn’t notice.

You were set down with your feet firmly on the flat tops of his thighs, ignoring the slight wobble in your knees. Arms raised a bit for balance, you looked down at the living machinery beneath you. The flight paths of the butterflies in your stomach grew more frantic. Broad servos released you from their hold, but they didn’t leave; no, they skated down, down, down until they settled on the flare of your hips and stayed. They were so heavy.

A breath caught in your throat like a wild animal in a trap. “If I fall, I’m gonna be so pissed off. You know that, right?” Anything to make this more normal. You had no idea how you kept the shake out of your voice.

“Relaaax, hot stuff, I’m on it. I got it, I got it,” he replied, his voice a full octave lower than what you were used to. “‘sides, I’m Mirage, remember? Protecting humans is kinda my thing.”

You scoffed. “Not with the way you drive.”

“Hey, I drive perfectly fine! You’re the one who’s scared of fun.” His servos left your hips to brace themselves on the floor. “Mirage, don’t drive so fast! Mirage, that’s a red light! Mirage, there are cops behind us!” His voice pitched up into something high and nasally to poorly, poorly mimic yours.

It was your turn to be affronted, though your mouth was open in a disbelieving sort of smile. “I don’t even sound like that, you fucker! And sorry for trying to keep us from getting arrested!”

“I dunno, you all sorta sound the same to our audio processors.” He was lying, and blatantly so. He had the distinct tone and pitch of your voice memorized down to the wavelength. “And besides, we wouldn’t get arrested.” His own voice took on a smug, self-satisfied edge, accompanied by the raise of his brow ridges.

“Oh, really? Why’s that? Please, enlighten me,” you snarked, crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down. In response, he leaned his head in, closer to you, closer than you expected, and an insufferable smirk crawled across his faceplates.

“Cuz cop cars can’t drive that fast,” he whispered conspiratorially, like it was a clever response.

What should have been a minute movement — just a shift of the head — actually became very noticeable on a twelve-foot-frame; his hips repositioned of their own accord to account for the redistribution of weight, and the change was enough to trip you up. Especially when you had been leaning in already to match his movement.

The world tilted as you started to fall forward; fearing injury or worse by tumbling off your semi-precarious perch, you jammed your hands out in front of you—

And slammed your palms directly on his chassis. It was all very fast after that. Mortified, you stared down at the planes of metal beneath you, feeling heat creep up, up, up your neck and seep into your face. Mirage had cursed above you out of surprise, and you felt the displacement of air as his servo shot up behind your back and hovered. Right there. He was right there, and he always would be.

You raised your head and made eye contact, and you knew it was over. His optics were wide with surprise, and they searched your face for any expression of pain or discontent. They cycled once, seeing none, and then flickered down to your lips.

He was so done for. Something in his expression sagged at your proximity; in his field of view, he saw an alert stating that his internal temperature was rising beyond ideal levels, and he would have laughed if not for you. Finally. Finally. Finally. He was half-expecting this to be a dream, something cooked up by his fried processors that he would wake up from any minute now. 

His servo was still hovering over your back.

“Can I—“

“Yes,” you said immediately in a sharp exhale — before he could even get the question out — and there it all went.

He surged forward like a flood from a dam, closing the distance between the both of you with a hungry rev of his engine. Explaining the logistics of it would sound silly; all you could do was go with the flow, just like every other time you’d ever kissed someone. All you knew was that it was satisfying, supremely so, and completely encompassing. Every sense was filled by him, and you realized with a kick of your heart that you never wanted it any other way.

Though your hand shook, you shoved past the fear and indulged in everything you had wanted for weeks, let yourself sink deep into that pit of want and refused to come up for air. Your fingers skated his curves and edges; you brought your palm up to the sharp angles of his jaw and smoothed it upward until it ran over the curve of his cheek.

He reacted to your touch like it was a live wire. Minute jerks of excitement ran through his frame, and when your hand rested on the side of his face, he tilted his helm into the kiss with barely restrained excitement. He was so careful, it made something inside you purr. That kind of caution was only reserved for something precious. You were precious. He couldn’t ever risk hurting you. Especially not by his own hand.

First impression was that his lips were far softer than you’d ever assumed. Pliable, hot metal pressed greedily against your mouth — more, more, more was a mantra echoed wordlessly between the both of you. The hovering servo came to rest on your back, pushing your front against his chassis as you shifted up on your toes to keep the angle of the kiss correct. Digits splayed against the planes of skin they found there, pressing down to feel your warmth — your heart slammed against your ribs so hard that Mirage could probably feel it against his palm.

With a hot flash, you wondered if the metal of his lips would bear the dent of your teeth from a bite. So you bit. It was more of a playful nip than anything, but the reaction you got was so instantaneous it was like Mirage had been waiting for it. Again, his engine throttled, the powerful rumble surging through you as his servo pinned you to his chassis. Against your mouth, his lips ticked up into a smile.

Air. You needed air. He let you pull away with no resistance, though his head did trail after your mouth for a moment.

You let your forehead sink down and rest against the top of his chassis for a moment; the condensation from your breath fogged the metal. Out of nowhere, manic giggles erupted from you. They shook your body incessantly as you rose and fell in time with Mirage’s heavy vents, your knees feeling weak and mind frazzled. From one kiss. One.

Laughter rocked his frame too, short chuckles of disbelief as his thumb rubbed circles into your back.

“Oh my god,” you murmured into the warm metal beneath you through shocks of giggles.

“Not exactly, but, eh, I’ll take it,” Mirage replied above you, and while he laughed at his own joke, you groaned and whacked him lightly with a palm. It wasn’t like he was unaffected though — far from it, in fact, judging from the steadily heating chassis beneath you and the tinge of static fringing his words.

“Bring me up,” you said hoarsely, twisting an arm behind you to paw at the servo on your back.

Without question, his other servo came up and curled under your thighs, hoisting you up so that his face was easier to reach. With most of your body now resting on his chassis and very much secured in his grip, you grasped his face in both your palms; he leaned so far into your touch with a shaky ex-vent that your noses almost brushed.

“Again?”

“Yeah, again,” he agreed, and this time you pulled him in, fingers hooking in some unseen seam behind his jaw as you crushed your mouth against his. Hunger, latent and now finally triggered, drove you closer, as close as you physically could, until your skin was starting to hurt from the random edges being pressed into it.

Curious above all else, you licked your tongue into the front of his mouth. The searing heat inside surprised you; it teetered on the edge of uncomfortable and reminded you very much of your computer at home when it ran for too long, with that special kind of mechanical stress and burning warmth that only came with overworked processors.

“‘S like that, is it?” he murmured into your mouth with a grin, his engine kicking up a notch and the vibration of his chassis hitting you very nicely right where you needed it most. You made some soft noise, half-gasp, half-groan, and hiked one of your legs up so it was bent at the knee, flattening your hips against his chest and fuck, there it was. The consistent rumble of his motor pressed a steady vibration right into your cunt over the seam of your jeans; a particular grind made you gasp and falter as you rolled your clit against the line of denim and held it there.

“Whoa-ho-ho! Heyyy, hot stuff, something feel good down there?” His voice was bursting at the seams with some rich kind of excitement; you breathed into his neck cabling as your hips jerked a little against his chassis. One servo pawed at your ass, clumsy with its eagerness, gripping and massaging the soft flesh it found there with intent.

Experimentally, his servo pressed down, pushing your pelvis down with it, and the pressure on your clit pulled a groan of satisfaction out of you that had his cooling fans sputter.

“Fuck,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and before he could say something stupid, you leaned your head down and pressed kisses to the delicate cabling of his neck.

A delighted noise rattled out of him, and his helm rolled back against the wall to allow you more access. Impatient, your kisses soon turned to bites, playful nips that tugged at the sensitive wiring and made his body jolt beneath yours like he’d been shocked. To your utter delight, you found that Mirage’s proclivity for talking extended to situations like these, too — noises streamed from his mouth as your curious teeth and hands worked over such a fragile part of his anatomy in ways that only a human could.

“Oh, Primus, babe, babe—“ he stammered out, and you lifted your head for just long enough of a window to allow him to swoop down and kiss you again, feverishly now.

Something thick and wet prodded past your teeth experimentally. For just a second you balked— and then remembered it was his glossa. His tongue. Yeah, you remembered that from your anatomy lesson; he’d stuck it out and pointed at it in a dumb way then, but fuck if it didn’t have your thighs tightening now. The hot biomesh probed your mouth, and it was so big you inadvertently drooled around it — but Mirage didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you were pretty sure the spit dripping from your mouth around him was getting him even more worked up, judged by the way his digits tightened their grip on your ass.

You had been cold when you’d walked in that garage. Keyword there was had. Now your skin seared with a deep flush and steadily increasing heat; mindlessly, your hips started a slow, staccato rhythm that kept your breathing heavy. The servo on your back slid upwards to the point where it encompassed the back of both your neck and head. He could not get enough of your taste. He wanted it burned into the sensors on his glossa, for all he cared. Spit and lubricant swapped between the both of your mouths — you found that the metallic taste that seeped into your tongue did nothing but turn you on further.

Pulling away again for a deep inhale of air, you propped yourself semi-awkwardly on an elbow to look at him. Open adoration was written across his faceplates, along with blatant want that made his optics cycle frantically.

“I thought you were— fuck, I thought you were supposed to be drying me off,” you said, breaking in the middle of your sentence as his servo carefully started to move you. Just barely — just enough pressure to keep your hips working against him and chasing your pleasure.

“You really wanna?” He grinned at you, spit shiny on his chin. “I dunno about you, but I think I’m likin’ you being wet more.”

“You’re awful. That was terrible,” you laughed, brain foggy with arousal and general swelling affection for the bot underneath you.

“How many more of those you got left in you before you start admitting the truth that I’m the funniest bot you’ll ever meet?”

“I mean, you don’t exactly have stiff competition.”

“Aaand the best-looking.”

“I dunno… Optimus is kind of—“

“Hey!” he interrupted, bringing you up for another kiss to silence your thought before you could finish it. You happily complied, laughing into the heat of his mouth and then moaning in the same breath as his servo ground you down against his rumbling chassis again.

