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celestie0 · 9 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

luxury & lingerie. a retail au

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.”

ᰔ pairing. retail au - rolex salesman gojo x victoria's secret associate reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo is the rolex watch shop's pretty boy & you're the victoria's secret lingerie store's new hire that works across from him. let's just say he's determined to get inside your pants.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, porn with plot (seriously that's all it is), smut, casual sex, possibly comedic, lots of terrible flirting, tiny bit of fluff if you squint, gojo's got a daddy kink that you really have no interest in entertaining, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, blowjobs, oral sex, praise kink, some degradation, sort of cum play, banter, suguru & choso are in it too (the hot-boy sales trio)

ᰔ word count. 6.5k

a/n. hellooo this started with this concept idea i had of hot retail worker gojo who just wants to flirt with you instead of actually do his job lmfao. this was seriously just a stream of my consciousness. hope you enjoy! and thanks to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this. creds to @quinnyundertow for the sephora lipstick idea.

The sound of Suguru’s voice was the last thing going through Gojo’s mind right now.

“Anyways, I put the car in reverse, she’s on aux. I’m thinking, she’s gotta have good taste, right? She’s the one that suggested the Maneskin concert in the first place. But you know what she starts playing? Country music. Fucking country music. And I’m not necessarily opposed to a good— dude, are you even listening?”

Choso leans over the polished display case of the mens’ latest Rolex models, staring at the two idiots in front of him. “No, he’s not. He’s been ogling the tits on that mannequin over there for the past five minutes.”

Gojo finally blinks out of his trance, irritated. “I’m not staring at the mannequin, I’m staring at—”

You. New hire. Over at the Victoria’s Secret that was across from his turf at the mall. You were standing on your tiptoes on a mini ladder, wobbling a little, reaching up for a mannequin at the display window to switch out the corny yellow sleeping mask on its face for one that was a more sleek, satin blue.

The fabric of your uniform slid up slightly, skin of your midriff exposed, and he has to suck a breath in through his teeth.

“I called dibs on that a week ago,” Suguru says from where he stood, lazily leaning on the counter.

“No fucking way. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs? Really? I work with a bunch of prepubescents,” Choso groans, tipping his head back to stare up at fluorescent mall lighting.

Suguru’s voice sounds like he’s lax at the jaw. “Is anyone gonna tell her that’s the ladder they use to prop the door open, and not the one to flash Satoru’s horny ass while changing out a mannequin?”

“I’ll be the one to tell her,” Gojo says.

At the display window, you slowly peel the panties off of the mannequin without a thought in the world to use the store’s modesty curtain, and Gojo, Suguru & Choso are all staring. And probably every other man within the store’s radius.

“Holy fuck,” Gojo says, strained.

“Holy fuck, indeed,” Suguru marvels.

“She’s clueless,” Choso sighs.

“You can have the mannequin, I get the girl,” Suguru offers, something just to get under Gojo’s skin.

“Shut up. I’m going over there.” He stands up onto his feet from the leather client chair he had been sprawled across up until this point of his shift.

“Can’t wait for you to royally fuck this up,” Choso muses with a smirk, arms crossing at his chest.

Gojo grumbles something under his breath when he hears Suguru’s coo of agreement, and then he’s making his way across to the Victoria’s Secret entrance. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his black dress shirt, as if he expects the sight of the skin at his collarbone to have you seduced like a victorian man seeing a lady’s ankle for the first time.

He makes it through the welcoming glass doors that lead into the sultry & dark ambience that you would expect of a lingerie store, and he rounds to the right, stopping a few feet away from you.

You were combing through a rack now, lips pursed in concentration until he clears his throat.

Glancing over, your shoulders tense and you pull your retail headset earpiece down, leaving it hanging by the wire that was clipped to the neckline of your shirt. His eyes flicker to the nametag pinned above the curve of your breast. You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh, hi sir. How can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a customer,” Gojo quickly corrects you, although he liked the sound of sir from your lips, “I work over there.” He points with a jerk of his chin towards the obnoxiously gaudy exterior of the Rolex watch store facing the two of you.

You blink at him. “Ah, I see.”

“You new here?” Gojo asks, taking a step forward and resting his elbow up on the metal bar of the rack just to get more into your space. “Haven��t seen you around.”

The corner of your lip turns up slightly at his words. “Why? Do you keep a roster?”

“I—no, not really,” he responds, already a little speechless, “wait, a roster of what?” He’d say he does if it’s a roster of pretty girls he’s been fantasizing about tit-fucking all day long, with you being at the top—no, the only one—on that list.

You shrug a little. It’s kind of meek and cute. “Of new hires?”

He breathes in deep. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just like to make sure the newbies feel welcome around here. Y’know, taken care of.”

You smile, turn to face him and relax your posture. “Oh. That’s sweet. Yeah, I feel pretty welcome here, thanks.”

“That’s good.”

“I mean, everyone’s been really nice to me so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, and I really like the break room on this floor. The last place I worked at didn’t have a toaster oven.”

“No way.”

“I wish the clock-in machine was easier to use though…”

“For sure.”

You glance at him suspiciously in the middle of your rant. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Cause you’re real pretty, angel.”

Your brow raises, the keys hooked to the loop of your jeans jingling as you place a curled hand to your hip. “Angel? Really? Cause of— cause of Victoria’s Secret angels?”

Gojo’s stiff, his elbow still resting on the cool metal pole, and he glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. “Uhh…sure? Yes.”

“That’s not very original.”

“Man, you’re really making me work hard for this. Unfortunately, that only makes me want you more.” He leans down closer to you, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you’re amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round as you narrow your eyes at him.

“This is you working hard for it? You haven’t even told me your name yet, watch boy.”

He sees your fingers wrap around the cold metal bar of the rack, and he tries hard not to picture them wrapped around something else, but to no avail. You jut your hip out to bump him, pushing him out of your way, before you start rolling the rack down the store.

He trails behind you. “My name. It’s Satoru. But to you, I can be dadd-”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to face him with a scowl, but he was too distracted by the shape of your backside to be reflexive enough to stop himself in time, and he ends up crashing right into you. The momentum has you falling back with a gasp, tripping over the foot of the rack, and his arm flies around your waist to keep you upright, and then pressed up against him too just for good measure.

His face is just inches away from yours. “Shit. Sorry.”

Your arms are squished between his chest and yours, pinky tickling the skin at his collarbone, and the contact has him reeling. “I-It’s fine,” you say, lashes fluttering, “now let go of me, before I file a harassment complaint.”

He instantly retreats, releasing you, watching you stumble a bit before gaining your balance again. “God, no, please,” he sighs, “I really need this job.”

“You don’t act like it,” you mumble. You fix your hair in front of him and tuck the fabric of your shirt that came loose back into your jeans. He doesn’t have to touch your cheeks to know they feel hot, he can tell from the purse of your lips and the way you won’t make eye contact with him.

The voices of a couple women are heard from down the aisle, as well as the plastic clinking of hangers on racks as they peruse the sheer bralettes dangling in color-coded fashion. Gojo sees you struggling to pull the rack you were working with away to the side to let them through, and he comes up behind you, gripping the metal bar to do it for you. He catches the fragrance of your hair at the crown of your head, and he inhales slowly.

The women walk by, throwing a few curious glances at the two of you, and Gojo doesn’t move from where he’s holding onto the rack and has his arm pressed against yours, his only lifeline to find some reason to touch you right now.

You start pushing the rack forward again, and he continues to follow you, keeping a more respectful following distance this time. He’s distracted by the pair of crotchless panties hung over your shoulder. He picks them up by the string. “Who the fuck actually wears these?” he asks, dangling them in front of his face and turning them around in the air to inspect it.

Your eyes are set forward for your destination. “Middle-aged women that are desperate to seduce their husbands before those men ride the high of buying a $100k watch by fucking a twenty-something-year-old instead.” You snatch the pair from his hand. “I’m rooting for those women. The men at your Rolex store? Not so much.”

He’s on your heel until you round to a smaller section of the store, wheeling the rack over to a corner near the collection of lace panties sprinkled across cubbies under dim purple lighting. He glances over his shoulder and takes note that this area’s tucked away from the eyesights of the cash registers and storefront.

He hears you sigh, then say “Why are you following me?”

He meanders closer to you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Because…y’know, like I said, I wanna make the new hire feel settled in.”

“I literally feel so very unsettled by you right now,” you say to him with a wry expression as you start sorting through lace underwear, referencing some chart in your hand to get it right.

He walks up to you and peers over your shoulder at the illustration, and notices the way you stiffen a bit but also lean back into him. “Huh…so the cheeky panties go in the left top & bottom cubes. And they’re the ones with medium coverage and…” he squints his eyes at the chart, dim lighting doing him no favors, “and they have an alarming fit.”

You scoff through your nose. “It says alluring fit. Can you read?”

“I— shut up. Yes I can read.”

You twirl around to face him, a hint of an amused smile to your lips. His eyes widen a bit at the sight of it, until he registers it’s a cheeky one, like those panties.

“Watch boy is illiterate. Must be why you still work in retail.”

“Yes, keep being mean to me, new hire. It’s hot,” he groans, hands still in his pockets as he leans towards you. You don’t shy away, just keep on looking up at him in this little corner he has you in, a twinkle in your pupils now that he wasn’t seeing earlier.

He’s surprised when your finger hooks the fabric in between two of the buttons on his shirt. You play with the material, pinching it, but never tug on it. “What’s a grown ass man like yourself doing still working for commission at a mall?”

“Okay, ouch, a little too mean,” he backtracks, watching your tongue briefly swipe across your lip, “let’s be a bit nicer.”

Now you’re tugging on the fabric, hooked finger pulling him closer to you until his hands have to fly out of his pockets and his palms press against the wall, caging you into it. “Illiterate and can’t take a dig. Pick a struggle,” you say to him with a sweet look up.

He’s getting the sense that you’re into him too. He grabs hold of your waist, thumbs rubbing your torso over the fabric of your uniform just to get a feel. “Well,” he starts, bringing your hips forward to his, pressing the erection he was building against you, “this illiterate retail worker could fuck you real good if you’d just give him the chance.”

A small gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening and you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Fuck, he wants to kiss you. Wants to be the one biting your lip right now. Your hand grabs his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin left exposed by his rolled up sleeve. “It’s…It’s real well, watch boy. You’d fuck me real well.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll fuck you real well,” he tells you, as his head tips towards your cheek, lips brushing against it. It was just a tease, so he pulls away but still looks down at you in closeness. There’s voices around the corner, but he doesn’t really care.

“You’re awfully forward,” you breathe out, and he almost goes insane at the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he can’t help but jerk his hips forward a bit.

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” he grumbles, pulling the rack across behind him so he’s created a covered haven for the two of you against this wall, and then he kisses you.

There’s a yelp that he muffles from you as his lips move against yours, slow, because you're new to him and he wants to savor it. His hand finds the small of your back, spreads across it, pushing you to arch towards him, and his teeth catch your bottom lip when he feels your breasts press against him. You’re pliant, opening your mouth for him, and he takes up the offer to taste you. Soft & warm pressed up against him, a subtle sweetness on your tongue, and he only pulls away because you squeeze his shoulder hard.

You’re breathing fast, cheeks shy, a little cutely cross-eyed from his proximity when you look up at him. “I-…okay, I’m a little mad that you’re a good kisser.”

He hums, tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly and you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him close. “I’ll kiss you nice in a lot of other places too.”

It doesn’t really take much convincing after that.

“Oh…oh my god—,” you mewl, back against the mirror of one of this fine lingerie establishment’s fitting room stalls, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you raw with the aim to please.

“Shit, knew you’d be tight,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your jaw when you tip your head back in pleasure, throat loose with a moan, “pretty little new hire. Just had to break you in.”

“S-Satoru,” you moan through a breath, the sound of his name on your tongue having his cock twitch inside your walls, mixed with the pain of the grip you had on the hair at the back of his head.

He has your shirt bunched up along with your bra, tits exposed for him. His head dips to pull a nipple through his teeth as he feeds you with a few slow, deep thrusts, and his eye catches the earpiece of your headset, still clipped to your shirt, bouncing around with every one of his movements inside you. “Really hope that thing’s off,” he mumbles against your skin, “but if it excites you to have it on, I—fuck, I wouldn’t really mind either way.”

Your hand flies to his bicep when he runs his thumb over your clit, legs wrapping around him even tighter. “More. Need more,” you say, head in a haze, and he really could’ve cum inside you right then and there but he holds out to enjoy some more time buried in the warm pleasure of your cunt.

“If you want something from me,” he grunts between thrusts, “you’re gonna have to beg me for it, love.”

“Fuck me harder,” you cry, eyes shut closed, and he almost feels sorry for you.

“That’s a demand,” he informs, pinching the flesh of your ass and enjoying the way you clench around him from the action, “I told you to beg.”

“Please, oh my god, please—,” you start, moving your hips against his now, and he hears the lewd sound of your flesh slapping more fervently against the mirror. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Good girl. Pretty girl,” he praises you, thumb finding your clit again as a reward, “see what you get for being so nice to me now.”

He bucks his hips harder, your arms wrapping around his neck in desperation, chin resting at the top of his head as his lips fall to your neck, and he kisses, nibbles, sucks, anything to get that sweet taste in his mouth while he draws stars over your sensitive bud, eliciting broken whimpers from you over and over again.

“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asks, feeling his balls jump at just the thought of filling you up, his thighs feeling hot from the anticipation of you giving him the permission. “All that shit talk earlier about me being a dumb mall worker, but you’d still let me finish in you, right?” His hips stutter slightly, vision starting to blur, and he feels your walls flutter tightly too, “cause I bet it turns you on that you’re letting this dumb retail man fuck you senseless in a flimsy little fitting room right now, regardless.”

“Satoru, please,” you’re begging, the crack in your voice hoarse like you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Answer me,” he demands, retreating the thumb that was toying with your clit. He pulls one of your arms from where it was wrapped around his neck to pin your wrist to the mirror. “You want me to cum inside you or not?”

Your hips press so harshly against his that he hardly has any leeway to thrust anymore, and it makes him hiss in protest, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass to let up. “I want—mhh, I want you to cum inside me, please, please,” you plead, desperate, grinding your clit against the skin above his cock, above the place he was buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the sweet words processing in his head, and he loses all sense of control, motions eager and desperate, chasing after his high and his thumb is barely considerate enough to chase after yours too as it rubs relentlessly over your puffed up clit. You shiver against him, walls clenching around his cock impossibly tight, legs wrapping around his waist possibly even tighter, and he feels every nerve as you come undone around him. The gripping sensation your orgasm had on him has him faltering with harsh thrusts forward, and he holds your hips flush to his as the first spurt of his cum spills into you, followed by more with repetitive juts of his hips until he’s emptied himself entirely into you, and you’re just pumped full of him.

You swat at his chest, squirming as he leaks the last drop from the tip of his dick, and he can tell you’re overstimulated.

“Sorry,” he says through a short exhale, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and he slowly pulls out of you, cock falling limp over his thigh, and he holds you until you find footing on the ground, albeit a bit wobbly.

“Oh no,” you mewl, clenching your thighs together when you feel his cum starting to drip out, and he quickly bends down to hook your panties up back into place. You give him a pointed look.

“What? The easiest clean-up is not letting it out,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him so he gets to feel the plushness of your bare breasts against him and he kisses the top of your head. “You’re real good, new hire. Or whatever the fucking proper way to say it is.”

He can tell you’re rolling your eyes even though your face is buried in his chest.

“You’re a dumbass,” you say, sounding muffled.

—

Gojo spends about 90% of his shifts meandering across the shimmering tile floors of the mall to the Victoria’s Secret, and only spends about 10% of them actually being a watch salesman. His boss was starting to get real fuckin’ fed up with him, threatening to fire him yesterday for the two-hour lunch break he took because he was eating you out in a storage closet, but he really couldn’t be bothered to care. He was an addict, and he needed to get his fix. Not before annoying the shit out of you, though.

“Alright, daddy’s home. Let’s get to it. I’m on my lunch break,” he says, walking right up to you in the middle of your shift while you’re folding slip dresses onto a display table, his hand reaching for your waist but you retreat from him.

“For that, get the fuck away from me.”

He sighs. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all day long. Do you purposefully walk your gorgeous self across the front of the store that many times just to tease the hell out of me? I’m suffering.”

“I walk across the storefront because I’m doing my job,” you mumble to him.

“No, I swear, you do it to—”

“Sweets,” one of your coworkers calls out to you from the other end of the store, the one with a pink buzzcut that acts kinda scary. “Is that man bothering you?” she asks through a smack of her gum, “want me to call security?”

“Yes.”

“What—”

After a couple of minutes of vindicating himself to mall security that he is not a threat to public safety, which you watch in amusement with no help at all, he’s shortly back at your side in a different section of the store to annoy you.

“When are you gonna wear one of these for me?” he asks, holding up a pair of jaguar-print panties.

“Never,” you say to him, scanning the tags on the underwear in a box of new arrivals, “those are ugly.”

“Okay, how about these,” he says, pulling a pair out of the box. “They’re see-through. I like that.”

“No,” you say, snatching it out of his hand.

“Oh c’mon,” he groans, doing a quick glance over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear before taking a step forward, pulling you to him by a finger hooked through the belt hoop of your jeans. “I’ll buy them for you. Ring me up.”

You look up at him, hand placed on his chest but you weren’t pushing him away just yet. “Really? You’re gonna buy me panties from the store I literally work at? At least have the decency to shoplift them for me.”

He has a smile on his face when he leans down closer to you, both hands now playing with the loops of your jeans. “Ohhh you’re into criminals. Will you tackle me to the ground if I do?”

“Yes, to arrest you. Not to fuck you.”

“Why not both?”

“Satoru,” you chastise him when you hear footsteps around the corner, and now you’re pushing him away and clearing your throat before busying yourself with the box again as a few customers walk by. Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets, and then his eyes widen a bit when his knuckles hit something.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “I got you this.” He pulls out a small, shimmering black tube and holds it out to you with an up facing palm.

You lean forward to glance at it. “Is that…lipstick?”

“Yeah,” he says, “the lady outside Sephora was giving out samples.”

You cross your arms at your chest. “The lady outside Sephora was giving out free samples of lipstick to you?”

“Can you just take it already? My arm’s starting to hurt.”

You swipe it from him and inspect it. Popping the cap open, you twist the cheap plastic adjuster so that the tip of the wax peaks out. It was a deep shade of red. “Did she try to talk to you?”

“Uhh, yeah. Something about how this new formula is smudge-proof or something. Was hoping we could test that out.”

You roll your eyes. “She probably wanted to test that out. With you.”

“What, are you jealous?”

“Not really, no,” you say and hand the lipstick back to him. He looks at you puzzled. “Lipstick isn’t really for me, sorry.”

“I literally saw you wear some the other day. That’s what gave me the idea,” he says, “of turning my dick into the shade of your lipstick.”

“Could you be any louder?” you hiss at him, glancing at a coworker who could’ve potentially been in earshot.

He shrugs and pinches the tube of lipstick between two of his fingers, holding it up between the two of you. “You sure you don’t wanna?”

Turns out you were not too opposed to the idea, but he had to earn it by making you cum a couple times in the janitor’s closet at the end of the floor. He likes having to earn the sight of you on your knees, it turned him on way more than he had expected.

“My jaw is so fucking sore,” he complains, opening and closing his mouth a few times to stretch it out, then runs a hand across his jawline. “You were a lot less sensitive today. Took way longer.”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,” you say, pulling the buckle of his belt loose, sitting back down onto your heels to get more comfortable while you undress him.

“Bullshit. Should’ve used that insult maybe the first or second time I gave you head. It’s too late now, after the filthy things you’ve said to me in your desperation to cum.”

He watches you flutter your lashes a few times, fingers stopping their movements, and you shift a little from where you were seated on the ground. You were aroused, but still committed to the attitude. “I don’t have to do this for you, you know.”

He shudders a little. “Wait, you seriously don’t want to? You don’t have to.”

You sigh. “You were supposed to demand me to do it anyways. Would’ve been hot.” You pull his belt loose and your thumb and index finger pinch the button open with ease. “You don’t wanna fuck me, though?”

“Of course I want to fuck you, I will always want to fuck you. But the last time we got rowdy in here, I almost killed you when I knocked the shelf over.” A chill runs down his spine. “Not taking any more chances.”

You giggle a little at the memory while zipping down the front, then your fingers dig into the fabric of both his slacks and his boxers, pulling them down until he’s sprung free, fully thick and hard, courtesy of the cute sounds you were making earlier while his tongue was playing with your clit.

“Are you not gonna put the lipstick on?” he asks.

“No.” You grab a hold of him mid-way, giving an experimental tug, and raise from your seated position onto your knees.

“But—”

“I told you, lipstick isn’t my style,” you say, eyes flickering up to him when you kiss the tip. He sucks a breath in.

“Damn, okay. I was genuinely curious if it was smudge proof. The lady was really hyping it up,” he says and he sees your shoulders drop.

“Enough of the Sephora lady,” you mumble, pressing your lips against his tip again, but as less of a kiss.

There’s a sulk in your posture from where you look up at him on your knees. His heart does this weird thing where it aches a little, and he wants to get rid of the pout on your face with a few sweet words, but he settles for pushing the tip of his cock past your lips instead. Works all the same in the end. “Good girl,” he groans when you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his thigh as you let out a muffled moan.

“Fuck…” He pulls his hips back slightly, allowing you to adjust, but when you swallow and his tip feels the roll of those muscles, he’s pushing into your mouth again. “C-Can you take more?”

You try your best to give him a nod and you bob your head once, tongue swiping over the vein that was throbbing the proof of his need for you right now.

“I’ll finish fast, baby,” he tells you, voice husky, fingers combing through your hair gently, “just take it how I want it, and I promise I’ll be quick, okay?”

You nod again, thumb rubbing the skin near his groin in reassurance. You squirm a little and press your thighs together when he grips your hair tighter now, encouraging your head to bob up and down on him, and you do as he wants. Your cheeks hollow out, sucking on him, and he swears he’s already close to cumming.

“Yeah…fuck, yeah,” he grunts under his breath, “good. Just—just like that. You’re so good. Pretty girl,” he juts his hips forward to see if you can take it, and you do, “on her knees for me.”

Your throat vibrates with a moan, and he sees you squirm even more. You take him all the way in, to a place deeper than the back of your throat, so well without a gag but there’s a prickle of tears in your eyes, and he rubs your cheek softly while he feels the sweat collect at his temple. “Oh fuck, I’m— shit, baby. I’m close.”

You drag your lips across his length, retreating with a thorough hollow to your cheeks, and release him with a pop and your tongue stuck out connecting a string of your spit to his tip. Your hand immediately starts to rub him up and down as you look up, and the soft panting leaving your lips and fanning across his cock has him swallowing hard. “S-Sorry, needed a break.”

“That’s okay,” he says, swiping at some of the saliva pooled at the corner of your lip. “Take your time.”

You kiss his tip in acknowledgment, then take him in again, this time both hands working at the base as you bob up and down, more free with your moans and the sensation of them reverberating in the canal of your throat makes him grip your hair with both hands, desperate.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” he grunts, head tipping back and hitting the door. “Real close. Your mouth feels so good, you’re driving me insane.”

You suck on him, hard, taking him in to his favorite place that’s at the back of your throat, and when your hand reaches out to play with his balls, paired with the sensation of fast exhales through your nose onto the skin of his groin, his eyes close shut and strained and he’s jerking his hips forward to spill his cum down your throat. “Fuuuuck. Oh my god.” He exhales, watching you swallow over and over again as he pumps into your mouth, then he slowly pulls out when he feels that he’s done.

You sit back down on your heels, hands now neatly folded on your lap, looking up at him and his thumb prods at your bottom lip for you to open your mouth. You do as he wants, tongue hanging out in the process, and he sighs in satisfaction when he sees you’ve swallowed it all. “Beautiful, baby. Come here.”

With a hand wrapped around your arm, he gets you up on your feet and kisses you. You hold onto the fabric of his shirt for purchase, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. “Doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tightening your grip on his shirt, “I liked it. Liked it when you said I was good.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “More than good, angel. You’re perfect.”

—

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You look like you could use a break,” Gojo says to you in Victoria’s Secret on a random Saturday morning. He usually always works on Saturday, but he’s never seen you here on a Saturday before. Apparently you were picking up extra shifts since you were going on vacation next week, something about a wedding in Spain. But you’d worked six consecutive shifts in a row, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

“I don’t know…your store scares me,” you respond back to him. You were behind the register, and he was pretending to buy forty-two pairs of panties just to talk to you.

“It’s not scary. I just want to show you around,” he says, standing up straight from where he had been leaning over the counter.

You eventually give in, toying with your name badge as you make your way around the counter to him, eyeing the smile on his face before he leads you through the aisles and eventually across the mall to the Rolex watch store.

It wasn’t horribly busy for a weekend, but there were still a few clients around. Choso was helping out a regular, a man who has bought four $200k watches within the past two months, and Choso’s been biting his nails worried he’s going to have to play witness in a tax evasion court case should that client eventually get caught by the IRS for fraud one of these days.

Suguru comes around the corner the second he sees you walk through the polished glass doors, and Gojo’s already annoyed.