Hot. You were getting really hot. The damp clothes sticking to your skin were not helping; in fact, they felt as though they were going to start steaming being pressed against your skin like this. Against your wishes, you pulled backwards again, bracing yourself against the warm vents that substituted for his collarbones. They cycled hot, dry air against your fingertips, though it didn’t burn. Not yet, at least.

“Mirage,” you breathed, and that got his attention immediately. “…Are we fucking?”

“Please,” he instantly replied, so eager that it made your cunt throb. His enormous blue optics watched you with such intent that it almost made you want to shrink away from the scrutiny — but you steeled your resolve. You had him, and you had him right where you wanted. Opportunity of a fucking lifetime. You were not about to waste it.

You glanced down for a reprieve from the eye contact. “Fuck,” you swore softly, staring at the metalwork beneath you for a few heartbeats before shaking your head and glancing back upwards at him. “Okay, well— I— Okay. Let me just— do this—“

Hands shaking slightly, you balled your fists in the hem of your work shirt and wrestled it up and off you; the damp fabric lingered and peeled off of you, which made Mirage’s motor throttle powerfully underneath you. Other than that, though, you got no reaction, which made all that heat in your abdomen cool rapidly into a dense ball of abject horror.

Oh, you made a mistake. This was too much, you were too alien, too different—

The servo not supporting you against his chassis slid around from the planes of your back to your front, and you gasped sharply as he did the same fucking thing that drove you insane the first time, however many days ago. His thumb, warm on the palm-side, gently passed over the peak of your chest. His optics narrowed in on the indent in your soft flesh his digit created. Nerve endings in the trail it left behind sparked.

“Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he said reverently, voice steeped in a combination of awe and victory.

Oh-kay! You sucked a deep breath in, a litany of responses running through your head. The boost to your ego was very much appreciated, and it helped lighten the sinking mass of worry that had formed in the pit of your stomach.

Mirage nearly groaned when you placed your soft palm atop the junction of his digit and the heel of his servo. “Do it again,” you decided on, and that worked damn well.

As his servo groped at your chest, he leaned in, tucking his face under your jaw. To accommodate, you tilted your head up and away—

Only to swear into negative space as he very much returned the favor from earlier and began carefully sucking the world’s biggest hickeys into the skin of your neck. Breaths came harsh and choppy as the expanse of his glossa, hot and spit-slick, laved over the gentle bites he worried into your skin with his denta. 

“Ah, Mirage, Mirage,” you breathed; every mention of his name spilling from your bruised lips made his circuitry heat just a little more. It was so much all at once — his servos were so broad that their expanse covered huge swaths of skin at once, and his mouth on such a sensitive part of your anatomy wasn’t helping either. Your hands clawed for purchase against his helm and the back of his neck. One palm flattened as much as it could on the back of his head, trying with all of your laughable human strength to bring him as close as possible. The other ended up cradling the side of his head, your thumb brushing over the audial disk there. With no small amount of wonder, you watched the plates of his back ruffle at your touch.

Mirage wasn’t trying to be weird, but he could die happy so long as he had the taste of your skin still registering on his glossa. It was more addictive than any high-grade he’d had back home by leagues. That human flavor of salt and skin and some kind of sweetness had his processors thrumming at maximum capacity; you made his mouth flood with lubricant, a fact you could corroborate by the amount that spilled over your bare sternum. The feeling of his own spit sliding down your front between your bruised breasts made the muscles of your abdomen twitch. Fingers shaped like claws now, you pressed weak kisses against the smooth curves of his helm wherever you could reach.

Your jeans were just getting in the way at this point. The minute shocks of pleasure you derived from grinding your clit against the inseam were just that — minute. You needed something more now or you were going to get frustrated, and you’d dealt with enough sexual frustration over the past weeks to be very sick of that feeling.

“Oh, fuck, okay— Mirage,” you said breathlessly, giving him a light tap on the side of his helm to get his attention. Reluctantly, he pulled away from your chest, optics dimmed with pleasure. They cycled once and returned to their full brightness as he cleared the fog of arousal — barely — away from his processors.

“All systems go, sugar?” Static hissed underneath his words.

You tried and failed to stifle a snort of a laugh. “Corny ass,” you mumbled, although you were absolutely close enough for his audial sensors to pick up on it. He made a sound of indignation, but you pushed forward regardless. “I, um, I need to get these off.” Hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your jeans to emphasize your point, you glanced up at his optics again.

Blankness for a second. Then it registered. “Oh, right, right, of course, haha! You, uh, want help? Or you got it?”

“I think I can manage taking my pants off,” you laughed. “Just— let me sit on like— the top of your chest, there we go,” you instructed, and the hand under your ass pushed you up until you were turned around and seated on the lip of the top of his chassis. For a second, you wrestled with the denim — still not fully dried — but you managed to kick both your jeans and your shoes off. They were thrown somewhere in the direction of the door. God, you were so glad you locked it.

Underwear went next. There was a beat of hesitation — for what, you weren’t sure — but like you’d done so often as of late, you just ignored your trepidation and worked the elastic down your legs. A laugh barked out of you when you lifted the fabric up and saw the downright ridiculous wet spot that stained the gusset.

“Jesus Christ, look what you did to me,” you said with a faux accusatory tone, holding your panties out for Mirage to inspect. Two digits delicately took them from you; he held them up to his face, so close that it made you blush from sheer embarrassment.

“Wow. You weren’t kiddin’ ‘bout all the wet being in one spot, huh?” He examined them with no small amount of fascination, much to your mortification.

“Mirage! Put those down, oh my god,” you said, covering your mouth with a choked noise.

“What, I can’t admire my work?”

“No you can not.”

Mirage pouted at your denial, and mumbled something about you being no fun, but he still lifted you off his chassis regardless. Like he was helpless to your draw, he pulled you in for another kiss, though he couldn’t stop his mouth from wandering. Down, down, down, until his nose was nestled in your chest and he spoke into the soft flesh of your stomach. Shaky ex-vents tickled the damp skin there.

“Shit, baby, tastes so good,” he mumbled, and you were impressed by his ability to sound completely sex-drunk without even having done anything yet.

Your hips rolled against nothing; they bumped into his neck cabling and the top of his chassis fruitlessly, and a noise of frustration eked out of you. Mirage seemed to get the memo and pulled you away. Your body was brought down until your ass was sat firmly on his hips — his interface panel nestled right in front of your dripping cunt — and your back was leaned up against the flat support of his thighs; his knees were tucked up and his pedes placed firm and flat on the floor to give you the most stability. Fumbling for a second before you found somewhere to place your own feet, the enormity and absurdity of the situation brought more of those breathless giggles to your mouth that seized your chest and shook your shoulders.

Toootally breaking Hynek’s scale here. So beyond abduction. Way beyond abduction.

A few careful digits slipped around your knee, wormed their way between your legs. “Can I—“ 

Your thighs fell open without a word.

What had made you fall for Mirage the hardest was his motormouth. He never stopped talking; he always had something stupid to add, something to pitch in with, some silly joke to crack. There was a lightness he teased out of you that even you didn’t expect. But now? Now, for once, he was speechless. It made uncharacteristic shyness flare in your gut and heat your face as he studied your very bare, very human form with slightly parted lips and enormous optics.

His body caught up before his mouth did. The servo on your knee slid over it until it gripped your bare thigh; he watched the flesh shift back and forth under his touch with no small amount of fascination.

“Is it— it’s okay?” Your voice sounded very small. It was a special kind of insecurity to be faced with.

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay. It’s cool, you’re just— just different. A lot different.” He jiggled your thigh again playfully.

“Good kind of different though, right?”

“Very good.” To punctuate it, his engine snarled again, seemingly in response to the drool of your cunt on the hot metal of his interface panel. “Primus, you look good, babe. Shit.”

Ego boost! You smiled. Any other partner — any person — and this would be too much, this position too unflattering, your everything too open… With Mirage, though, it just felt like it always did. Easy.

One of your hands rested atop the servo still holding onto the meat of your thigh. The other slid down over your shining chest, passed over your stomach and pubic mound, and brushed past wiry hair, shiny with slick, in order to slide a finger up your folds. A whine ripped its way out of you at direct contact with your clit after mere heavy petting, and you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing tight circles with your fingers and twitching your hips forward to eke out more of that delicious pressure.

The servo on your thigh dug into your skin. Mirage’s vents became far heavier at the open display of your arousal; it has always been him vying for your attention. Now that it was the other way around, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Transfluid was seeping between the seams of his interface panel, joining your own fluids in a shiny pool that sent sparks up his struts. He made you like this, made you so wet you dripped, made your clit swollen enough to be visible, made your cunt tight with heat and Primus, he needed you on his spike so bad, he thought he might die without it.

He verbalized these thoughts with an unintelligible noise of adoration.

It was enough encouragement for you to slide down from your clit and venture two fingers into yourself. Zero friction. They glided. Christ, when was the last time you were this wet? You’d slept with a handful of people, especially in your first couple years of college, but you’d never been soaked like this. Mirage’s cooling fans choked at the sight of your fingers vanishing into you. His thumb dug into the crease of your thigh and hip as he leaned just a little closer to watch.

Very little time passed before it devolved into your fingers working inside your walls, crooking against that one spot that made your breath hitch and hips jump. Mindlessly, you ground against your palm, catching your clit on the heel of your hand with a sweet moan that nearly shorted out his processors. He had to hear that again. Without thinking, he moved his servo over, resting the digits on your lower stomach and gently, gently nudging the heel of your hand out of the way to replace it with his thumb.

“Ah!” spilled from your lips at the insistent, broad pressure of his thumb, and your hips jerked against it, working your fingers that much deeper. Tears pricked at your eyes from pure sensation. “Mirage, mmm, just— just rub, up and down— or circles, just move, I don’t ca—are,” you floundered, the last word breaking as he did as he was told, carefully sliding his thumb up and down on the bead of your clit and sending twinges of searing pleasure up your spine.

You found quickly that just your fingers weren’t enough. Not when the reminder of his servo lay heavily on your lower stomach, tips of his digits digging into the soft fat there insistently. Although you were loath to part with your hand, you pulled your fingers out with a sigh. Mirage froze, optics flicking to your shiny hand as you spread your fingers, examining the strings of fluid that connected them with a far-off feeling of pride.