“Hey, it’s the new hire,” he greets you, stretching his hand out and you accept it in a shake. “I’m Suguru.”

“Not really new here anymore,” you say to him after introducing yourself, “been here for a couple months now.”

“Oh really? Time flies. Thanks for all the shows, by the way,” he jerks his head off to the Victoria’s Secret store, “I’ve enjoyed watching the 101 ways you can remove a bra on a mannequin. Might have to incorporate some of them into my personal life.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah right, like a woman would let you within a hundred feet of her bra.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow with a sleazy smirk on his face, before leaning closer to you. “Should we prove him wrong about that, darling?”

Gojo hates the way he sees you blink your lashes at him and blush, so he’s grabbing your hand and walking you across the store, away from Suguru. He circles you around to the back near one of the display counters. Ladies’ new Datejust models, pretty classy and feminine. He walks to behind the counter, with you staying on the other side, like you were a genuine sale.

“See anything you like?” he asks, resting his elbow on the glass and peering down through it.

You blink at him. “Uh…of Rolex watches?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm…” you press your index finger to your chin and glance at a few. “I like that one.” You point with that same finger and he follows the line with his eyes.

“Hm,” he says, using his key to unlock the case, then slides the opening to the side to gently pull the watch out. “Oystersteel and yellow gold, 18 karat. Wanna try it on?”

“Sure.”

He releases the safety clasp, pulling apart the band, and slides it through your hand down to your wrist, then fastens the clasp until he hears a click. You immediately raise your wrist up into the air, twisting it to assess, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes.

“How much is it?” you ask.

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-what?”

“Thirty-thousand.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. Get this thing off of me.”

He laughs and his hands find the clasp at your wrist, unfastening it and you’re trembling a bit as you shake it off before he catches it in his palm. “Not my fault you literally chose one of the most expensive watches we have in this section.”

“This is insane. How do people afford any of these?” you ask, feet wandering and now you’re clearly curious as you inspect the cases.

“We have more affordable watches available for lingerie store workers,” he tells you, clicking his tongue to get your attention and you turn around then follow him to the other end of the counter. He points at the glass. “These are all under three-thousand.”

“Oh…” you peer at them with interest, and he watches you. His eyes fall to your wrist.

“Here,” he says, sliding the display case door open, and pulls out another watch, “I think you’d look nice in this.”

He shows it to you for a second before releasing the clasp and holding onto your hand to slide the watch through it. After fastening it, he looks up at your expression, and his heart’s beating a bit faster. You turn your wrist in the air to marvel at the watch, and he thinks your eyes look stunning from the way the shimmer of the watch reflects off of them.

“Wow,” you say.

“I knew you’d look good in anything rose gold,” he says, both elbows on the counter as he watches you, “this one’s only a couple thousand.”

You’re still a little speechless as you look at it, right index finger tracing the dial. He wants to buy it for you. He could, it’s not much of an issue, he’d just have to kiss goodbye to that used gaming PC he’s been eyeing on craigslist for the past couple of months, but something in his gut tells him it’d be worth it. Something in the soft look in your eyes right now tells him it’d be worth it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“That it’s beautiful,” you say to him, swallowing and then extending your wrist out to him. “Sorry, wearing it for too long. Probably lost a few hundred bucks in value just from the two minutes it was on my wrist.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Your mouth gapes. “W-What?”

“I mean—if you actually like it. Then, I don’t mind,” he says, suddenly a bit flustered.

“Satoru. That’s insane. This is a two-thousand dollar watch.”

He shrugs. “I know, but it looks good on you. I can’t shoplift this one for you, though. But I’ll buy it if you actually want it. And if you lie and say you don’t like it, just to be nice, I’ll read right through it. So be honest.”

“I…” you start, “I really can’t accept that.”

His eyes are level with yours, and something about your persistence in your refusal just makes him want to buy it for you even more. But he’s not gonna push it anymore. He’ll just try to work towards a day where you’ll accept it from him. Where it won’t even be a question to want to decorate you in something as pretty as you are.

“Alright. Then give it back, it’s probably only worth a couple hundred now.”

a/n. hope you enjoyed!! this was fun to write. it was supposed to be longer but i cut it short so maybe part two lol?? i also wanna write versions for choso & suguru in this au lol maybe like a multi in one verse kinda thing haha i like the idea of a hot watch salesman trio. thank you for reading 💕

taglist: @ohsehuniiee @lost-resonance @whereflowerswenttodie @horisdope @therealestpussyeater @satorminniett @tobaccosunbxrst @alekssashka7 @ritsatoru @angrychinchillanoises @shleepyking @crimsonmarabou @mxlktae @bloopsstuff @slut-4-gojo @lil-cinn @wateronlyhaha @strawberiicreme @wintertoru @mo0nforme @whispersofbeskar @who-can-touch-my-boob @quinnyundertow @ramluvr @anthastudios @sabokunsmalia @ninjaturtletoes @rylierev @dvarlinggg @heyitsmirae @sleepyyammy @lofasofabread @lolthatsnice @tetsuski @bakuhoethotski @sureconfused

3K notes · View notes

httpsserene · 4 months ago

Note

can you do a smau if you want where the reader is a driver and makes music on the side (music like sza or Megan thee stallion and kaliii) and she makes a music video for area codes and all her other music and it has the drivers in it

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 (𝐟𝟏) - 𝐲𝐧. 𝟎

summary: you make hit songs when you’re not driving a formula one car. your fellow drivers love to feature in your music videos. content warning: driver!reader makes music. toxic internet culture. profanity. hateful comments. attempt at humor. fluffy. light angst ig. there's no specific face claim, just pretty black women! ex-haas driver, current aston martin driver!reader. reader is american. seb retires in 2021, fernando is on the grid just not with aston martin. nikita mazepin mention lol. lando norris and george russell get bullied (humor). light british slander. no plot just vibes. pairing: platonic f1 grid x fem!black!driver!reader genre: smau.

from serene: i have a disease and it's called "being unable to make a normal length smau." it's a sickness, idk if i'll ever be abl to fulfill a request without the plot running away from me. anyways, enjoy loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | table of contents ↻

yn ln signs multi-year contract with aston martin • espn f1 • 2021 post-season

ESPN F1 yn ln has signed a multi-year contract with Aston Martin! The American driver completes the team’s lineup with Lance Stroll. Even though she was an F4, F3, and GP3 Champion, and she won the F2 Championship on her first try with Prema; her F1 career began with unexpected opportunities and last-minute substitutions—becoming a reserve driver for Haas and filling in for Romain Grosjean after his accident in 2020, and then replacing Nikita Mazepin halfway through the 2021 F1 season—an official seat of her own in Formula One was a long time coming and well deserved. Congratulations to yn ln, the first Black woman to race in Formula One!

instagram • yn0 • 2022 pre-season

liked by astonmartinf1, lewishamilton, maxverstappen, sza, and 3,451,967 others

yn0: i have always believed that being an f1 driver would become my reality. it was a never a dream to me because i KNEW i was going to make it here. i’m incredibly thankful to haas for giving my first chance to race in the big league and i will miss all the incredible people who helped me grow and improve while i was there. however, i am extremely grateful and excited to have a seat of my own at aston martin in 2022 and onward. some critics have called me "conceited" to bet on myself, so i made a song just for them < 3

tagged astonmartinf1

view comments

yn0 on sundays, we wear green 💚

➥ user1 you're an inspiration to all women in motorsport, especially women of color 💚💚💚

➥ user2 praying that your aston is quicker than your haas! prove the haters wrong 😤

astonmartinf1: we'll bet on you every race! can't wait to play this in the garage 💚

haasf1team: take care of our songbird 🥲

➥ haasf1team: and keep the tea and honey STOCKED for her vocal cords

➥ user3: i’m gonna cry :(

user4: yeah who paid for her seat? no way she got it off skill. she's never been above p12. f1 has changed for the worse now that a woman's out there. she's a hazard.

➥ user5: incel mindset 😒

➥ user6: bro she was in a haas. reaching p12 in that car is enough of an achievement. better than mazepin ever did, even with his daddy's money 🤷‍♂️

lewishamilton: LFG 💪🏽💪🏽💪🏽 can't wait to see you in the paddock

➥ yn0: lfgggggg 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

➥ yn0: i wouldn't be racing at all if i didn't see you do it first :)

sebastianvettel: prove them all wrong and never apologize for it.

➥ yn0: i learned from the best 🥹 happy retirement, seb!

mickschumacher: "no reason to make friends, i'm cool"??? is that line about somebody else or should i be worried 🤨

➥ maxverstappen: yeah let us know 🙄 your seat on the jet can be revoked

➥ yn0: bros...we all know who it's really about

➥ user8: you can say it's about mazepin nobody will be mad at that 🤗🤗🤗

landonorris: wish it was papaya, but i can't wait to see you in green!

➥ yn0: you know what?i think I CAN wait

➥ yn0: i'm actually going to quit f1 rn i think 😐

➥ user9: lando stop, get some help

lancestroll: hi teammate!

➥ yn0: hi teammate!

➥ user6: oh,,, this is awkward

charlesleclerc: finally 🙌🏻 i thought you would never drop this song

➥ yn0: the music is more important than my f1 seat to you 🙂

➥ charlesleclerc: encore encore encore 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

georgerussell: i would be happy for you if i didn't know this meant you'll be bullying me every race weekend

➥ alexalbon: she smells your fear which makes you an easy target

➥ alexalbon: CONGRATSSS 🥳🥳🥳🥳

➥ yn0: 🤭

instagram • yn0 • 2022

liked by charlesleclerc, lewishamilton, megantheestallion, and 2,191,042 others

yn0: thee "cognac queen" learns how to celebrate their FIRST EVER f1 points in italy with their honorary prince 🇮🇹 im in my gacccc, i wanna danceeee, come get yo man, come getcho maaaannnnn 🍾🍾🍾

tagged charlesleclerc

view comments

user10: WOOOOOAH WHATS ABOUT TO PLAY 😳

➥ user11: she PUT IT ON HIM last night apparently 🫣

➥ user12: he calling her BACK TO BACK????

astonmartinf1: you only win first points once but you only have one liver. please show up to the paddock next week 🥴

➥ yn0: don't worry admin i'll be there bright and early!

➥ user13: drink responsibly kids alcohol poisoning is not fun

➥ user14: aston martin shouldn't stress. it sounds like charles took very good care of her 😏😏😏

user15: i feel like i shouldn't be allowed to watch that video (i'm 23)

➥ user16: they were having a tiiiiiiiiime out in italy 🫦

➥ user17: if she was all over me like she was on charles i would be asking about marriage. he's so much stronger than i am 🙂‍↔️

charlesleclerc: went courvoisier crazyyyy

➥ charlesleclerc: je suis très fière de toi (i'm very proud of you) ❤️

➥ yn0: thank you charlieee (for the mv too x) 😚

➥ user18: oh so she really got charles thinking that he's her man???

➥ user19: you were DOGGING it? i didn’t know charles had it in him 🐶🐶🐶

user20: ew this is gross. charles is in a happy relationship and we're all going to pretend like yn isn't a homewrecker???

➥ user21: i was waiting to see this comment! this is like proof she used her body to get on the grid 👀

mickschumacher: no way you put charles in a video before me...i thought we were locked in 😞

➥ yn0: mick be so for real. you hate cognac :(

➥ user22: mick said we suffered through haas together and you already forgot about me

landonorris: are you looking for a cognac king?

➥ alexalbon: boys point and laugh 🫵🏼🤣

➥ charlesleclerc: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ maxverstappen: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ georgerussell: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ mickschumacher: 🫵🏻🤣🤣🤣💀

➥ user23: 🫵🏾🤣

lewishamilton: xnda feature when you make it on the podium

➥ yn0: i'll be up there next week.

➥ user24: bring back xnda girl !!! for all of us 🙇🏽‍♀️

instagram • yn0 • 2022

liked by alexalbon, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen, sza, and 4,233,761 others

yn0: my girl is my girl, is your girl, heard that's his girl too...he's like 9 to 5, i'm "the weekend"

tagged alexalbon, lilymhe

view comments

astonmartinf1: highest race finish of your career can you drop a fire song to celebrate 🥵

➥ lancestroll: team karaoke when????