“Sugar, you’re killin’ me here,” he groaned, and you saw, for one endearing second, a puff of actual steam rise from the vents near his shoulders as he ex-vented harshly.

“Okay, well, here,” you said, unable to come up with anything clever with the purr of arousal in your cunt fanned by the heat of his interface plate and consistent, maddening rumble of his engine. Your hand, still shiny and wet with your fluids, grasped the top of his servo and gently pushed it downwards, until the tips of his digits rested against your drooling entrance. To fight the whimper that threatened to claw its way out of your throat, you nearly chewed a gash into the inside of your cheek. A gasp of an in-vent jolted his frame in awe.

“You sure? I mean— it’s cool?” His flustered stammering was so damn endearing; supreme affection for him swelled in your chest. 

“I’m sure. Just— just go slow.” His adoration was fueling your bravery. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you; if he did, it would never be intentional, and it would never be something he couldn’t fix.

He paused for a second before remembering the position of your own hand and flipping his servo so it was palm side up; you dragged a large enough breath in to balloon your lungs fully at the sight. Anticipation danced in the burn of your spread thighs. For a few seconds, it was just exploration; his digits slid over your silky folds, collecting the gathered slick with minute trembles. One delicious slide all the way up from entrance to clit had you gasping. Mirage silently thanked Primus above that your whole set-up was similar enough to his valve to know at least some of his way around it. It was just hotter. Wetter. Softer. So much softer.

“‘Raj, just— fuuuck,” you groaned out, your head rolling back as the tip of one digit sank into you, soon followed by the rest as it slid all the way to the base. Stars flickered behind your eyelids. The width matched the two fingers put together you’d just pulled out of yourself, though the texture was so wildly different to anything you’d ever put up there that it made your brain stutter for several moments as your nerve endings processed the feeling. The individual ridges and articulations of his knuckles dragged against the silk of your walls in a way that pulled the breath right out of you; your chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths as your thighs twitched.

You were a mess. Mirage was in love. “Holy shit, baby, I get you this bad?” It was only partly teasing. “l— fuck, a second one good?”

“Good, yes, please.”

All thoughts were wiped clean from the forefront of your brain with the addition of a second digit. Slick noises and the sound of dripping fluids landing on metal and concrete filled your ears over the steadily climbing racket that Mirage’s entire body was making — his cooling fans competed with his engine to make the most noise, over top of the typical whirs and clicks that came with his motion. You couldn’t look, could only feel with your eyes squeezed shut as Mirage pumped both digits in and out, in and out, in and out. One arm was thrown up behind you, hooking loosely around his knee to ground you somewhere. The other was occupied: your hand clutched his wrist like a lifeline, white-knuckling it even as your sweaty palm slipped over the metal cuff. When his thumb returned to your clit, swirling clumsy but eager circles on top of it, that only contributed to the tight, hot coil building in your gut.

Mirage had half a mind to pop his interface panel right then and service himself, because the sight of you, shining with sweat and slick with his spit as you rode his digits, was almost too much to bear. The plush folds of your cunt, tight with arousal, were so soft against the hard planes of metal that comprised his servos; the contrast was short-circuiting him. Under his paneling, his spike was already pressurized. Had been for what felt like hours. Your ass was beginning to slide back and forth just a little due to the transfluid collecting underneath you; the rippling motion of your flesh was driving him insane. As were your walls, Primus, your walls that sucked greedily around his digits as they glided in and out of the tight ring of muscle that made up your entrance.

Your name left his lips in a groan that was an octave too high to be suave. The thought of your cunt clamping down on his spike — so soft, so hot, so wet — like it was doing on his digit had his hips rolling against nothing, working fruitlessly for friction they weren’t getting.

Sweat collected wherever skin touched skin. Condensation fogged wherever skin touched metal. The combination of his digits stretching you, curling in you when he realized what a dramatic reaction it incurred, and his thumb working your clit was getting to be too much. Heartbeat roaring in your ears like the rain outside, you clawed a grip into a seam in his leg and jerked your hips against his servo with breathy noises and gasps that you certainly wouldn’t be proud of later. For now, though, all it did was fuel Mirage’s ego and go straight to his spike.

Almost there. You were almost there, grinding your way towards it, sweat beading on your hot skin—

He pulled out. He pulled his digits out. A keen tore out of you at the loss of feeling, tears springing to your eyes as the hot edge you were so fucking close to fell away, your hips working unconsciously against a servo no longer there. With a gasp of a breath, you wrenched your eyes open, blinking away the collected tears and nearly baring your teeth at the bot beneath you — until you saw what he was doing.

In utter astonishment, you watched as the digits that were just inside you slid into his mouth, peeks of his glossa flashing as it worked them clean.

“Oh fuck,” you said before you could stop yourself. One of your hands slapped over your mouth; you tasted sweat and metal. His optics slid to you, lidded and cycling frantically as he processed your taste. A harsh ex-vent slumped his shoulders — the servo not preoccupied with his mouth clutched your hip like you were something precious.

“Sugar,” he breathed, static grating on the word. “Fuck, c’mere.”

Servos hefted you up, and you clutched onto them out of instinct as he helped you up to his face. Without thinking, you lunged forward to kiss, your tongue seeking out his glossa and tasting yourself with a resurging thrum of arousal. He cut it short, though, ignoring your protests as he cupped your ass in one servo and held you aloft. 

For a second, you stared at him in confusion. “What are you—“ Then it hit you. “Oh.” Your heart rate skyrocketed.

The grin stretching his faceplates was downright devious. “Hang onto something, wouldja? Not that you’re gonna fall. Just want you to enjoy the ride.” A short, heady chuckle rounded out his words.

“You’re insane— oh!” Your lighthearted scold was immediately interrupted by the press of your hips against his face and the slide of his slick glossa over the entirety of your sex. “Oh my fuck!” sobbed out of you as your upper body jackknifed over his helm. One arm curled around it with clawing fingers; the other slammed, palm flat, against the concrete wall.

A groan of satisfaction rumbled into your cunt as the taste of salt and sweat and girl bloomed on his glossa — just like earlier but so much stronger now. The proud line of his nose bumped your clit for a second before his glossa followed, narrowing so he could flick at it experimentally. Lubricant spilling from his mouth mixed with your own slick and ran down his chin; his cooling fans sputtered and spun weakly for a second as he pushed up further against your hips, malleable mesh drawing shapes between your clit and your hole.

Your fingernails scraped against the wall as your hips jerked of their own accord; the edge stolen from you earlier had very much returned, and the feeling of his faceplates sliding over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs was doing something terrible to you.

“Mirage, ah, ah— I’m— fuck, fuck!” Broken syllables and curses streamed from your lips as a substitute for real words. When he closed his lips around your clit and sucked, it was over. It was so quick, embarrassingly quick. The orgasm that had been building suddenly snapped free and tore through you like a fucking hurricane, leaving spasming muscles and a wonderful endorphin afterglow in its wake. As you sobbed out his name, he slid two digits of his free servo back into you just to give you something to clamp down on, and it made tears spill down your burning cheeks from pure stimulus. Mirage drank you; he wanted nothing more than this, to swallow you down and leave your taste buzzing on his glossa like high-grade. Several thundering heartbeats later found you hunched over his helm as his glossa continued to work lazily against you, forcing twitches out of your thighs from pure overstimulation.

“Okay, okay,” you managed to croak, voice hoarse from weeping moans and boneless from what was probably one of the most insane finishes of your life. You tapped out weakly on the side of his helmet. Reluctantly, he pulled your pussy away from his face and cradled you in both servos, one noticeably damper than the other, in front of him.

His chin was shiny with you, his grin wide and completely self satisfied, and his optics dimmed with pleasure. If you were being honest, he’d never looked better, but in your frazzled state you weren’t sure if you had the capacity to string together enough words to form a compliment.

“I gotta say, compliments to the chef,” he hummed, and you stared at him, words not processing.

“Did you seriously— you just gave me head and that’s what you’re gonna say?”

“Uhh, yeah, babe. And I meant it.”

A genuine laugh shook you. “Oh my god. Ohhh my god. Okay. Well, put me back down there, you corny fuck,” you said with a gesture back at his hips.

“Oooh, keep sayin’ that. I’ll start thinkin’ you mean it.” Your body, errant trembles still running through it, was set carefully down back near its original position. This time, you sat in something closer to a straddle, back straight instead of leaning.

The garage air had gone from temperate and warm to fucking scorching. Outside, the rain droned on, occasional rumbles of thunder sounding so far away that they may as well have not been real. Your entire world had been compressed down to one point — a gravitational singularity in this garage, crushing space and time down until only bricks and concrete stood between you and the oblivion outside. All you knew was living metal and Mirage’s voice, trembling with excitement and fuzzy with static, and that was all you wanted to know. His chassis was making so much noise that you probably, under any other circumstance, would have been concerned; if he blew a gasket fucking you, though, you would wear that with pride.

Pure adoration reflected right back at you from his optics as his servos settled on your hips, his thumbs stroking your slick skin. Any concerns he had about Prime’s reaction to you, or to this — well, maybe not to this specifically, but to the both of you being together — were completely null and void in your presence; the reality of your soft weight in his lap was enough to short out his circuits.

Your hands slid down from the cooling fan in his abdomen spinning at maximum speed towards his soaked interface panel; glancing up at him demurely through your lashes, you spoke.

“You gonna let me return the favor?”

“Huh?” He broke out of his reverie. “Oh, right, um— yeah. Yeah, please.”

A smile crawled over your face at the reminder that despite all the poetic words you could come up with in your head, Mirage was still, and always would be, Mirage. Dazed already, he ran the subroutines to open his interface panel. Machinery shifted with a few clicks, and there was a hiss and an outpour of steam as his spike swung up before you, clearly aching for some kind of touch.

You heard more plates shifting lower, too, and out of curiosity peeked downward; something slick glowed lower down, but the nervous shifting of Mirage’s hips and his closed thighs obscured it from view.

Probably better to just focus on what’s in front of you. Your eyes roamed the length of his array first, your mouth going dry just at the size of it. It was bigger than any toy you owned, anyone you’d slept with, and bigger than his digits, too. Still, though… what were humans if not persevering?

And flexible?

You wrapped a hand around it right below the tip, and a full shudder lanced up Mirage’s frame; it was so thick that there was still space between your fingers and thumb left over. Transfluid, milky in consistency but pearlescent pink in color, spilled from the flared head. Curiosity overtook you, and you swiped a thumb up to catch an errant bead of it as it trailed down the side. The fluid was semi-oily, and smelled… fairly innocuous. Metallic, sure, but that came with the territory.

The array itself was as impressive as it was pretty. Like everything else about Mirage, it was fancy, mostly chrome with blue striping up the sides that led to a fully blue head. The biomesh it was made of — similar to his glossa — gently throbbed with alien pulses as you stared at it. Oh, that was hot. Why was that so hot?

Exploration in full was rewarded with soft noises spilling unbidden from Mirage’s lips, his hips twitching uncontrollably as you carefully slid your hand down from the tip to the base in one fluid motion, feeling the transfluid slick under your fingers. “Mmph, I— ah,” he choked out through gritted denta as you observed him.

Oh. Oh. The realization of the power you held over the big mech made a special kind of arousal thrum through you. Another slow pump had his hips jerk up once and a servo clamp over his mouth.

“This was not included in your anatomy lesson,” you said pointedly, a cheshire grin on your face as you hovered dangerously close to his spike. It throbbed in your grip, working another bead of transfluid out of the tip.

“Oh shit, babe,” he groaned, rolling his helm back against the wall. “Uh— hands— hands-on learning?” he offered weakly, unable to focus on anything other than the soft, damp skin of your palm around his spike.

He made the mistake of looking down as you let spit drool out of your bruised lips and spill over his spike for additional lube, and he snapped his optics shut to avoid from a spontaneous overload right there. The noises he made as you slid your tongue over the head were pitiful.

“Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, spinal struts clicking as they arched. Primus, was he seriously about to overload in your mouth? Your lips closed around the head and sucked lightly, and he yelped. A servo shot out and carefully grabbed your shoulder, though the tremors running through his digits told you of the restraint he was barely employing. A string of spit and transfluid connected your mouth to his spike as you lifted your head, and he had to force himself to look away for a second with that same servo clutched over his mouth to keep steady. “‘m not gonna last like that, you— can we just—“

“Fuck?”

“Primus, yes.”

“Yeah, we can. I guess.” Despite the leap of excitement in your stomach, you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t even start with that, c’mon,” he said fondly, one servo supporting you as you lifted yourself above his spike and stared down at it with no small amount of trepidation.

It looked a little more manageable from above, but working with something the size of your forearm would cool anyone’s heels, even if there was slick drooling down your inner thighs. Mirage’s servos settled heavy on your hips and you braced yourself on first his knees behind you, then his wrists as you tilted your pelvis to align your entrance as best you could. You sank. The head pressed insistently against your hole. Relax. Relax. Relax.

A deep breath filled your lungs, then whooshed out, deflating your shoulders. Unable to help himself, Mirage inched one of his servos over and ran his thumb through your folds, rolling over your clit and jolting your hips enough to slip the head inside. A long sigh of  “Fuuuuck.” was all that managed to come out of your mouth, your toes curling at the stretch and then the pop of the flared head sliding past your entrance.

Mirage’s entire frame trembled. His vents became shallow and sharp, and the tips of his digits clamped onto the soft meat of your hips desperately as the sensors on his spike reckoned with the realization of just how wet and warm humans really were. “Babe, babe, babe, shit,” he stammered out. “That’s— um, fuck, that’s good!” A weak laugh escaped him as his chin sank down to his chassis, cooling fans hiccuping from stress.

“Hold on, just hold on, I can… shit.” Sweat-dampened palms slid off his wrists for a second before you resituated yourself and leaned back a little, letting your upper back rest against his tucked up thighs. Whatever you were doing worked, because you sank further, and you thanked whatever god was listening that you’d already finished once, making your body quite boneless and that much easier to maneuver.

Mirage, on the other hand, was as taut as a fucking bowstring, made helpless to his own pleasure and completely powerless to you. His optics first scrunched shut, unable to look at you for fear of overloading at the sight of you finally on his spike; then they flew open at the realization that he wanted this burned into his visual processors forever.

Your skin shone with sweat and lubricant; rivulets trailed down your body like a visual pointer to your slick sex, nestled within wiry hair and stretching so beautifully around his spike that it tore an honest-to-Primus whimper out of his vocal synthesizer.

“Mirage, I need you to— mmnh, fuck, I need you to just touch— please,” you gasped, his spike punching the air right out of your lungs. Although your words were broken, he seemed to get the memo, and despite his minute tremors, brought his thumb back to your clit and pressed down. Just the surface area alone made you sigh and roll your head back in pleasure, and it loosened you enough to take him right up until the head nestled against your cervix and your ass brushed his hip plating. There was maybe an inch or two left, but you felt immense pride at managing to work most of his spike in — and immense pleasure, too. If he moved his thumb at all, you were done; you were so fucking full you could barely breathe, and you felt the slow, rhythmic pulses of his biomesh throb through you.

Mirage had never been one for restraint. He did things all-in, one-hundred-and-ten percent, all with a flourish to top it off; the feeling of the hot silk of your walls flexing around his spike just sitting there was enough to quite literally kill his cooling fans via a micro-short in an attempt to divert more power towards keeping his hips still. Senseless praises streamed from his lips, voice whining and roughened by static fuzz. “Yes, yes, yes, sugar, Primus, that’s good— feels so good, please, can I move, please,” he fumbled, jaw slack and optics flickering with the power surges cascading throughout his frame.

“Just— let me start,” was your response, tears pricking at your eyes, and although Mirage groaned pitifully underneath you, he listened.

You had a fair amount of experience with riding toys, and you knew what felt good; the lightbulb above your head became apparent. A shift in your position pushed further weight to the back so that the ridges and nodes of his spike pressed insistently toward the front — though, to be fair, it pressed everywhere — and oh, fuck, right there. Now shoved against that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure teetered on the edge of pain, and you dragged yourself up with a vicious grip on the seams of his thighs behind you. Mirage whined and shifted his hips just slightly; it was enough to pull a moan from your lips as you slid upward. Thick, sluggish droplets of slick swirled with transfluid oozed down his spike. He watched — it was all he could do — with an open mouth and rapidly cycling optics.

The flared head caught against your entrance; a spike (ha!) of pleasure lanced through you. “Okay, now, you can— help me, please,” you stammered out, dizzy with pleasure already and feeling a loopy kind of open-mouthed grin situate itself on your face. 

Your words were all he needed. Although he desperately, desperately wanted to snap his hips up and chase the vice-grip of your slick walls, he’d rather take on Megatron alone with his servos tied behind his back than risk hurting you. Especially while interfacing. He did not want to have to explain that to anyone.

Thumb slowly working your clit, his servos gripped your hips just a little too tight and assisted; you could feel the tremors lancing up and down his arms as he helped you establish a rhythm. At a word, the dam would break, but for now, you maintained tenuous control over the mech and over yourself as you rode him with his help.

Well. Rode was a strong word for it; he all but dragged you up and down the length of his spike, earning each of you luxurious groans from the other, but your quivering thigh muscles assisted as best they could. Heat surged through your body at the drag of his nodes against your walls, and you realized with a hot flash that Mirage was going to fucking ruin you for anybody else, and you liked that. Which was good, because he could have stayed buried in your cunt for the rest of his life and offlined happily just like that.

It was good. It was really good. But even the overwhelming stretch wasn’t enough. Just like earlier — it seemed like light years away now — when you’d still had pants on and hadn’t been completely lost to metal-on-skin debauchery, the grind of your clit on the seam of your jeans had been good, but not enough. Your fingers clawed at his wrists. The burn of your thighs from exertion seared through you, mixing with the jolts of pleasure from your clit to create some new, terrible monster that had you twitching with shameless ecstasy.

“Mirage, Mirage,” you croaked, as he slid you down his spike again and pushed it into your lungs, “I’m— fuck, please, faster, please, please.” In any other scenario, your begging would have immensely embarrassed you; now, though, it seemed like the only viable option to get him to fuck you like you needed him to.

“Shit, baby,” he hissed, and you gasped as he kept moving you, legs jerking uselessly. “You— fuck, you sure?”

“Yes, please, just— oh, fuck!” The cry — and the air in your lungs — was knocked right out of you by a single desperate snap of his hips upward, his spike driven straight home. Your entire upper body crumpled forward, kept upright only by a tenuous grip on his wrists, and then he really started fucking you, and you were gone.

His cooling fans surged back to life as he slammed into you, power no longer diverted towards holding the actuators of his hips back. No, now he was fucking jackhammering into you, and you were barely moving as his spike pistoned in and out of you, slick drooling from your cunt. Like he remembered himself, his thumb began to work furiously against your clit, and you rewarded him with a gasp and more than a few uncontrollable moans of his name, which only served to fuel him more.

Not like he was being quiet, either. You were glad that the building was solid brick and the rain continued to pour outside, because the amount of noise coming from his chassis and spilling from his lips was worrying. Praises and broken mentions of your name streamed from him; he tossed his helm back against the wall with his optics squeezed shut to keep from overloading prematurely. It was too much— it was way too fucking much. Your poor overworked cunt was nearly bruised with sensitivity, barely able to keep up with the stretch of his spike as the nodes pulsing along it raked that sweet spot inside of you mercilessly. Neither of you were going to last long; not your fragile human body nor his torqued-up frame could handle much more of this.

Every sharp thrust paired with the frantic, messy circles he pressed into your clit brought you viciously closer and spilled tears from your eyes. All you could really do was hold on as Mirage wrung pleasure from both your body and his. Impossibly, his thumb worked faster, his pace got even more brutal, and you were almost seizing from pleasure as your nerve endings were frayed raw. That peak was building in your gut, that familiar tight coil of heat, for the second time that night, and you knew it was going to completely destroy you, and you wanted it to.

Without warning, Mirage spread his knees apart, slammed his pedes flat on the floor, and thrusted up. His spinal struts arched again to get his spike that much further inside of your yielding body, his overload imminent and warning signs flashing in his optics’ periphery. “Fuck, yes— yes, baby, yes, yes, ah, shit!” His frenzied whine rang in your ears as steam from his vents heated the air around you; the only thing that rang in your ears besides your thunderous heartbeat was the heady slap of skin against metal, everything slick with your combined fluids.