➥ yn0: make it happen and i will show out for y'all 💯

user25: this video was funny af! my favorite song from you so far 😁

➥ user26: yessss i was not expecting her to flip the song in the video like that 🤌🏻💋

➥ user27: the premise of her and alex fighting over lily was perfect 👌🏽

lilymhe: make me lose my mind every weekend 😮‍💨

➥ alexalbon: you take wednesday thurday 🧎🏼‍♂️‍➡️

➥ yn0: then just send her my wayyyyy 🤤

➥ user28: think i got it covered for the weekend 🎤🎶

landonorris: i'm available any day of the week with no other commitments blocking my schedule ☺️

➥ georgerussell: mate this is embarrasing

➥ mickschumacer: lando no wins & no rizz what a shame 😒

➥ user29: MICK CHILLLLL ⁉️⁉️

➥ user30: whatdidhedo to deserve that calm downnnn

➥ charlesleclerc: lando please just listen to the song like everybody else this is painful to see 😣

maxverstappen: you laced this song with something addictive

➥ schecoperez: i hear it on repeat through the wall he is not lying

➥ user31: yn ln gives you wings 🤪

user32: just because lily was in the video and yn made the focus of the song about her doesn't mean that the orginal song is okay? it's not like she stopped singing about being a side chick.

➥ user33: no, it literally IS okay. because lily and alex both said they made the song with her and were happy to be in the video 🙂

➥ user34: i don't know, lily agreeing to the video makes me dislike her

➥ user35: yeah this song was a miss not a good message at all

instagram • danica patrick • 2022

liked by 10,764 others

danicapatrick: “This past weekend the Aston Martin F1 crew celebrated yn’s P5 finish track side and, honestly, that was unnecessary. It’s not like she managed to reach the podium and personally, I feel like she doesn’t take F1 seriously. I mean, it seems like she spends more time making explicit songs than she does preparing for a race weekend. Her little songs are a distraction to the men on the grid and she appears as a promiscuous, immature, and unfocused girl. She’s not the formula one standard, in my opinion.”

I discuss yn ln’s career in the new episode of my podcast, Pretty Intense! Click the link in my bio to hear it all!

tagged prettyintensebydanica

view comments

user36: ms. patrick are you familiar with the idea of having a hobby 🤔

nicorosberg: how are you qualified to be an expert on sky sports?

user37: woman who's never raced in f1 gives her unsolicited opinion on the only black woman to race in f1 😂

user38: danica this screams jealousy girl

user39: nothing is worse than hearing a fellow girl hate like a man smh

user40: "her little songs" disrespectful as hell don't forget one of them charted on billboard's top 10 😤

user41: SHE GOT P5 IN AN ASTON MARTIN how is that not taking f1 seriously????

user42: if her songs were a distraction to the men on the grid aren't they the ones who should be described as unfocused🤫

➥ user42: anyways, yn would be doing us a favor. maybe max wouldn't win as many races if that were the case

instagram • yn0 • 2022 post-season

liked by dominicfike, keithpowers, tchalamet, summerwalker, and 7,988,531 others

yn0: "girls need love," too.

view comments

user43: OH MY GOD the drought is over 😭😭😭

➥ user44: i thought we'd never get another song after the hate she was getting for it 😫

michaelbjordan: are you interested in a private studio session?

➥ landonorris: she don't want u lil bro 🤣

➥ user45: yn's pulling with three photo's and a song,,,teach me your ways

astonmartinf1: the spine tattoo 😍 good choice to get it during the off-season 💚

➥ user46: i misjudged you aston... i thought y'all told her to stop making music glad to see the support is still there :)

mickschumacher: let’s go get some gelato?

➥ yn0: as long as you don’t snitch to my trainer 😚

➥ mickschumacher: i’ll pick you up 😇

➥ landonorris: imma bout to crash TF out ong 💢💢

patriciooward: there's a spot on my side of the garage whenever you want to watch an indycar race

➥ landonorris: oh wow is this really what we're doing pato 😐

➥ user47: the tension in this comment section scares me

jjetas2: if you're near minnesota one day fall through

➥ landonorris: win a superbowl first 🥱😴

➥ user48: LANDO you haven't won a race or a championship either 😭

judebellingham: have you gotten any better at football since the last time we spoke?

➥ landonorris: knew i supported man united for a reason 😒

lore_musetti: call me if you want a real italian to give you a tour of italy x

➥ landonorris: didn't know an italian could disrespect charles like that honestly 🤨

➥ user49: 💀💀💀

instagram • yn0 • 2023

liked by georgerussell, mickschumacher, megantheestallion, and 4,178,063 others

yn0: japanese nightlife captured in my new music video “mamushi” !!! thank uuu yuki-san for being my tour guide 💋💋💋💋💋💋

tagged yukitsunoda

view comments

georgerussell: i quite enjoy this song 😌

➥ alexalbon: bro what

➥ yn0: tEa aND cRuMPets SConEs AnD biScUIts 💂🇬🇧

charlesleclerc: triple platinum in my house rn ⭐️⭐️⭐️

➥ alexandrasaintmleux: i'm responsible for at least a million views on my own 🥱

➥ yn0: 💚💚💚💚💚

user50: at least we know that yn and yuki can qualify for formula drift if they ever lose their f1 seat

➥ user51: 95% of the driving they were doing in that video looked illegal (but fun asl i'm not a buzzkill)

➥ user52: she's a bad influence on yuki 🙄

➥ user53: i don't think you're familiar with yuki tsunoda at all @/user52

maxverstappen: yeah the song is catchy; where's mine 🥱

➥ yn0: damn you're gonna win a third championship this year and you want a song too 😱

➥ yn0: just big and greedy fr 😒

➥ user54: big back attitude

➥ user55: like sheesh leave something for the rest of us 🤯

user50: gets p3 in suzuka driving an aston 🗿-> shrugs when asked how she did it 🗿 -> makes a banger mv in japan with yuki 🗿 -> refuses to elaborate 🗿

pierregasly: yuki explain your behavior in this video

➥ yukitsunoda: no 🤗

➥ user56: maybe he would've told you if you stayed at alphatauri

➥ user57: now you're in an alpine 🫵🏻😭

instagram • yn0 • 2023 post-season

liked by charlesleclerc, logansargeant, glorillathepimp, and 9,337,272 others

yn0: he don't "wanna be" saved don't save him 🤫

tagged maxverstappen

view comments

yn0: i don't need insurance cause a bitch CAN'T WRECK ME

➥ user58: no like she's never been in a crash her entire f1 career 🤓

➥ user59: she's untouchable srs

logansargeant: WHITE BOY WASTED CHANNING TATUM

➥ yn0: hoes love me like justin bieber 👅👅👅

user60: omg an old picture from yn's haas era when max's redbull wasn't a rocket ship 😩

➥ haasf1team: good times

➥ astonmartinf1: 💚💚💚

maxverstappen: you graduated from the max verstappen school of being unstoppable 😼

➥ charlesleclerc: austria 2022

➥ georgerussell: brazil 2022

➥ mickschumacher: my dad’s 7 championships

➥ alexalbon: i have nothing to add (literally)

➥ maxverstappen: out of the five of us we have three total world championships and they're all mine 😐

glorillathepimp: go yn 🥵

➥ yn0: get it glo 👅

➥ user61: i am no better than a man

➥ user62: i want this video tattooed on my eyelids

mickschumacher: i don't wanna be saved don't save me

➥ yn0: on gang 🤞🏾🔒🙅🏾‍♀️

kellypiquet: twenty missed calls...

➥ yn0: i would like to initiate a trade! i offer: max :) in return i receive: my twin p 🤲🏾

➥ kellypiquet: i will have a bag packed for her TONIGHT

➥ user63: kelly definitely won in that trade agreement! a childfree night??? sign me the fuck up ‼️

user64: i didn't think it was possible but this song is the worst thing she's ever made 😂

➥ user65: it's weird. max is in a committed relationship with a woman and has bonded with her kid. yn's getting involved with him when she shouldn't be 🤷‍♀️

➥ user66: girl she's been around since wayyyy before kelly as max's friend.

➥ user67: she forced max into friendship when they were karting back when he thought he couldn't have racing friends🥺

➥ user66: trauma bonded besties fr

sky sports f1 • 2024 testing

instagram • yn0 • 2024

liked by natalie_pinkham, danielricciardo, laybankz and 5,438,023 others

yn0: (my honest reaction when the internet can't stop talking shit about me) can't i make fun music videos without being called a homewrecker or a whore? sometimes "girls just wanna" f1 !

view comments

user68: no bc she makes hot girl music and y'all dont appreciate it 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

➥ user69: if you don't like her music you're not a baddie i don't make the rules 🙅🏻‍♀️

user70: did she just make the song of the summer 😱😵‍💫☠️

➥ user71: song of the YEAR !!! and people calling her a whore smh

landonorris: what if you make an mv with me and instead of being called a whore i call you my girlfriend?

➥ mickschumacher: corny. delete your account 🚮

➥ user72: i disagree with mick, he ate that up imo 👀

➥ user73: isn't he messing around with that model/actress though…

➥ user74: you mean m*gui lol

➥ yn0: who's that

➥ user74: lando's recent sneaky link or gf i thought

➥ yn0: oh

charlesleclerc: if i were to call you one thing it would not be homewrecker or whore ✊🏻

➥ charlesleclerc: it would be hit-maker because you DO NOT MISS 😩

➥ alexalbon: one could even call her the 🐐

➥ georgerussell: grammy caliber artist

➥ maxverstappen: they compare her to lebron and simone biles in discussion of being the greatest of all time 😌

➥ yn0: just yesterday y'all said i give slut energy (affectionately) 😕

➥ maxverstappen: many things can be true at the same time

➥ charlesleclerc: false ‼️ accusations

sabrinacarpenter: girls just wanna have fun 😋

➥ user75: OMG sabrina what are you doing here

➥ user76: what in the disney channel crossover episode is going on

imessage • yn -> lando

instagram • yn0 • 2024

liked by mclaren, mickschumacher, lewishamilton, laybankz, and 8,765,392 others

yn0: dropping the "tell ur girlfriend" video tonight as celebration for lando's first win (me next please!) i DO NOT codone cheating but the song is too hard for me to pretend like it's not a banger 🤪

tagged landonorris

view comments

landonorris: you look good in papaya 🧡🧡🧡

➥ astonmartinf1: it's a little too much for our tastes 🤢

➥ yn0: i look good in any color but i do happen to prefer green 💚

➥ user77: i think lando's on to smth w the orange tho 🤔

landonorris: that's my girlfriend !!!!

➥ yn0: NO I AM NOT ❌❌❌

➥ yn0: WE WERE ACTING IN THIS MUSIC VIDEO

➥ yn0: LANDO I WILL SUE YOU FOR DEFAMATION 🤬

➥ landonorris: i'll wait for you 😔

➥ mickschumacher: she's so uninterested in you mate 🙃

user78: he gets his first win and a yn ln music video i know he's on cloud nine 😭😭😭

➥ user79: lando how does it feel to be living my dream 😩

oscarpiastri: oh thank god maybe he'll stop talking about you nonstop now that he got a video 🙏🏻

➥ landonorris: bro delete this comment

➥ user80: i screenshotted it too late 🫡

user81: she doesn't condone cheating but makes a song promoting it anyways 😑

➥ user82: she doesn't condone cheating but messes with lando even though she knows he's taken by magui 😑

➥ user83: she doesn't condone cheating but makes a song about it because it sounds fucking fire 🫦👅🔥🔥🔥

alexalbon: great video too much lando for me 😪

➥ georgerussell: he really just ruined the vibe

➥ charlesleclerc: y'all just mad you haven't been in one of her videos yet 🙂‍↔️

➥ maxverstappen: i don't see how you can hate from outside of the club 🤷🏼‍♂️

➥ landonorris: you can't even get in 🫵🏻🤣

twitter • yn0

instagram • yn -> the day ones

instagram • yn0 • 2024 post-season

liked by maxverstappen, fernandoalonso, zhouguanyu24, kaliii and 12,779,436 others

yn0: hoes mad about my roster being INTERNATIONAL smh stay mad and watch the music video for "area codes" it features all the men (my FRIENDS ✨) you'll never have a chance with 😇😚🤗🤭🤤💚💚💚

tagged f1

view comments

user84: no xnda feature but she got lewis in the fucking video

user85: i just wannna know hwo the fuck she got checo to be in the video 💀

user86: idc what the haters say: she just said y'all have no motion, no aura, no bitches and what are you gonna do about it 😳😳😱

user89: she got lando and mick in a photo together??? how they've been beefing in her comments for years 😧

➥ user90: can't believe im saying this but esteban did not deserve to be punished like that 😬

georgerussell: i am the one feeding her pasta and lobster btw

➥ yn0: you don't send me money tho :(

➥ georgerussell: you are an f1 driver too you don't need my money 🧐

charlesleclerc: can you leave some talent for the rest of us 😒

➥ yn0: bro u are mozart on your days off be serious

lilymhe: cause why are u never in town 😞

➥ alexalbon: cause she'll steal you from me 😭😫

➥ yn0: i'm pulling up rn lils 🫦

lewishamilton: you want a mercedes or a xnda feature?