You responded in kind at the new angle with a cry of his name and some noises that resembled words, but the way he sheathed his spike inside you — fuck, was it all the way in? — and ground his thumb against your clit was too much— too much— you couldn’t—

You shattered. Doubling over from pleasure, you sobbed incoherently as your climax slammed into you. Pleasure crackled through your veins like lightning; a fog of pleasure dulled your senses until the only thing you could focus on was his spike pulsing in your cunt and his thumb still grinding against your clit. Tears pricked at your eyes, joining the ones already wetting your cheeks, as jolts of pleasure lanced up your spine. Maybe you moaned his name, maybe you didn’t. You couldn’t tell.

Mirage went soon after you, because the feeling of your walls clamping around his spike as if trying to suck him in impossibly further did him in instantly. His optics snapped open wide before slamming shut and he cried your name as the best overload of his life wracked his frame; the actuators of his hips trembled violently, along with his servos, as transfluid gushed into you and was immediately forced out by the pure lack of room inside your cunt. Engine snarling, cooling fans nearly spinning off their axles, he held your hips as flush to his as possible while the both of you rode out your respective climaxes, twitching around each other violently. Minute jerks of his hips attempted to work more transfluid inside of you. Brain still wiped blank with pleasure, all you could do was make soft noises and let the aftershocks spasm through you.

Consciousness eventually came back to you in gritty waves. Mirage had set your body down, leaned back against his thighs, his spike still seated within you but depressurizing slowly. Transfluid seeped out of your puffy folds, and you lifted a shaking hand to collect some of it and taste it. Metallic. Like you’d expected.

Enormous vents whooshed through his frame as he attempted to cool his chassis; coolant dripped from him, some of it turned to steam by the pure heat of his internal mechanisms. Body shaking and feeling very small and human, you stroked a thumb over his wrist where you held it, feeling both its ambient warmth and a surge of affection. And satisfaction.

You were absolutely going to feel this in the morning, holy shit. Thank God you didn’t have work tomorrow.

Mirage eventually came back down to earth, his optics cracking open and cycling a few times before they flared to their usual brightness. Lids heavy and a dopey grin on his face, he carefully lifted you off his spike — it slid out of you with a slick noise that made you flush — and brought you up to face-level. With one servo, he held you tight against his torso; he planted the other flat on the floor and resituated his hips so he could slump down further against the wall, his entire frame lax.

Self-satisfaction beamed at you from his faceplates. “Oh, that was good, huh?”

You scoffed, too tired to get riled up at his teasing; you knew he was feeling the same as you. “Yeah, pretty good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, to be totally honest.” An exhausted laugh left you.

“Gonna count that as a win.”

“You… do whatever you want.” You waved a limp hand at him dismissively, letting the rise and fall of his chassis with his vents rock you.

“Well, then, I wanna do this,” he purred, and brought you in for a kiss that communicated all his smug affection without any of his stupid jokes. You returned it gratefully, a smile on each of your mouths as you basked in that pleasant post-sex glow.

The rain still droned outside. A boom of thunder rolled through the building; the lights flickered. Both you and Mirage glanced upward. His optics slid back down to you first.

“You thinkin’ about going anywhere in this weather?” he asked, raising a brow ridge.

“I dunno, do I have a ride?”

“Nah,” he replied playfully, kissing you again, and you found that it could storm for the rest of your life, and you wouldn’t really care. So long as you had your favorite — yes, your favorite, not that you could ever admit around him — to keep you company.

[henry7931]

Dealing With My Bullies

Asher:

These three right here; Kyle, Chase, and Jordan have spent majority of my life bullying me. I’ve put with years of name calling, being pushed down, and even having my head put into a toilet.

And I thought I was done with them the second I wrapped up with high school. But unfortunately, everywhere I turn— those assholes are somewhere.

I’ve tried to ignore them, complained to our school, even tried fighting back but for some reason they have it out for me.

So I’m deciding to take a more drastic measure— magic. Well I assume it’s magic, i don’t even know if this is going to work but at this point I’m desperate!

I found this old book of spells inside of a weird book store. The price on it was pretty steep and even the owner of the store warned me to be careful with it.

As I got home and into my room, I looked through all of the different spells that were available for me to plot my revenge. I mean I could turn them all into toads but where’s the fun in that?

Nah! I want something that’s going to shift the dynamics a bit. I want to hear at least one of them give me an apology.

I kept turning through the book when my eye caught this one spell called; ‘Body Transferal.’

My heart started to race a bit as I read what all the spell does, I can literally swap bodies and become one of them. Thats it!

I laid back in bed thinking about which one of the three I wanted to swap bodies with…

You have Kyle who I really think is only pressured by the other two to participate.

Chase who has been terrible to me could work but he’s not the real leader of their crew.

That leaves me with Jordan, the one who started everything. That’s who I’ll become, I’ll swap with Jordan!

I open the book back up and read all of the necessary things to complete the swap.

‘A stormy night, a silver bowl, plant seeds, a portrait of Jordan, and both of our names written down on a piece of paper that’s burned into the bowl.’

I pull my phone out and check the weather… it’s forecasting a big storm… perfect!

I gather all of the necessary things to perform the spell which was pretty easy.

I waited until the time recommended for the spell right around midnight.

I gather everything and start reciting the spell… I follow each step as listed and begin to burn both of our names into the bowl.

Lighting strikes close and I can hear thunder booming in background as I say, “Transfer our souls! I, Asher White and Jordan Gibson!” Over and over again.

Then a loud boom of thunder hits and the power goes off for a second. I close my eyes tight waiting for the spell to kick in.

That’s when the power comes back on and I open my eyes. I turn to my bedroom mirror and see my disappointed face looking back at me.

I take the Spellbook and I chuck it out my window since I’m slightly frustrated it didn’t work.

It was worth a shot I guess, I figured I might as well go to bed and just forget that I even tried something so silly!

As I fall asleep… I start having this weird dream. In it I find myself floating and somehow hovering over my body.

I start floating more and more away from it until I’m outside…

I’m passing streets for miles and I have no control of where I’m going at all.

I get a house and I see this other glowing ball shaped like a person floating right pass me. I can barely see what I’m looking at since I was still moving so fast. Thats when I get a window and see a bedroom with a male body sleeping face down.

Before I can even get a full picture of who it is, I’m forced into him.

That’s when I wake up…

My head jolts up and I feel so groggy. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and my brain to catch up after that dream.

Almost an entire minute goes by before I can really take in my surroundings. Thats when it hit me… this isn’t my room!

I flip over on the bed and look down at my legs. They’re more tan than mine and my feet are bigger. I wiggle the toes attached to me just to confirm I now control them.

My memory of last night creeps in and then I realize— the spell, it actually worked!

I quickly get out of bed and rush to the closest mirror I could find. That’s when I see what I already expected. Jordan’s reflection looking back at me.

I pull of all of his shirt and start giggling to myself.

I say aloud, “I’m Jordan Gibson”

But then something else sinks in, the freaking Spellbook! I tossed it out my window last night!

I rush through Jordan’s room and put on some of his clothes quickly.

I grab his car keys and head out the door.

As I’m driving down the road, I can’t help but continuously looking at myself in the mirror. You see one of the biggest things I hate about Jordan is my secret lust for him. Actually my real lust for a lot of the jocks that went to school with me.

But in this moment, I don’t feel that same anger anymore. All I can think about is how after I find this Spellbook, I’m going to enjoy exploring his body.

I get to my house and I see my parents drive off. As they pull away, I pull up to the front.

I run over directly under my window where I see the Spellbook lying in the bushes. I quickly grab it and run off.

Before I get into his car I look up at the window and to my surprise I see myself looking down.

I grin up at Jordan who now learning that I have control of his body.

I see my eyes get big and screams. I almost walk away but instead I look around my neighborhood to see no one’s around.

I pull Jordan’s pants down and start shaking his surprisingly huge dick in front of him while sticking his tongue out.

He’s fuming and shouting but I can’t hear him the glass. I see him rush from the window and I bolt it to his car with his flapping all over the place.

I pull his pants up and star his car. He’s at my front door and charging for me (which is funny seeing my body that angry.)

I pull away just in time and head back to his place. I reach down and fondle his big bulge all the home.

I knew he was going to come here and I really didn’t need him to make a scene.

So I had to think fast, pull out the spell book and dig through until I find a ‘love spell.’

I go into his kitchen and I find all of the necessary things for the spell.

He hasn’t arrived yet so I pull his shirt off and start exploring his body. I grab on to his dick again when I hear a loud knock at the door.

“Oh you’re going to really love yourself Jordan.”

“You better open up!!” I hear my former voice scream.

I grab my new magical potion and walk towards the door.

I let him in and as he begins to charge at me, I lift up the magical potion and toss it right at him.

I close the door and turn around to see my former dazed. His face goes from straight anger to looking almost goofy.

“Asher… you look soo sexy in my body,” he says to me.

“Oh do I?”

“Can I please touch it?”

“Well Jordan you’re going to need to prove yourself to me.”

“Anything for you!”

He gets on his knees and grabs on to his former hands.

“Anything?,” I say with a mischievous smirk.

[patscorner]

Just A Week Ago

Summary: Paige grapples with death.

wc: 1,642

Contains: crying, death of a loved one, no happy ending

part two

a/n: This is probably the saddest thing I've ever written. Get your tissues ready.

______________________________

It's only been a week, and Paige still couldn't believe it. Just a week ago, you were cuddled up next to her. Just a week ago, the two of you were laughing well into the night, shushing each other through the giggles. Just a week ago, she was driving to your house every weekend. Just a week ago, you were driving home with her after picking her up from practice.

Just a week ago, her hand was on your thigh, singing terribly at the top of her lungs while you laughed at her. Just a week ago, she watched as the headlights didn't stop growing brighter, even as the light turned red. Just a week ago, she awoke on a stretcher, not being able to feel her arms. Just a week ago, she fought the pain and begged to know your wellbeing.