➥ yn0: im tryna take the mercedes seat you left behind 👀

➥ user91: omfg toto sign herrrrrrrr ✍️

maxverstappen: anything for my favorite lady 🙇🏼🧎🏼‍♂️

➥ yn0: i gotta go they just lmk that i could pick up my mercedes 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

user92: lando in two photos? sus

➥ landonorris: you said it not me 🤫

➥ mickschumacher: bro you acted like her shadow the entire night don't let it go to your head 😠

fernandoalonso: very fun song!

➥ user93: you too old to be doin all that fernando :/

➥ user94: literally choked when i saw him in the video

logansargeant: hey you did manage to get me in "one of your little music videos" 🤭

➥ yn0: if only they knew that you agreed with a bribe of two zebra cakes

➥ user95: they couldn't fathom the delicacy that is a zebra cake 🤤

yn0: stop pretending to dislike my songs and realize that the boys are my homies. you'll be a lot happier when you come to terms with that 🥱

#f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x driver!reader #f1 x female reader #f1 smau #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #alex albon x reader #george russell x reader #mick schumacher x reader #serene’s chapters.#⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1

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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

Text

Multiverse part 3

You sat in a small room on a padded chair, with equipment set up around your arm, chest, and fingertips. A polygraph test. That's what you were being forced to take. And to your chagrin, Ghost is in the room with you and Captain Price.

"Try to relax, yeah?" Price commented. He must've noticed your restless leg.

"I'll do that, shall I? I've done nothing wrong, other than exist and I'm being interrogated. Because that's what this is— an interrogation." You finally turn your attention from Ghost to look at Price, who's sitting at the desk by your side. "Tell me, Captain. Did you get this same treatment when you came back after spending all that time locked up in the gulag?"

His dark eyebrows furrow in confusion. A sigh escapes your bitten lips. That's only in your...world, for lack of a better term. Dimension? Universe?

"I haven't been to the gulag here." Yeah, obviously.

With an impatient wave of the hand that doesn't have cables strapped to it, you mutter, "Let's get on with this circus act, then. Ask your questions."

Ghost steps forward, his arms unfolding as if he's about to speak to you, but Price swiftly intervenes, halting him with a raised hand.

"Alright then. Baseline questions first. Name." Ghost gives away nothing when you say your last name is Riley.

It goes like this for a few, then he switches to the control questions, until finally moving on to the relevant ones.

"How did you get here?" I don't know.

"Do you know why you're here?" No.

He pulls up a photograph. "Recognize him?" Captain MacTavish.

Another photo. "Him?" I don't know.

"What do you mean by that?" If that's Roach, I've never seen his face unmasked.

"You're sure you don't know him?" Unless that man's name is Gary Sanderson, no. I do not know him.

Price acknowledges your response with a nod, then shifts his gaze towards Ghost, whose head slightly tilts forward. Returning his attention to you, he retrieves a final photograph. "What about him?"

As you look at the picture, your eyes begin to well with tears, lip trembling violently. A new fracture reverberated through your tender heart, intensifying the ache in your chest. Yes.

"Who is he?" Price softly asks.

"That's my Simon," your voice broke on the last syllable. It was hard to not use a possessive adjective when the face of your husband was in that picture.

Blinking the tears away, you clear your throat. "Anything else, Captain?"

Price purses his lips under his hefty facial hair and responds, "Just a few more questions."

Once finished, you sat unabashedly staring at Ghost in the tiny room. "I wear Roach's tags alongside yours, in honor. He was with you until the very end, and for that, I couldn't be more grateful."

Ghost is completely silent, but you continue talking anyway. "I've been married to you since a bit after you came home on leave that one time. You know the one."

His eyes are emotionless, blank, as he stares at you. But you know him like the back of your hand. You've got his full attention.

"I accompanied you to your brother's wedding. He married a woman, Beth. She was good for him. They had a baby, your nephew, named Joseph. The love you had for him was one of a kind. I had told you later that evening that I dreamed of the day you'd look at our children like that."

With a shuddery breath, you tell him how none of those matters. Because your husband is dead, and you're stuck here. With his counterpart that hates you.

With a hushed click, the door closes shut behind him as he leaves, yet its resounding noise fills the compact room you're in.

You begin to fidget with the sizeable ring that hangs on a thin necklace beneath your shirt— the metal is warm under your touch as if it had never gone cold in the first place.

As if Simon had never taken it off his finger to go find Makarov.

ah theyre short but hurt. much pain.

taglist: @1mawh0re @sae1kie @darkravenqueen98 @chinuneko @thestartitaness @bowtruckleninja @hawsx3 @uyudunmuyavru @prettyoatmeal @arael-asuka @spencerreidisbae123 @beau-min @lovefks @maliakealoha @kit-williams @clear-your-mind-and-dream @theloneshadow24 @wolfieisacat @littlebunie @bloobewy @kkaaaagt @sadsackssss @hypernovaxx @halobaby @lildemon475 @animarix @just-pure-trash @catatemyslideshow @hayleybarnesx @sasagehoes @thigh-o-saur @youdontknowe @destroyer-of-za-warudo @maxisqq @k4marina @onlineoutcast

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #multiverse cod #09 ghost #22 ghost #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you

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dollgxtz · 2 months ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt.8

Word Count: 23.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, mentions of pregnancy, forced pregnancy, mentions of breeding, attempted murder, mentions of murder, tw attempted car crash, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, mentions of blood, cramping, nausea, very plot heavy chapter wld recommend not skipping, its well worth the read!

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I totally forgot about my wisdom teeth removal surgery and therefore added a LOT more words to make up for it for the late upload. Also, readers symptoms are based on what a friend told me it was like for her so please be aware of that going in if you've been pregnant and don't find readers timeline aligning with your own. Its a lot different for everyone! (Plus considering Sylus isn't even human in the first place I doubt the pregnancy would be normal anyways lol). Anyways, please enjoy this chapter! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...” “Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.9

Sylus sat on the couch, fingers drumming absently against the wood of the arm rest as he packed away files and data chips for the upcoming trip. The low hum of the N109 Zone’s endless night buzzed through the small cracks of the window, a constant, oppressive reminder of where he lived. But his mind wasn’t on the trip, not really. His thoughts kept circling back to you—you sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, probably confused at the coldness he’d been showing you for days.

He had expected this. Of course, you would try to leave him. That’s what all this distance had been about—your inevitable attempt at escape again. It was frustrating, yes, but not surprising. You had been stubborn from the very beginning, always resisting, always challenging him. And in truth, that was part of what drew him to you. Your defiance. But the fact that you had actually gone through with it that night, tried to walk out on him... that cut deeper than he was willing to admit.

He had said too much. Far more than he should have in his drunken state. Words spilled out of him, cracking through the cold, calculated exterior he usually maintained. He had shown you something raw, something he didn’t even think he was capable of—vulnerability. And for a brief moment, he had hoped—foolishly, he knew—that his words had reached you. That, despite everything, you would see what he was offering. That maybe, just maybe, it had tugged at your heart enough to make you stay. To choose him over the open door, to choose him over the freedom you so desperately craved.

But, just as he expected, you made your choice. And it wasn’t him.

The sting of it gnawed at him, the rejection simmering under his skin. He had allowed himself to feel something he had long considered a weakness, let down his guard for just a fleeting moment, and you had turned your back on him. He had given you the chance to see him as something more than the cold, possessive figure he had been. And yet, you had gotten out of bed, chasing the illusion of freedom.

It wasn’t just that you had tried to leave—it was that you had chosen to leave him. That, even after all the effort he had put into controlling, guiding, and shaping you, you had slipped away. He had thought he could bend you to his will, that with time, you would see there was no life for you beyond him. But clearly, you still hadn’t learned.

This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. You were his, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet. He saw something festering in your eyes. In your mind. You could run from your feelings, but Sylus knew better. You could try to escape, but in the end, you would come back. Either by choice or by force.

Either way, vulnerability was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

He told himself it was nothing, that your defiance was natural, a part of who you were. You just needed time. Time to understand, time to adjust. Time to realize that you were better off here, with him. You didn’t know it yet, but you needed him just as much as he needed you. Maybe more.

And forcing it? He had tried that. It didn’t work. The chain, the teasing, even the brief moments of affection, none of it had broken through yet. That was why he was ignoring you now, why he’d stopped giving you the attention he knew you craved, whether you admitted it or not. You had to come to him, and maybe a little distance would push you toward that realization. You just needed a little… push.

Sylus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stood up, glancing toward the bed. He didn’t want to make things so cold between you two. It hurt him, too, to ignore you like this. Every time he saw you sitting there, doing something as simple as folding your clothes, his heart clenched. You didn’t even realize how cute you were, the way your face twisted in concentration as you neatly tucked each item away. The way you fumbled with the edge of your blanket, lost in thought, was enough to drive him mad.

Sometimes he’d catch himself watching you when you weren’t paying attention, your intricate fingers working on some small task, and he had to fight the urge to go over to you, to touch you, rip that nightgown off and hear those cute sounds you make as you squirm under him. There was something sweet, almost delicate, about the way you moved, unaware of how captivating you were.

But then, there was the chain. The damned chain.

His eyes darkened slightly as his gaze flickered toward the weight of that metal around your ankle. It bothered him more than it should have, seeing you restrained like that. It didn't suit you. It was large and imposing on your skin. He didn’t want you to feel trapped, at least not in a way that made you fear him. The chain was a necessity—for now. It was for your own good, to keep you safe, to keep you from running again. But the sight of it weighed on him, a small reminder of the lengths he had to go to keep you by his side. One day, you won’t need it, he promised himself.

One day, you’d stay because you wanted to. Right?

Sylus continued to gather the last of his belongings, his thoughts already on his impending return. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, much like the rest of his work. Business in the N109 Zone was never without risk, especially when it involved the kind of deals Sylus specialized in. The ones outside of it though...could be a little unpredictable. A new weapon had surfaced in the market, and with supply running low and demand soaring, things were bound to get chaotic. But Sylus had already secured his piece. Not because he needed it—no, it was merely bait. He had his eyes on a particular "fish," one that had been slipping through his fingers for weeks.

He had been keeping close tabs on your cycle, watching the days go by on the calendar. You had stopped bleeding while in captivity with Reese and now, it was just a matter of time. By the time he came back, he was sure his seed would take hold. That was why your recent "punishment" hadn't really been about discipline. It had simply been a means to ensure his seed was planted, without too much resistance. He knew you well enough by now. Had he hinted that you were ovulating, you would’ve fought, screamed, maybe even tried to hurt him—only to harm yourself in the process. Disguising it as punishment had been the simplest way to get you to comply.

He was well aware of your fear. He knew that if he pushed hard enough, you would obey. It wasn't what he truly wanted, but if playing mind games was what it took to reach the future he envisioned, so be it. Sylus was no stranger to playing the bad guy.

He would have everything he wanted by the time he got back—you by his side, in more ways than one. The thought of you swollen with his child, completely his, was enough to stir something dark and possessive inside him. He felt his cock slight stiffen at the thought, pooling almost desperate desires to have you under him one last time before he left. To ensure his seed would take.

Sylus moved quietly through the room, packing the last of his things into a sleek, black briefcase. His movements were slow, calculated, betraying nothing of the thoughts racing through his mind. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, now curled up in bed, your form tense beneath the blanket. He could sense your unease, feel the anxiety radiating off of you even though you hadn’t said a word.

Cute.

A silent chuckle echoed in his mind as he noted the way you stiffened the moment he began to approach. You gasped, almost imperceptibly, and tensed like a rabbit sensing a predator. He wanted to close the space between you, to cup your face, trace his fingers along your skin, and feel the heat of your breath against him before he left for the trip. But he held back. No, he had to maintain the cold distance he’d imposed. It was for your own good.

But damn, it was hard. He wanted to mark you, to remind you that you were his—no matter how far he went. Still, there was something delicious about your reaction, the way your eyes widened as he stopped beside the bed.

Why was everything you did so adorable?

You sat up slightly, your gaze locking onto him, every muscle in your body tense. You were clearly waiting for him to say something, to finally break the silence that had lingered like a heavy fog between you for days. Instead, he reached down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair that was near your face. A piece of lint had gotten caught in it, likely from the laundry you’d folded earlier—one of the small, mundane tasks you’d taken to doing in your isolated state.

Sylus plucked the lint from your hair with an easy, almost gentle motion. It was such a simple, unassuming gesture, but it left you staring at him, taken aback. The look on your face was a mixture of confusion and something deeper, something Sylus could feel but couldn’t quite define. You were shocked by the touch, the sudden break in his cold routine. And then, before you could process it further, he turned his back on you, preparing to leave.

The silence was unbearable.

"Sylus..." Your voice broke through the quiet, trembling ever so slightly, and he felt something tighten in his chest. His back was still to you, but he could hear the frustration, the desperation lacing your words. "What's wrong with you?"

Your question hung in the air, and he felt his resolve waver for the briefest of moments. He wanted to turn around, to explain, to tell you that you hadn’t done anything wrong—that this distance, this coldness, was a game he hated just as much as you. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

"Stop playing your stupid games," you continued, your tone hardening as the frustration bled into anger. "You bring me back, chain me up again, just to ignore me? Asshole." There was venom in your voice, but it was laced with hurt, and Sylus could feel it.

A pang of guilt settled in his chest, but he pushed it down. You had tried to leave him, after all. He had expected it, even understood it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. Still, he had to maintain control. She just needs a little more time. He sighed softly, his back still turned to you as he gathered his thoughts.

You weren’t done, though. "You leave me alone for days, barely say a word, and now you’re going on some mysterious trip like nothing’s wrong?" Your voice cracked just slightly, betraying the emotion you were trying to hide. "Why do you even bother keeping me here if you’re just going to act like I don’t exist?"

Sylus swallowed, his jaw tightening. He wanted to answer you, to give you some reassurance, but the distance was necessary. For both of you. And besides, he had seen that look in your eyes before—confusion, anger, frustration. You were close. Close to realizing that he was the only constant in this world, the only one who cared enough to keep you safe, even if you didn’t understand that yet.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten," he said, his voice colder than he felt. It pained him to keep up the facade, but he forced himself to continue. "Why not be nice in our potential final moments together?"

The words were a joke—he wasn’t planning on dying, not anytime soon—but the way your face contorted in shock, the hurt that flashed in your eyes, made something twist deep inside him. It was cruel, yes, but it was part of the game. You had to see what life would be like without him, even if only for two weeks.

He turned slightly, just enough to catch the look on your face. You were staring at him, wide-eyed, stunned by the cold indifference in his words. Your lips parted as if you were going to say something, but the words seemed to catch in your throat. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

What were you thinking? Were you hurt, confused, angry?

Sylus wanted to take it back. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to die, that this was just another dangerous job, but it hurt him to say it. It hurt him to see you looking at him like that, but he couldn’t back down. He had to keep his distance. He had to let you come to him on your own terms.

But then, you broke the silence. "Well," you spat, your voice hardening again as the hurt morphed into anger, "at least if you die, it’ll be a lot easier getting away from this hellhole."

Sylus chuckled softly, though there was no real humor in it. He wasn’t surprised by your words—they were expected, even—but they stung nonetheless. He turned his back to you again, straightening his suit jacket as he prepared to leave.

"I’ve arranged for you to be fed three times a day," he said, his voice smooth and detached once more. "Mephisto will be keeping an eye on you while I’m gone. Any refusal to eat or bathe will be reported directly to me." He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle over you. "And I wouldn’t want to hear about any attempts to run again, kitten."

"I'll be sure to take apart that stupid bird while you're gone" you spat, laying back down again.

He walked toward the door, his hand resting on the handle, ignoring your tantrum. He didn’t turn around, didn’t give you the chance to say anything more. This was the hardest part—leaving you like this, with so much unsaid. He could feel the turmoil radiating from you, the confusion and anger clashing with something deeper, something he knew you weren’t ready to admit to yourself yet.

But he had to wait. Forcing it hadn’t worked, and now, with the distance between you growing, you’d have time to think, to realize that you needed him as much as he needed you. He would return, and when he did, he hoped that the time apart would have made you see things more clearly.

Without another word, Sylus stepped through the door and left, the weight of your gaze burning into his back the entire time.

Sylus descended the staircase of his mansion, his steps silent, but his thoughts anything but. His mind, which had been lingering on you, now shifted to something else that had been gnawing at him for some time.

The boy from Linkon.

He had recently received reports of a disturbance at the shoe store—one of his covert fronts for an illegal drug operation. It was nothing major, just another petty interruption. But the details? They were unmistakable. A man had walked in wielding a sword, babbling about protocores, asking questions about the twins and a missing girl before escaping in a ball of searing light. His associates had been nearly blinded in the chaos. They hadn’t managed to catch the culprit, but Sylus didn’t need confirmation. He knew exactly who it was.

Xavier.

The name burned in his mind like a festering wound. Sylus had always known that dealing with Xavier would be no easy feat. The boy was reckless, persistent, and—most infuriatingly of all—he still loved you. And worse, you loved him back. Sylus could feel it in every interaction, every fleeting look you gave when you thought he wasn’t watching. It was in the way you hesitated sometimes, the way you still held back, despite everything. You may not have spoken Xavier’s name since Sylus had threatened his life, but that hope—that dangerous, foolish hope—still flickered inside you. The hope that Xavier would come bursting in like some white knight to rescue you from his place.

Like hell Sylus would let that happen.

The mere thought of it stirred something violent inside him. He had worked too hard, done too much, to let some delusional hunter ruin his plans. You were his, and no one else had any claim to you. Not Xavier, not anyone. And if the boy thought he could just sweep in and steal you away, he would quickly learn how wrong he was.

Sylus’s grip on the banister tightened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his jaw clenched in cold resolve. The game with Xavier was nearing its end. Sylus would not allow this boy to remain a thorn in his side much longer. Xavier’s love for you made him reckless, vulnerable. He would exploit that, get rid of Xavier once for all. Sylus would ensure he never got the chance to try a second time.

As Sylus stepped off the last stair, Luke appeared from the kitchen, casually munching on an apple with his mask tilted up just enough to expose his mouth. The moment he spotted Sylus, his demeanor shifted entirely. Panic flashed across his face as he hastily yanked the mask back down to cover himself, the half-eaten apple forgotten as he tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He quickly straightened his posture, standing rigidly at attention.

“Er-boss! Everything’s packed for you!” Luke stammered, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I can take your suitcase as well!”

His gaze flickered nervously toward Sylus, clearly unsettled. He had seen that energy in Luke's posture before—fear, the kind that made men trip over their words and scramble to stay in his good graces. Luke's hands fidgeted at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for the suitcase or wait for further orders.

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch for a moment too long, just enough to make Luke sweat. His cold, calculating gaze swept over him, taking in every detail of the young man’s anxiety, before finally giving a subtle nod.

Sylus sighed, releasing the tight coil of tension that had built up in his body. There was no need for uncontrolled anger—at least, not yet. The pest would soon be dealt with, and once that distraction was removed, there would be nothing left to stand in the way of the future he envisioned. A future where everything fell perfectly into place.

“I have something to take care of first,” he said, his voice cool and deliberate, as if every word was a command in itself. “Make sure the chefs fully understand the strict instructions I gave about her meals while I’m away. Balanced nutrition. Have them repeat it back to you—every single detail.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly as he fixed Luke with a look that could freeze blood. “I don’t want any mistakes.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sylus tossed the suitcase into Luke’s hands with casual indifference. Luke’s eyes widened as he scrambled to catch it, his fingers slipping momentarily on the leather handle. The weight of it nearly sent him teetering off balance, but he managed to steady himself, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes, boss! I’ll—uh—I’ll make sure of it!” Luke stammered, standing rigidly at attention, as if that might somehow erase his clumsy fumbling.

But Sylus had already turned away, his attention far beyond the room, far beyond Luke’s awkward attempts to regain his composure. His long strides took him toward the door with an air of certainty, as if the world itself bent to his will with every step.

Xavier. Xavier. Xavier.

The name echoed in his mind, an insistent drumbeat. He could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface again, but it was controlled—held in check by sheer force of will. Xavier. The boy had become more than a nuisance. He was a threat. A distraction that had lingered for too long. But that would soon change. Sylus had no intention of letting anything—or anyone—interfere with his plans.

Xavier had dared to love you, dared to think he could save you from the inevitable. The thought of it sent a dark thrill through Sylus’s chest. How naive. How foolish. Did Xavier truly believe he could stand between you and your rightful place at Sylus’s side?

Not a chance.

He would deal with Xavier swiftly, thoroughly. Once the boy was removed from the picture, there would be no more obstacles. No more fantasies of rescue. You would see things clearly, finally understand where you belonged. With him. Always with him.

As the door swung shut behind him, Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile. Xavier had no idea what was coming. But Sylus did. He had planned for everything, anticipated every move. And soon, Xavier would be nothing more than a forgotten name. A foolish memory.

Nothing—absolutely nothing—would prevent Sylus from claiming the future he deserved. The future he would have with you.

Sylus had always been ten steps ahead. As soon as he had caught wind of Xavier’s desperate attempts to escape the N109 Zone, he had put his plan in motion. Word had spread quickly through the Zone's shadowy network—the kind of word that made people look over their shoulders and shut doors the moment they saw the boy approaching. No one dared to help him as the days passed. Not with the subtle but ever-present threat of Sylus looming over their heads. They knew what would happen if they defied him, and no one was foolish enough to test that.

Mephisto had been watching Xavier from the skies, tracking every move the boy made. It was almost pitiful, Sylus thought, how determined Xavier was, knocking on doors, pleading with anyone who would listen, trying to get someone—anyone—to process the SIM card he had found. The card that held all the damning evidence of what had happened in Reese’s basement. But it was futile. The boy had no idea why people turned him away with frightened eyes, why they avoided him as if he carried some curse.

Sylus felt a flicker of pity for him—how bewildering it must be for Xavier, seeing doors shut in his face, confusion mixing with anger as hope slowly bled out of him. But that pity was short-lived. Xavier had made his choice, and Sylus was about to make sure it was his last.

As Mephisto tracked Xavier’s latest movement, Sylus watched from the GPS feed in his jeep. The boy had finally given up on finding help within the N109 Zone. Likely desperate, he had chosen the hard way—going on foot, sword strapped to his chest, with nothing but determination keeping him moving. He was heading back to Linkon, likely hoping to catch some cell service once he left the Zone's signal-dead perimeter. It was a hopeless task, but Xavier didn’t know that. Not yet.

The boy was relentless, Sylus had to give him that. Mephisto’s feed showed Xavier’s ragged state—his clothes dusty, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. But he kept walking.

What a fool. Maybe he'd like some help.

Wasting no time, Sylus tracked him to his location and pulled up alongside the road in his sleek black jeep, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, his suit perfectly pressed despite the rough terrain. He brought the car to a slow roll as he neared Xavier, careful not to appear too eager.

He took in Xavier's disheveled appearance and stifled a laugh as he finally got a real life glimpse of the man you dared to call your lover. This was your knight in shining armor?

Xavier glanced over his shoulder at the approaching vehicle, his hand already gripping the hilt of his sword with wary blue eyes. Sylus could feel the boy's suspicion even through the tinted glass. He cracked the window, letting in the cold, arid air, and called out in an easy, practiced tone.

“Need a ride?” Sylus asked casually, his voice carrying the hint of a smile. “You look like you could use one.”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, scanning the jeep and the man inside it. “And you are?” he asked, his voice rough, a mixture of caution and exhaustion. He didn’t let go of the sword, though it remained sheathed at his chest.

Sylus feigned mild surprise, raising an eyebrow as if the question had caught him off guard. “Just a passerby,” he said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his suit sleeve. “I just got back from my daughter’s birthday dinner and thought I’d offer a lift. Figured you’d be tired of walking by now.”

Xavier’s suspicion deepened. His gaze flicked over Sylus’s clean hair, the well-tailored suit that seemed out of place in the desolate outskirts of the Zone. His grip on the sword tightened slightly, though he didn’t draw it. “You’re wearing a suit,” Xavier said, his voice dripping with distrust. “Why would you be all the way out here, wearing that?”

Sylus had anticipated the boy’s suspicion, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. In fact, it was almost amusing. He had expected Xavier to be cautious, to scrutinize every word, every detail, but in the end, none of it really mattered. The boy wouldn’t figure out who he was—how could he? Sylus was an enigma, a shadow in the dark corners of the N109 Zone. His reputation may have spread like wildfire, but few had ever laid eyes on him. Not even a glance.

The genius of it all was that Sylus had made himself a ghost, a figure of whispered warnings and vague threats. His power rested not in his appearance but in his influence, his ability to control from a distance. To orchestrate chaos while remaining completely invisible. As far as Xavier knew, the man sitting behind the wheel of this sleek, black jeep could be anyone—just another passerby, another face in the crowd. That anonymity was what made Sylus dangerous.

So when Xavier narrowed his eyes, suspicion etched into every line of his face, Sylus remained perfectly calm, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. Let the boy wonder. Let him think. It wouldn’t change the outcome. Sylus always got what he wanted.

His fate was sealed.

Sylus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He let the silence stretch just long enough to feel heavy between them. “Like I said,” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk. “I just came back from my daughter’s party. The restaurant was out of town, and this is the route I take back home.”