Just a week ago, she watched as the EMT’s gave you chest compression after chest compression, desperately fighting for your life. Just a week ago, she shoved the police, injured and all, to let her go with you. Just a week ago, she watched them roll you into emergency surgery. Just a week ago, she broke down in the middle of the lobby when the doctor told her they did all they could. Just a week ago, you were alive and well.

Until you weren’t.

__________

Now she stood in the mirror, tears in her eyes as she made sure she looked presentable. The week had been a blur. She was there, but she really wasn't. She was lost in her own mind trying to grapple with the fact that you were, in fact, gone, and it wasn't some terrible dream.

Paige wasn't sure what the plans were, even when she was present when they were made. She knew she was supposed to give a speech on the podium, and she knew she wrote one down. Or attempted to. She's fairly certain her mom and teammates wrote the words down.

It can't be real. She can’t have lost you. But she did. She was there when they told her you were gone. She was there.

A knock on her door breaks her free from her thoughts. She can't bring herself to answer, and she allows the person behind it to walk in. “Hey, sweetie, you almost ready?”

Paige doesn't look away from the mirror, but she can tell by the voice that it's her mom. She stares at herself, hands running over the suit she's wearing. It's the same one you'd spotted in the mall over a year ago, and you'd dragged her into the store to try it on, rambling about how sexy she looked. And while she desperately wanted to go home and lay down, she couldn't deny that you were right. She did look good. She didn't buy it then, though. You'd surprised her with it on her birthday, and she complained about you spending money on her.

She hadn't worn it yet, the two of you were waiting for that one special moment. And while you weren't here to share it with her, she thought it was fitting. She knew she'd never have the guts to wear it anywhere else. So dead or alive, she still shared the moment with you.

“Mhm.” Is all she says, taking one last look before turning around to look at her mom.

Her mom smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “You look beautiful, honey. She would've loved it.” She said, approaching the blonde, fixing the collar once more. Paige closed her eyes to avoid the tears from falling, but it didn't work as tears broke through her eyelids.

Amy wordlessly engulfed Paige in a hug, listening as her little girl broke all over again. Flashbacks of that night at the hospital flash through Amy's mind as she attempts to stay strong for Paige.

Eventually, Paige pulls away, eyes softening as she wipes her mom's tears. “Let's go.” She whispers.

Amy nods, grabbing Paige's hand and leading her out of the room.

_________

Paige had zoned out for most of the speeches. A lot of them were from people who didn't know you and were just offering their pity condolences, just so that they could say they were there.

She snaps out of it when her name is called to the stand. She looks at her mom, who pats her thigh encouragingly. She smiles as she clears her throat and walks to the stand.

“Uh-” She clears her throat again, staring at the notes in her hand. “I'm sure most of you know me, but for those of you who don't, my name is Paige Bueckers, and I'm Y/N's girlfriend.” She pauses. “Or-or was.” she clears her throat again.

“Any-anyway. Uh-” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, just like you'd always tell her to do. It didn't work as well as when you did it, but it helped her enough for her to continue. She looked down at the cards.

“You all know the type of person Y/N was. She was the type where you could tell her anything, and she'd support you, even if it was the dumbest decision on earth. If you were set on the decision, then so was she. She'd give you her advice and opinion if you asked for it, and then she'd leave it to you. Then, if you faced the consequences, she'd give you a look, but she'd never say anything. She'd hold you and wouldn't let you go until you felt better.” she looked up from the cards and glanced around the room.

“That's what she did when I tore my ACL. She was there the whole time, holding my hand, never letting go, unless it was to hand me a tissue.” She laughed a little, but it was getting harder to keep her composure. Fuck it. she ditches her cards, and decides to speak from her heart. That's what she was the best at.

“It's a Sunday. Y/N always loved Sundays. She'd always get all dressed up, even though it was just for church. Today, I would've slept in, grappling with the fact that I don't get to see her or hold her anymore. For the first time, God was the last thing on my mind.”

“She was there for everybody. Even if you wronged her, if you asked her for anything, she'd give it to you. She believed in second chances, even for people who didn't deserve them. She of all people should've gotten a second chance. But that was taken from her, by somebody who she'd probably give one to.” Tears have fallen now, and there was no stopping them.

“The day I asked her to be my girlfriend, she asked me if I trusted her with my heart. If I trusted, she'd take it and keep it safe forever. She kept that promise. She took it, and she kept it, and she locked it in a box. She kept it safe. Unfortunately, she held onto that key when she left.” She reaches for a tissue. “And that I'm forever grateful. I can't think of anybody better than her to have that key.”

“I just hope she uses it to unlock the box when I see her again. She was a beloved sister, daughter, friend, teammate, and girlfriend. She lives in our memory forever. So to Y/N.

I miss you more than life. There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do to hear that little laugh you do. There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do to hold your hand again. There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do to say one more ‘I love you.’ I wish I could take it back. I wish I'd seen the car. I wish I had seen anything. Sometimes I wish it was me who went, but then I remember that then, it would be you up here in tears, and I don't know if I could be happy knowing that you're not.”

“It's only been a week. It's been the longest week of my life. I'll tell you about when I see you again. For now, I'll settle for knowing that you're in a better place, that you're safe and out of harm's way. Don't worry, I'll save your voice in my head. You promised never to leave me. You just left too soon.”

“So to the best girlfriend in the world, we'll save you a seat. You've always got a place at the table, even if you're watching with the angels. I promise never to let you go. I promise to always make you proud. I promise to make it for you. Every basketball shot. Every tear that falls, every game that's won. It's for you.”

“Because even though you're gone, you're still in our hearts. My heart. Even if we can't see you, or talk to you, or hold you, the memories are enough to keep us going. You gave me the best memories, I just never thought that you'd become one yourself.”

“Goodbyes are hard for me. They always have been. I don't want to say goodbye because this one would mean forever. So instead, this is a ‘see you later’.”

“I love you.”

“And to you all, never take family for granted. Because grief is the price we pay for love. So say that ‘I love you’. Because you'll never know when it will be your last one.”

___________

The Huskies play a video at the next game in honor of you. They play with pins on their shirts in honor of you. They play for you. They won the national championship in honor of you. Paige gets drafted to the WNBA in honor of you.

Because even after all this time. you still have the key to her heart.

______________________________

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[flawseer]

On the False Dragonets of Destiny

Recycled art... Forgive me, I can't physically draw more than I currently am.

Just a little while ago I was looking at some replies to my recent work, and I noticed a nice comment from someone who expressed they enjoyed my comics featuring the false dragonets of destiny, but couldn't really get into them in the books. I am thankful for that comment, but even more thankful for the opportunity to ramble at length about something I kind of wanted to talk about, but couldn't find a plausible excuse for. Until now.

All of this is just my reading of the material, of course. You don't need to agree with me on this.

Content Warning: Some discussion of abuse, trauma, violence. I don't know if it's severe enough to warrant a warning, but better be safe.

General discussion

The false dragonets of destiny, the alternates, or whatever one wants to call them. They enter the story proper in book 4, after having made a few minor cameo appearances before, and serve as a kind of hybrid antagonistic force and pseudo-allies for Starflight during his stay on the Nightwing Isle. During that time, they are very abrasive, stand-offish, uncooperative, and a bit annoying, and I guess that doesn't make them come off very well. But like, in spite of that or maybe partially because of it, I am really fond of these guys, and I'd like to take some time talking them up to you.

One can examine how these guys act and conclude that they are a bunch of dysfunctional screw-ups. And they absolutely are that, don't get me wrong. But one should keep in mind: the majority of the time they are in the spotlight, they are in an extreme, tense, and frighteningly uncertain situation. It's easy to forget how stressful these situations are because the books as a whole really like to gloss over the more frightening kind of subjects on account of being written for young readers. You can't really go deep into themes of abuse, trauma, and depression in a story like that without tripping over some kind of censor on the way, but the implications are there, between the lines for you to find.

Understanding the group

Who are the false dragonets of destiny? They are posited as a mirror image of the true dragonets of destiny, who have all been extensively schooled in matters of education and martial prowess. The first thing we see THIS group do on page is brawl, so one may think they must be trained and capable fighters. Viper and Flame constantly throw around death threats and aggressive quips, so one may think they are hyper-violent and dangerous. They are neither. Nautilus admits the Talons haven't bothered training them at all, they haven't seen real combat, they've likely been deliberately kept away from the war as a whole. Flame doesn't even know how to use his fire breath correctly. Starflight, who is by far the least physically adept of the arc 1 protagonists, is able to outpace them even as four of them team up against him.

They are neither killers nor a crack team of badasses, rather they are a bunch of play-fighting, posing delinquents who talk a big game with little in terms of actual skill to back it up. Realizing this is key to understanding just how out of their depth and ill-equipped they are to handle anything that gets thrown at them on the Nightwing homeland, especially past the negotiations at the Skywing outpost.

Abduction and imprisonment

When Starflight first finds them, they have been on the Nightwing Isle for a good while, and they are suitably bristly because of it.

Look at this situation from their perspective. These guys have known nothing other than their semi-peaceful life in the Talon camp. Then the leader of that camp, Nautilus--a figure they all know and trust, essentially sells them to a frightening stranger, who looms over them and is so physically large he could crush each of them easily. This stranger pulls them away from their home without even giving them a chance to say goodbye to their relatives (I'm convinced Avalanche would not have let Morrowseer take her son if there was a chance to intervene, so Flame must have already been gone when she found out).

A contingent of Nightwing awaits them, blindfolds them so they don't know where the entrance to the Nightwing home is. They pass through a kind of eldritch tunnel that pulls at their souls. When they are finally allowed to see again, they find themselves trapped on an island where there is no sunlight and every breath hurts as the air is thick with ash.

The Nightwings won't let them leave, in fact they don't know if they will ever be able to leave again. Nobody tells them what's going on, what they are meant to do, or what the plan is. They are left confined in some room with nothing to do, and they (sans Fatespeaker) can't go outside without being arrested. Food is brought very infrequently, and usually inedible, so they haven't eaten since they were forced to leave home. They don't know where they are, nor where their parents are, nor if their parents know where THEY are. They are completely cut off from anywhere, isolated, trapped in this little slice of hell with no means to escape and little hope to acquire any soon.