Xavier didn’t move. His eyes bored into Sylus, searching for cracks in the façade. Sylus could almost hear the boy’s thoughts, could feel the way Xavier was picking apart every word, every detail. But Sylus was calm, unbothered. He had done this dance too many times. He could see the exhaustion in Xavier’s posture, the way his legs trembled with fatigue, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this stranger could help him get out of the Zone.

But the distrust remained. The boy wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be easy to trick.

“You look too calm,” Xavier said finally, the edge of accusation in his voice. “No one from around here is that calm...or helpful.”

Sylus chuckled softly, as if the remark amused him. “I’ve lived in the N109 Zone for a long time,” he said, shrugging lightly. “You get used to the chaos after a while.”

Xavier’s eyes flickered with indecision. His instincts were telling him something was off, but the exhaustion in his limbs and the desperation gnawing at his mind were wearing him down. Sylus watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the boy’s resolve wavered. It was only a matter of time.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Sylus asked, leaning back in his seat. “The next town’s pretty far. It’s a long walk—especially on foot.”

For a moment, Xavier just stared at him, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew something was wrong—Sylus could see it in his eyes. But fatigue was a powerful weapon, and Sylus knew just how to wield it.

The silence stretched on, thick with tension, as the two men sized each other up—one desperately looking for a way out, the other calmly calculating the exact moment to strike.

“No thanks,” Xavier muttered, his voice curt as he adjusted the strap of his sword and continued his walk past the car, not bothering to look back.

Sylus’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his otherwise calm demeanor. The boy wasn’t just persistent—he wasn’t stupid either. It was becoming clear that Xavier’s survival instincts were sharper than he had anticipated. Fine, two could play at that game. Sylus needed the boy in the car, and he wasn’t about to let his plan slip through his fingers over something as trivial as Xavier’s mistrust.

Without a word, Sylus reached over, twisting the keys in the ignition until the engine went silent. The mechanical purr of the jeep ceased, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling through the desolate landscape. He opened the door and stepped out, calling after Xavier before the boy could get too far.

“Wait,” Sylus said, his voice carrying with a casual ease that belied his annoyance. Xavier slowed, turning halfway to glance back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sylus could sense the boy’s reluctance, the wariness etched in his every movement.

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, Sylus tossed the car keys in Xavier’s direction. They spun in the air before landing in Xavier’s open palm, the boy catching them reflexively but frowning down at the unexpected gesture.

“How about this,” Sylus said smoothly, his tone relaxed, as though they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “You drive yourself to your destination, and I’ll drive myself back. No strings attached. Sound fair?”

Sylus knew Xavier couldn't refuse such an offer, and even if he wanted to, his love for you was more important to him than his own safety.

He would take the bait.

Xavier’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the keys, then back up at Sylus, who had already moved around the vehicle to the passenger side. The offer, on the surface, seemed absurd. What kind of stranger would be so willing to give up control of his own car to a random traveler on the side of the road? And yet, there Sylus stood, casually opening the passenger door as if they had made some mutual agreement. The ease with which Sylus handed over the keys was unnerving.

Xavier’s instincts screamed at him to keep walking, to leave this strange man and his too-kind offer behind. Something about this whole encounter was off—way off. But there was another part of him, the exhausted, desperate part, that couldn’t ignore the fact that his journey to Linkon was still painfully far from over. He had been walking for hours, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, and the weight of the sword on his chest felt heavier with each step. He couldn’t shake the urgency pounding in his chest. He needed to get back to Linkon, and fast.

The SIM card tucked away in his pocket was his only lifeline. Without it, any hope of uncovering the truth of what happened in Reese’s basement would be lost. He needed to see it. But the odds of finding anyone out here who could process it? Slim to none. He was running out of time, and every step he took on foot made him feel like the distance between him and his goal was growing wider.

His eyes flicked back to the car keys in his hand, their weight oddly unsettling. Why was this man so eager to help? And why the hell was he offering the keys to his own car?

Xavier’s gaze darted back to Sylus, who had settled into the passenger seat without a trace of concern, leaning back as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His expression was calm, almost too calm, as though the outcome had already been decided in his favor. It unnerved Xavier. This man—this stranger—was too willing. Too casual. Too smooth.

But Xavier didn’t have time to figure it all out. His priority was clear: getting back to Linkon, getting the SIM card processed, and making sure the truth came to light of what happened to you. Without transportation, he could be walking for days, and every minute he spent out here increased the risk that he'd never find you.

The keys felt heavier now, the weight of the decision pressing on him. He didn’t trust this man, not by a long shot. But the idea of having control of the car, of being the one behind the wheel… it was tempting. Too tempting. If he was driving, there's no way this could be a trap right?

It would be fine. Yes. Anything for you. Even if it meant putting himself in danger.

With one last glance at the man, who was patiently waiting in the passenger seat, Xavier’s grip on the keys tightened. He didn’t say a word as he took a tentative step toward the driver’s side. Every instinct told him to keep walking, to leave this stranger behind and take his chances on foot. But exhaustion and desperation were powerful motivators, and right now, he needed to get back to Linkon more than he needed to figure out why this man was offering help.

Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat, the worn leather creaking beneath him as he adjusted to the unfamiliar space. His hand hovered over the ignition, eyes still darting toward Sylus, who sat quietly beside him, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Take us wherever you need to go,” Sylus said softly, his voice like velvet, as though the game had already begun. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The tension between them was palpable, thick in the confined space of the car. Xavier could feel it in the air, in the way Sylus’s gaze lingered on him, calm but unrelenting. He knew this wasn’t right—none of it was. But he was too far in to back out now.

With a sharp turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and Xavier gripped the steering wheel, feeling the weight of every decision he had made in the last few minutes. The road ahead seemed endless, and as the car pulled away from the desolate stretch of highway, he couldn’t help but glance sideways at the man again.

This...this could end badly.

The two men sat in crushing silence as Xavier navigated the unfamiliar roads, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Each mile passed with a suffocating weight, the tension in the car palpable, like a storm ready to break. Xavier kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles pale under the strain. He hadn’t wanted this stranger to know where he lived, so he punched City Hall into the GPS instead. From there, he could make his way around Linkon without anyone trailing him. He needed to get the SIM card processed, and fast, before time ran out.

Every few minutes, he fiddled with the GPS, his body coiled with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. He could feel the man's eyes on him, his name still unknown, even despite the sunglasses. He hadn’t said much since they set off, but his presence in the passenger seat was unnerving. His calm was unnatural, unsettling. He didn’t fidget, didn’t speak, didn’t even glance around the car. He just sat there, arms crossed, studying Xavier with a level of intensity that felt out of place for someone offering a simple ride.

Xavier tried to sneak glances at the man beside him, but every time he did, he found the mans gaze already on him, sharp and unblinking, as though he had anticipated Xavier’s every move. The man’s lips twitched with something like amusement, though he didn’t say a word.

What’s his deal? Xavier thought, forcing his eyes back to the road. The whole situation felt wrong. He had expected tension in the N109 Zone, but not this. This was different. The man beside him wasn’t just casually observing him—he was waiting for something. Every second that passed felt heavier than the last, like time itself was stretching, tightening the knot of anxiety building in Xavier’s chest.

Still, Xavier didn’t let any of it show. He had learned long ago how to hide his fear, how to stay calm when every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. He’d dealt with dangerous people before, people who could smell weakness like blood in the water. He wasn’t about to let this guy see that. But the silence between them was unbearable, thick with the weight of unspoken things.

Finally, Xavier broke it, his voice low and careful. “I didn’t get your name…” He asked, eyes darting between the GPS and the road, trying to sound casual, though he was anything but.

The man took a moment to respond, as though he were weighing the question, wondering if he should even answer it. His eyes flickered with a hint of something—amusement, perhaps. Or something darker.

“Skye,” he said eventually, his voice smooth, detached. He crossed his arms, leaning back in the passenger seat, as though the conversation were nothing more than a formality. “And you are…?”

Xavier’s heart kicked up a notch, but he kept his expression neutral. No way was he giving this guy his real name. “Anthony,” he lied easily, the false name slipping out without hesitation. His voice didn’t waver, his hands stayed steady on the wheel. But he could feel Skye watching him, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

He knows I’m lying, Xavier thought, his gut twisting with unease. But Skye didn’t press. He didn’t even seem surprised. He just watched Xavier with that unnerving calm, as if the lie were nothing more than an expected move in a game they were both playing.

“Anthony,” Skye repeated softly, his tone almost mocking, though he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he let the silence fall between them again, a silence that felt even heavier now. He seemed content to let Xavier stew in it, the tension building with every second that passed.

Xavier’s eyes flicked back to the road, his mind racing. Something about this guy was all wrong. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was all too calculated, too smooth. People didn’t act this calm in the N109 Zone, not unless they knew something everyone else didn’t. And Skye definitely knew something. The question was, what? And how much?

Xavier kept his gaze focused ahead, trying to ignore the weight of Skye’s eyes still on him. The man hadn’t looked away once. He could feel it, the silent scrutiny, the way Skye seemed to be measuring him. Assessing him.

“Where are you headed?” Skye asked casually, his voice cutting through the silence once more, though there was nothing casual about the way he said it.

Xavier didn’t miss a beat. “City Hall,” he answered, a little too quickly. He glanced at the GPS, as if confirming the destination would make the lie feel more real. He wasn’t taking this man to his home—no way. Not with the way things were already playing out.

Skye raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “City Hall,” he repeated, his tone light but laced with something that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Not a bad place to end up, but pretty unusual for a first destination."

Xavier’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to look over at Skye. Something in the man’s tone made his stomach tighten, like a hook had just been baited and dropped in front of him, waiting for him to take it.

Unusual? Why the hell would that be unusual? The thought ran through his mind, but he forced himself to stay calm. His plan had been simple—get to City Hall, lose this guy, and handle his business. But now, it felt like every move was being scrutinized, every choice questioned.

“City Hall's the easiest place to get a read on things in the city,” Xavier replied, his voice steady, though the defensiveness crept in at the edges. “I need to handle some things, and it’s central. Easier to move around from there.”

He could feel Skye’s eyes still on him, could almost hear the smirk in his voice when the man chuckled softly. It was the kind of laugh that got under your skin, not because it was loud, but because it carried a quiet, unsettling amusement.

“Smart,” Skye said slowly, nodding as if Xavier’s explanation made perfect sense. But something in his tone felt off, like he didn’t fully buy it. “But still… after some time in the N109 Zone, you’d think you’d want to rest somewhere less… official. Get off the radar. A nice bed, maybe.”

Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the weight of Skye’s persistent questioning pressing down on him. Each word from Skye was like a carefully placed needle, poking at his decisions, making him second-guess everything. He hadn’t expected the guy to be so relentless, and the pressure was building with every exchange.

“I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” Xavier said, trying to keep his voice steady, casual, but the tension in his body betrayed him. “Time’s running out to save her, so I can’t waste a single second.”

The moment the words left his mouth, doubt flickered in his mind. Was that too much? Too rushed? The urgency in his voice—had it come across as desperate? Or worse, suspicious? His heart hammered in his chest as he mentally replayed what he had said, wondering if he had tipped his hand. Or had he been too vague? The ambiguity of his answer might have made Skye even more curious, pushing him to dig deeper, ask more questions.

Xavier kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look over at Skye, but he could feel the man watching him, studying him. The silence that followed his response was unnerving, stretching long enough for Xavier to feel like he’d made a mistake. He fought the urge to glance over, to see if Skye’s expression had changed, but his instincts screamed at him to stay composed. Any sign of weakness now, and Skye would pounce on it.

Too much, Xavier thought, cursing himself internally. I shouldn’t have let the urgency show.

Skye’s sudden shift in demeanor caught Xavier off guard. The icy coldness that had made the air feel suffocating was replaced with something else—something that felt even more dangerous. Concern. Pity. It dripped from Skye’s voice like honey, smooth and deliberate, but just artificial enough to send a ripple of unease through Xavier’s chest.

“Oh?” Skye said, his voice almost soft, a note of worry creeping in. “Seems serious.”

Xavier’s breath hitched slightly, his guard wavering for just a moment. He wasn’t prepared for this shift. The relentless scrutiny, the probing questions—he could handle that to a point. But this? This sudden turn toward sympathy, as fake as it felt, was a punch to the gut.

“It is,” Xavier muttered, his voice betraying the strain he was under. The words felt heavier than he intended, a sign of the cracks forming in his defenses.

Skye shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he sensed something in Xavier’s voice. “You know,” he began, his tone deceptively gentle, “I understand what it’s like. When you want something so bad. And its almost in reach, yet so far. You feel like you've failed already."

The words struck hard, like a knife twisting in Xavier’s gut. For a brief moment, his mind went blank, the weight of Skye’s words sinking into him. The man’s voice, though still edged with that unsettling calm, carried a truth Xavier couldn’t deny.