I think if I was in a situation like that, I would be pretty cranky too. More than that, I would be scared out of my wits, and I believe that they are as well. If you look at their actions through a lens of them being frightened, their irritating quirks suddenly become very relatable. Viper is coping by throwing out threats and making herself seem bigger and scarier than the thing trapping her. Flame makes offensive jokes about killing Fatespeaker because making light of the situation helps him keep his wits together. Ochre is hard to read, but I think he's just tuning everything out. Squid is convinced that his father--who is the most important and smart dragon in all of Pyrrhia--has made the correct choice and knows what's best for all of them. And Fatespeaker is in complete denial, choosing to trust an inaccurate vision of the future while ignoring all the red flags that don't fit into it.

I think it's interesting that you can read this as all of them having a different strategy to cope with the uncertain and frightening situation they're trapped in. That's part of why I like them; they're very flawed and make interesting decisions.

Trauma and Empathy

You can look at someone like Squid and see his surface traits: He is annoying, he whines and complains constantly, he brags about who his father is, and he seems completely incapable of doing anything useful. If this guy was in any other story, I would probably dislike him. But Squid has the benefit of being a whiny dweeb in a situation where it is very appropriate to whine and be scared. He has a scene where he makes a somewhat goofy speech at Morrowseer where he calls him stupid and wants to go home, and is subsequently exiled. It's a bit silly in execution, but for me it did succeed in making me feel bad for Squid as he desperately and pathetically pleads for Morrowseer not to send him to his death.

But then you can read beyond the lines a little and view the scene in the full context that isn't really dwelt on. Here, you've got Squid, who is inept even among his peers, sheltered and doted on by his father, whom he has never been away from for any real amount of time until now. This guy, who probably can't even feed himself (otherwise he might have been able to catch fish in the waters around the island), keeps telling himself that his father has a plan, that all of this, even the questionable stuff, is happening for a reason. He hasn't eaten in weeks and he's been the punching bag for everyone else's frustrations (because Fatespeaker is not around enough, hanging out with Starflight). Now he has been chased halfway across the world, forced to cross the ocean while tired and starving, to be told he has to talk to a bunch of violent strangers who hate his kind and want to kill him. He tries to hide but is grabbed by the throat and held in the air by a soldier twice his size. This is likely the first time his life has ever been threatened that directly and with genuine intent.

The strange new Nightwing who was sent with them somehow manages to deescalate the situation enough to save him, but then, without warning, more dragons burst into the room. Suddenly everything is on fire, including the soldiers who just a moment ago threatened him. He is close enough to them to watch their forms twist and writhe in agony as they slowly burn to death.

As he is made to watch this horrifying spectacle, all the feelings he repressed by reminding himself of the faith he has in his father come flooding back in at once. It becomes too much for him to bear, and he breaks. He starts crying and verbally lashes out at their abuser for the horrid conditions they have been placed in and demands--half asserting and half pleading--to be allowed to go home. This isn't really whining anymore, this is a full-scale mental breakdown, rendered to be simple and digestible to a young audience. Imagine how harrowing this scene could have been if it wasn't filtered through a child-friendly narrative.

Closing thoughts

There is a scene some time after that I found kind of poignant. At one point, Starflight looks out and he sees Flame just standing out there, silently staring into the distance. There's maybe one line dedicated to it, and when you read the book normally, you don't really dwell on it since it's so nondescript. But this scene happens shortly after the visit to the remote outpost. The soldiers that burned to death in there were all Skywings. Skywings like himself, and like his mother, who also was a soldier before she joined the Talons. Whenever I picture him standing there, I imagine he is reliving that moment, hearing the dying screams of his kinsmen. I think he will be hearing them forever.

So in conclusion: The reason why I like the alternate dragonets so much is because of the enormous, untapped potential they possess as characters, and how deep some of them run if you take some time to look at them. I feel like all of them have a story to tell, and it's a bit of a shame that Sutherland likely won't come around to telling any of them. If I had infinite time, money, and energy, I would love to make many more comics about them, as they are an interesting lot.

Especially Flame's story I feel is such a heartbreaking tragedy, and thinking about the way it ended saddens me. He's one of my six all-time favorite characters in the series, I wish he could have gone out in a happier, healthier way.

[neo--queen--serenity]

The Black Butler revival will, of course, in this day and age, be the complete embodiment of pro-ship vs. anti-ship discourse, given the subject matter.

But for those of you who are watching this for the first time in 2024 (which includes myself!), there are certain things about the show you simply must understand, for the sake of media literacy.

The first is that Black Butler is supernatural gothic romanticism at its core. This genre alone should tell you that the relationships integral to the plot will be complex, messy, and toxic, by default. That is not only a huge part of this genre’s appeal, but very much the point of the story.

The themes are dark, the terrible things that happen to the main characters are dark, and therefore the relationships at the forefront (and in the background) will reflect that.

The gothic genre has been alluringly popular for over a century (longer, if you know your history) because audiences are entranced by the macabre, the tainted antiheroes, the monsters who live inside us all. It’s popular for a reason.

That being said, understand that whether you, the viewer, ship Sebastian and Ciel or not is irrelevant. Their bond doesn’t need to be understood as romantic or sexual, but it sure as hell isn’t normal. It isn’t healthy. And the audience knows that. That’s the draw. It’s what makes them compelling to watch.

Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship mirrors many gothic novels, poems, and penny dreadfuls written in the Victorian Era (the very same time period in which Kuroshitsuji takes place). The Victorian folks who read these tales for the first time ate that shit up, because it was tantalizing. It was shocking. It was inappropriate, and monstrous, and violent, and erotic, and went against societal norms. But that was the point.

A huge part of gothic romanticism is the blatant sexualization of the relationship between the “monstrous” characters and their human counterparts in the story. Sex itself doesn’t need to take place for their bond to be sexually charged. The forbidden nature of their relationship—which typically involves layers of social taboos, moral ambiguity, or simple infatuation—is what makes their interactions erotic. Sexual contact rarely ever actually happens in these stories. It’s the taboo nature of their bond that creates the tension.

One of the many reasons audiences love this genre is the constant question of morality in its themes. Who, between them, is the real monster? Could the human character have ever been saved? This genre is often associated with tragedy, because the bond forged between the characters in these stories are destined to end in death and destruction. The reader knows it can’t end any other way. How can it?

But an integral element of these gothic tales is the catharsis that comes with this tragedy. The corrupted human often gets what they want in the end, even if it’s at the cost of their own life. Whether they regret their choice to foster this monstrous relationship varies on the story, but it doesn’t change the trajectory of their descent.

Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship is the whole plot of Black Butler. Their closeness bears a grotesque ick factor, but it is deliberate. It is a constant reminder of how unnatrual their bond truly is. Rationalizing or watering down how abnormal they are about each other misses the point entirely. They will never have a normal, healthy relationship, and that’s what moves the plot forward.

That’s why you’re watching it.

[velvetesrs]

Duty and Sacrifice | Hotd

Pairing | Aemond x Reader/Y/N

Warnings | Mentions of incest between siblings. 

Word count | 3032

Authors note | I haven’t written in a while and it shows but I’ve been working on this while I was in the bathroom and this might be a one shot or a short series leading into the murder of Lucerys.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Aemond would never admit it to you directly but he was fond of the way your hair was reminiscent of your mother.

The glossy red, like a promise of an unforgettable autumn, the smell of lilac blooms and gooseberry wine, trailed behind you as you came to sit next to your mother. you didn't look like the traditional Targaryen.

Despite Helaena being your twin you looked almost nothing like her, where as she was thin, gentle blue eyes and icy white hair. You were fire, bright red hair, full breast, your dark violet eyes being all that made the common folk shy away from naming you a bastard.

You had grown into your womanly figure early, your large bust that was extenuated by your tight stomach from years of training made all noble twats talk of you senselessly which made him ill at the thought of it.

Somehow you looked like the perfect mix of your eldest sister Rhaenyra and Your Queen mother, Alicent.

He loved playing with your curls, thoughts of how they'd look wrapped around his hand as he made you cum ferociously on his cock ran rapidly through his mind.

But there was an innocent light to it as well, Aemond loved his mother, and you mirrored her perfectly. no matter how unkind and stiff she was to you all. You were the opposite, you may have stolen her likeness in appearance but you were kind, gentle and loving, all the things she wasn't.

Having a motherly role to your idiotic drunk of a brother and your sweet twin sister.

Aemond also enjoyed having someone look after him, without the same judgement and expectations the Queen had for him.

He loved the way your hands felt on his face, while you sobbed cleaning his blood away, the fire in your eyes as you stood to defend him, covered in his blood.

Aemond never could grasp how you could love them all so much, even Rhaenyra and her bastard children, you'd stand before anyone and swear on the Gods that they were legitimate just because you knew what being Queen meant to her.

"Come Aemond, I must clean your bandages" you whispered amongst the crowd not to draw attention to his injury. It had been many moons since it happened but unfortunately being struck in the face during training cause the gash to bleed once more.

He stood unaffected by your words. still shy to show it in fear you may think him a monster like the other ladies of the court.

"They will be even more frightened by you if you are to bleed out in front of them, Brother" your soft scent floated through the air like a fragrant flower as your hand brushed against his, "Come" you urged noticing everyone's attention on the king as his health steadily declined.

It seemed the whole court was on edge that day, all attention on them as if Viserys was to die in moments and they'd kill each other reaching for his crown.

The stress was beginning to eat you alive, and the last thing you needed was Aemond to be in more agony knowing how badly it hurt your heart to him in pain.

You walked along side of him after excusing yourself from the commotion, not daring to grab your elder brother's hand until you were away from the crowd.

"Are you alright, my love?" Aemond hummed watching you audibly sigh gripping his hand tightly. "It is just the weigh of what is sure to happen soon" you mumbled.

You loved Viserys very much, he had never paid much attention to you in comparison to Rhaenyra. However you'd helped him build his mini statues of king's landing as a child and that moment cemented a love for your father that even his lack of care for you didn't sully.

"He will die soon" you stated walking into Aemond's chambers, his scent was more pungent now in his room.

He smelt like trees after it rained, clean and crisp with a hint of the strong Pine trees that sat outside of the sept he was frequenting lately. It was comforting and relaxing to be so fully immersed in what seemed like the essence of your big brother.

Your hands made quick work unlatching his eye patch as you settled in front of him, "does it truly trouble you this much sister? The thought of him dying?" Aemond questioned darting his good eye away from your face. He couldn't bare the idea that you'd look at him with disgust even though you were often the only one he'd allow change his bandages.

You quickly wiped away the blood leaking from his wound, applying a salve you made to keep away the infection, "your sapphire is irritating it again" you said softly ignoring his question, your plump lips almost touching his nose as you got closer to see it.

He pushed you away gently, pulling his eye patch back on with a hiss, "it is fine as it is, if Aegon had been mindful of his sword this wouldn't of happened"

You sighed watching him put away your things you kept in his chambers for times like this, "it 'twas an accident" you mumbled looking down.

"You baby him far too much" he groaned in almost annoyance before he caught the look in your eyes, "he isn't as innocent as you believe Sister"

You had been angry at Aegon for harming your brother but when he gave you the puppy dog eyes you couldn't help but defend him.

Still you felt bad that you had forgiven Aegon so quickly thinking that Aemond would be mad at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to be unkind to him.

"It is fine Y/n it will heal just as long as I have you to care for me" Aemond said walking up to you, he pulled you into a hug, letting your scent mix with his in a deliciously sensual way.

You blushed pulling away from him, "Always brother" you cleared your throat, "we must go back"

He nodded disliking how quickly you put distance between the two of you, he gripped your hand, "let us return then"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Aemond knew something was wrong with you, you didn't seem ill nor did your smile fade from your beautiful face but still something was off, he noticed at first at dinner, when you excused yourself early. Something you rarely did if not on your moons blood which he had written down so he could help you track so he knew for a fact it wasn't that.

If he hadn't been watching you so closely he wouldn't have noticed you putting your food into napkins underneath your Gown pocket as if saving it away for some reason.

The most unusual part of your sudden illness at dinner was you rushed to your chambers with your handmaiden. You liked to prepare for bed alone.

He knew it was wrong to follow you but when he knocked on your chamber door it creeped open slightly as if not to show too much.

You face was flushed as you glanced up at him, "Yes, Brother?" You questioned with a soft smile pretending to droop your eyes to mimic exhaustion.

Your hair was wet, a sprig of lavender behind your ear, something else unusual, "Nothing, just making sure you are well" he replied narrowing his eye in suspicion.

You nodded, "Very well, I'm off to bed Sweet dreams" you rushed to say as you shut the door in his face.

He stood there shocked for a moment before turning away, you were up to something and even though he knew it was wrong to doubt you he couldn't help it.

Your footsteps were nearly silent as you snuck from your chamber, a hood resting over your head and a dark shift covering your commoners clothes.

Aemond stood just far enough in the shadows to follow you as you went to flea bottom.

He watched as your Princess like presence turned into one much like the other people in walking at night. You had been here before he noted, you knew exactly how to cover your tracks and how to hide your true identity.

If he was any other it would've been easy to lose you amid the crowds of people covered by the moonlight but your glossy hair peaking through the hood was a dead giveaway.

You stopped at a door, knocking twice. He watched as a woman emerged wrapping you tightly in an embrace, she smiled at you with tears in her eyes and her hands shook as you gave her a bag he hadn't noticed you had.

"This will be enough to live comfortably in Pentos" you said quietly, brushing a hand through the woman's tangled dark hair, "you will have your own home and never want for anything"

The woman let out a sob, covering her mouth, "Thank you My Princess, I-i am forever in your debt I cannot repay you" she pulled you into another hug.

You didn't seem disgusted by the obvious dirt on the woman's clothing, nor the stench of the streets.

"I have one request" you said with a grin "may I see him once more please" Aemond watched as she nodded hurriedly rushing back into her shack.

Much to his surprise, in her arms was a baby. it's hair white as his own, small fat fingers reaching up to touch your face and you held it with such care as she passed it into your arms it made his heartbeat rapidly.

"Tell him that his Father was a brave knight that died at battle, he was a good man but he couldn't stay to care for the two of you" you told the woman glancing down at the baby with love in your eyes, "and that his Aunt loved him so much that she could hardly bare it"

You had tears in your eyes as you handed the woman back her child, "there will be a man here shortly named Erick to safely bring the two of you to a boat, after that it shall be smooth sailing" you pulled something else from your bag on your hip.

"Enough food for tonight but I made sure the boat is ready for you with accommodations" you nodded stepping away, "I hope you have a good life Ellesa, you're a good woman"

She smiled at you watching as you kissed the boy on his head, "Farewell My Queen" she whispered. You laughed pushing her arm playfully, "Farewell my friend"

As she walked back into the small hut that he assumed was her home. You turned around and caught his eye, "Brother" you said slowly approaching him.

"It is Aegon's" he stated obviously referring to the child. You nodded, falling into step with him, "Yes"

You held your hand out awaiting his as you always did when you walked alongside him, "Not the first she had by him either, the others died due to illness she couldn't afford to heal" you had no reason to keep the truth from him and knowing you could always trust him you didn't wish to.

"She was his favorite whore, he introduced us once and I took a liking to her as well just not in the same manner" you murmured pausing your steps as Aemond stopped to stare at you, "he took you to the Street of Silk?" he all but growled in anger at their older sibling.

You laughed, rubbing a finger on his furrowed brow, "No, he'd brought her to me" he sighed calming down a bit, "you've bedded her?" He asked in quiet surprise.

"No" you shook your head, "she was simply a friend i had grown close to, but if mother were to find out about her she'd have her killed, the babe as well" 

"mother wouldn't do that" Aemond disagreed, as cruel as she could be he couldn't imagine her doing such a thing. "she'd never harm an innocent woman and her child"

You snorted as the two of you continued your walk back to the red keep, "you'd be surprised what our mother would do to protect our family's name"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had a difficult relationship with your mother, you loved her like no other but you saw the looks she gave you, the tone she used when she addressed you.

Your mother didn't like you very much, she loved you, of course as she did all of her children. But she couldn't bring herself to like them not when her life had to end to bring all of yours to fruition.

The Queen didn't blame you but she could never shake the feeling as she looked at your face so similar to hers in her youth.. so similar to Rhaenyra's.

You heard her before you saw her as you turned the corner in search of Aegon, "You are no son of mine" the words so harsh it made your heart sear with sadness.

"I am sorry" Aegon whispered out, "I am sorry I am not perfect like you" there was a stillness in the air before the sound of a slap.

You quickly walked into the room to see Aegon on the ground, his cheek bright red, tears in his eyes and your Queen mother standing above him.

"Mother" you called for her hesitantly, "I believe Grandfather was looking for you, The septa mentioned it to me" you mumbled as she turned to you.

Her eyes closed and she shook her head, "very well" she cleared her throat looking down at Aegon once more, "Excuse me Sweetling" she said as she walked past you.

You rushed to Aegon's side helping him sit up but he stumbled falling onto your lap, the stench ale heavy on his tongue, "Why" he whispered laying his head down on your lap, "why does she hate me" he asked you.

Sighing you brushed the hair from his face, "Mother is troubled much like us Aegon, Do not doubt her love"

He laughed drunkenly, "She is cruel, just like father they hate us" you felt your heart drop not knowing what to say, you couldn't argue you felt the same as he did.

"Why couldn’t she marry us" he mumbled suddenly into your gown, "I told her it was you I preferred, did you know?" He questioned and your heart sank.

You didn't want to marry Aegon, not because it disgusted you, but because you knew the type of man he was, A wanton man with selfish needs and he could never put aside his childlike behavior not even for your twin, His wife.

“No I did not brother” you whispered, your hand brushing the curls back, “she knew it would hurt me if you weren’t mine” he bitterly slurred out.

Silently you thanked your mother for not approving the proposal, You’d always be there for Aegon but you could never stomach his ways.

"She hates you the most" he lazily laughed looked up at you, "you look so much like her she can't bare the sight of your face"

You already knew that. Rhaenyra was actually the one who’d explained it to you in your youth, she’d found you crying underneath a table after tea with your mother, she had insulted your embroidery you’d made for your father and Rhaenyra wiped away your tears.

You were never enough to Alicent, you indulged your self in your studies, you sought out religion just to gain praise that never came, you were the prettiest girl in court yet she always had criticisms about your appearance or your poise.

You watched as his glassy eyes closed and he fell asleep but you continued running your hand through his greasy hair, his words heavy on your mind.

"What did he do now" you heard Aemond say as he leaned against the wall near you, "mother seemed upset"

You were quiet, "she hit him again, told him he wasn't her son" you murmured.

The soft snores filled the gap in the absence of conversation, "how can you love him" Aemond broke the silence watching you closely. "He is terrible, you've seen it firsthand cleaning away his messes, he doesn't deserve it"

You paused your movements, "because if i do not who will? Hel cannot comprehend most emotions, Father hates us, you cannot stand him.” You swallowed taking a shaky breath, “He is right, Mother hates me as well but i am strong unlike him, Aegon is weak he cannot handle the pressure placed on his head.

Aemond came to sit next to you, "she intends to send me away" you stated looking up at him, "to the grand sept the learn the ways of septas"

He nodded watching your face closely, "how do you know this?" You giggled shaking your head, "you learn quite a bit with kindness Brother"

"You do not wish for that?" He asked grabbing your smaller hand, it always fit with his like the missing piece to a puzzle as if you were made for him. He swallowed at the thought of you moving far away from him where he couldn't protect you.

You sighed, "To live a life under false religion just to please the woman that wishes i didn't exist does not sound too appealing to me"

"I am a Targaryen i belong here with my family" you stated in Valyrian, "I am not a Hightower no matter how much I resemble them they will not force my dragon to rot in the Pits because I cannot bring him with me"

"You asked me before if I was truly upset by the idea of father dying but to be honest I am not, I'm more afraid of what mother will do after he's gone" you whispered.

Aemond gripped your hand tighter as the mother tongue came from your soft lips, the beautiful words sounding like a song.

"What if I propose an idea to mother" he hesitated to ask in fear of what you would think. You hummed in confusion, "What is it?"

Aemond looked down at his brother laying his head in the lap he had decided was his, "I shall Marry you"