Skye had unknowingly—or perhaps very knowingly—touched a raw nerve.

Xavier’s fingers flexed against the steering wheel, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He tried to block it out, tried to keep his walls up, but he couldn’t stop the flood of emotion that came crashing through. His breaths quickened slightly, the tension in his body shifting from vigilance to something more raw, more vulnerable.

Skye was quiet, but Xavier could feel him waiting, giving him just enough space to fill the silence. His mind screamed at him to stay quiet, to shut it all down, but the pressure building inside him was too much to contain.

“I…” Xavier’s voice cracked, his throat dry. His hands trembled slightly as the words formed on his tongue. “I have someone waiting for me. She’s in danger. And I feel like I’m failing her with each passing second.”

The admission came out before he could stop it, the weight of his guilt and fear spilling into the space between them. He’d been holding it in for so long, running from one obstacle to the next, always trying to keep moving, to keep fighting. But now, in this moment, it all felt too heavy to carry alone. The pressure of failing you—of not getting back in time—had gnawed at him relentlessly, and now, it was too much to keep inside.

For a moment, the silence was deafening, his vulnerability hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Xavier’s chest tightened, panic seeping in as the reality of what he’d just said hit him. He’d let his guard down—completely. He’d shown Skye more than he ever intended, more than anyone should know. He could feel the walls he’d carefully built crumbling around him.

And Skye was still watching, listening, absorbing every word.

He shifted slightly, his voice lowering, becoming softer, almost understanding. “You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen it before… that look in your eyes. Like you’re carrying something too heavy for one person. Trying to fix it all yourself. You can push as hard as you want, but…” He paused, letting the silence settle for just a beat before he continued, “the weight of failure starts to crush you, doesn’t it?”

Skye glanced out the window, his tone still calm, still smooth. “And the worst part? It’s when you realize that maybe, no matter how much you fight, you won’t get there in time. That you might be too late to save the people who need you.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected much from this man—this stranger who seemed so out of place on these roads—but this? He had expected more questions, more veiled curiosity, maybe even some vague attempt at comfort. But what Skye had just said—those words, that insinuation—hit him like a punch to the gut.

The casual mention of failure. The suggestion that he was already too late. Was this guy trying to be an asshole?

Xavier’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening as the words churned in his mind, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “No,” Xavier said, his voice shaking slightly, the denial rising like a defense against the weight of Skye’s statement. “That’s not true. It’s not too late. I can still find her. I just—” He cut himself off, his voice thick with desperation.

But before he could even finish the thought, Skye’s demeanor changed in an instant. The false pity drained from his face, replaced by something far colder, sharper. His voice dropped, his tone void of the faint warmth that had laced it earlier.

“People like you should know when to quit.” The words were flat, cutting like ice. Skye lowered his sunglasses, his eyes gleamed with a new cruelty, his expression as still as stone. “It’s a shame you even tried in the first place.”

Xavier, caught slightly off guard by the crimson color of the eyes now boring into him, opened his mouth to argue, the frustration boiling over. How dare this guy—

But then something hit him, something beyond words. A creeping cold, seeping into his skin. At first, it felt like a mist settling over him, faint and barely noticeable, but it spread quickly, a numbing chill that slithered through his body, wrapping around his limbs like an invisible fog. His chest tightened as panic started to rise.

The cold red mist crept up his neck, stretching outward, reaching his arms, his fingers. And then—nothing. No feeling. His hands. He couldn’t feel his hands.

Xavier’s heart raced, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts as he looked down at the steering wheel. His hands were still there, gripping the wheel tightly, but the sensation was gone. His fingers felt as though they no longer existed, and worse, he couldn’t move them. He tried to force his body to respond, to shake off the creeping cold, but it was as if his muscles had turned to stone.

The steering wheel suddenly turned under his grip, and the car began to drift. Panic surged through him. He tried to shout, tried to move, but his body refused to obey. The cold mist had taken control, and now it stretched through every inch of him, locking him in place, paralyzing him completely.

This wasn't him moving it.

What the hell is happening?!

He wanted to scream, to fight, but his limbs remained useless, his mind screaming in terror as the car veered off its course. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly, and then it hit him—this was him. Skye. Skye was doing this.

Skye hadn’t moved from the passenger seat, but the aura around him had darkened, the shift in his demeanor unmistakable. The cold that gripped Xavier’s body—this mist—was him. And this wasn’t some accident. This was planned.

Skye had been waiting for this moment.

Xavier’s mind raced as the reality sank in, dread curling in his gut like a beast ready to devour him whole. He could see it in the cold gleam of Skye’s eyes now, the man having removed his sunglasses completely. The man had never intended for this to end peacefully.

He tried one last time to move, to will his body to do anything, but the cold mist had stolen everything from him.

Skye leaned in slightly, his presence looming over Xavier like a shadow, cold and unrelenting. His tone dropped, devoid of any warmth or pretense. “Don't bother fighting. I’ve already decided how this ends.”

The car was fully off the road now, speeding, barreling toward a tall tree. Xavier’s mind screamed, the terror paralyzing his thoughts. He was about to be made into a casualty, another statistic—a crash that would look like an accident, neat and tidy. He couldn't even shut his eyes to brace for the inevitable impact.

Closer. And closer. And-

Xavier's phone ringing cut through the chaos, snapping both men's attention.

The sudden, shrill sound sliced through the thick tension in the car, jarring Xavier out of his rising panic. The ringtone echoed in the confined space, pulling his attention away from the tree, from the creeping red mist that had taken over his body. The sound was so out of place, so normal amidst the terror, that for a moment, it didn’t seem real.

It must've caught signal again.

Skye’s eyes flicked toward the phone, his expression unreadable, but Xavier saw the faintest twitch of something—something like interest or annoyance—cross his face. The car suddenly veered back on course as if it was not just about to plunge into a tree, dooming its driver.

The phone continued to ring, vibrating against the dash, relentless.

For a brief second, the pressure on Xavier’s hands loosened, the grip Sylus had on him flickering, just enough for Xavier to feel the tiniest bit of control return. It wasn’t much—he still couldn’t move fully—but it was enough to know that the phone had interrupted something, that it had momentarily disrupted Skye’s hold.

Skye’s gaze darkened, his calm demeanor slipping ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing at the sudden disruption. The mist that had coiled around Xavier’s body seemed to pause, just for a moment, as if Sylus was reconsidering. Calculating something.

The phone kept ringing.

Xavier’s heart pounded, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside him. He looked down at the contact name.

Captain Jenna

His phone had stopped the inevitable, if only for a moment. His eyes darted toward the screen, the bright contact photo lighting up the car. This was his lifeline, the only thing keeping Sylus from finishing what he had started.

Skye’s lips curved into a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Duty never stops for Linkon's best hunters hm?”

His voice was low, almost mocking, but there was something behind it, a flicker of curiosity, as though the phone call had shifted something in his mind. Sylus’s hold on Xavier wasn’t entirely broken, but the red mist began to recede ever so slightly, its grip loosening as Sylus seemed to consider his next move.

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, hanging on the precipice of whatever decision Skye was about to make. The phone rang again, insistent, demanding attention.

Skye leaned back slightly, his cold demeanor returning, but with a spark of something else. “Maybe,” he grinned, almost to himself, “I should let the other person on the line hear your screams before your imminent death?"

The mist, which had been suffocating Xavier moments before, suddenly retracted, slithering away like a serpent disappearing into the shadows. The sensation returned to his limbs, though weak and shaky. His hands were his own again, but Xavier couldn’t bring himself to move.

Skye eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched Xavier’s shock and confusion, the boy still frozen in the driver’s seat. “Answer it,” Skye said softly, a quiet command, but with an underlying threat. “Let’s see what she has to say.”

Xavier’s hand trembled as he reached for the phone, still feeling the lingering numbness from the mist that had wrapped around him moments before. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to answer, trying to regain control, trying to steady his breathing. His mind raced as he glanced nervously at Skye, whose amused smirk remained firmly in place.

“Hello?” Xavier managed to get out, his voice shaky but improving.

“Xavier?” Captain Jenna’s voice crackled through the speaker, filled with a mix of relief and frustration. “Where exactly have you been? No one’s been able to contact you! You can’t just go off and disappear like that for days and days on end!”

Xavier winced at the urgency in her tone. She had always been direct, never wasting time sugarcoating things. He could hear the worry layered underneath her sternness, and for a moment, a wave of guilt hit him. He had been so focused on his mission, on everything happening in the N109 Zone, that he hadn’t even thought about how it might look to his colleagues.

“I…I’m sorry,” Xavier said, shooting a quick glance at Skye, who raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Something came up that I had to take care of. I didn’t mean to disappear.” His eyes darted back to the road, the weight of Skye’s gaze still heavy on him. He kept his tone measured, trying to sound calm. “I’m on my way back now.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh from Captain Jenna. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re safe. We need you for an operation in—”

Xavier’s heart raced. He couldn’t let Skye overhear anything about the association, about their secrets or what was going on back at headquarters. Whatever this man—this monster—was after, it wasn’t something he could afford to share.

Before Captain Jenna could continue, Xavier cut her off, his voice a bit too sharp in his haste. “You can explain everything when I get there,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual but failing to mask the underlying urgency. “I’m almost there.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and for a moment, Xavier worried he might have raised her suspicion, but Captain Jenna eventually replied, her voice softer. “Alright. Just get back safe. We’ll talk soon. We also need to talk about your...partner”

Xavier gulped at the mention of you, but simply exhaled slowly as the call ended, his hand lowering the phone from his ear, feeling the intensity of the moment crashing down around him. He didn’t dare look at Skye just yet, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to figure out what his next move would be.

When he finally glanced over, Skye was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, his expression calm but with an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well,” Skye said, the smirk deepening, “it seems like you’ve been keeping busy.”

Xavier felt the weight of the man’s words, the way they lingered in the air like a challenge. Skye knew more than he was letting on, but he wasn’t pressing—for now. It was as if he were waiting, watching, enjoying the little puzzle Xavier presented.

But Xavier wasn’t about to give him any more pieces. He’d already said too much. This guy wanted something from him, something to do with the Hunter's Association. Why else would he target Xavier?

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Xavier began, forcing his voice to sound steadier than he felt, “but I can promise you I don't have it. If you're after the associations secrets, killing me wont get you any closer".

He forced himself to meet Skye’s gaze, trying to hold onto whatever composure he could muster. But the way Skye looked at him, with those unreadable eyes, made it impossible to know whether his words were even having an effect. His tone had been sharp, maybe too sharp, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness now. Not with someone like him.

For a moment, the air in the car grew even heavier. Skye’s expression barely shifted, but Xavier caught the brief flicker in his eyes—was it intrigue? Curiosity? Or was there something darker lurking just beneath the surface? Xavier couldn’t tell. It was like staring into the depths of an ocean (a very red one at that), unsure of what might lie beneath the calm.

Skye didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained steady, almost too calm, as if he were savoring the tension, letting it stretch between them like a taut string ready to snap. Xavier’s stomach twisted, his mind racing with possibilities—was Skye sizing him up, or just toying with him? It was impossible to know.

After what felt like an eternity, Skye tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Who said I wanted the association’s secrets?”

The words sent a chill through Xavier. The way Skye said it—so casually, as if the association wasn’t even part of the equation—left Xavier feeling more vulnerable than before. Skye had just dismissed his entire assumption without a second thought. If he wasn’t after the association’s secrets, then what was he really after?

Xavier’s pulse quickened, his mind scrambling to keep up. If Skye wasn’t interested in the association, what could he possibly want from him? And worse—why was he keeping him alive?

Skye leaned back in the passenger seat, his amusement clear now. “You think too small, Xavier,” he said, his voice smooth and unhurried, as though they were simply having a conversation. “I don’t need to kill you for information. That’s too… crude.”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm wild and erratic, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to let the panic show. His mind raced, trying to grasp what had just happened. Skye had called him by his real name. And Xavier was sure—positive—he had introduced himself as Anthony. But Skye hadn’t hesitated. He knew.

“How do you know my name?” Xavier asked, keeping his voice steady, though inside, the tension coiled tighter. His thoughts were a blur, his instincts screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.

Skye tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips, as if Xavier had just said something amusing. “What do you mean?” Skye replied, his tone light, almost playful. He leaned back, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Didn’t your captain just call you Xavier?”

Xavier blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. His mind scrambled, piecing together the conversation, and then it hit him. Of course. The phone call. His captain had said his name during the call. Skye had been listening the entire time. Idiot. He mentally slapped himself, feeling foolish for even asking the question.

He sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He was losing control of the situation, and the casual way Skye was toying with him only made it worse. But Xavier couldn’t afford to get rattled now—not when his life was hanging by a thread.

“What do you want?” Xavier asked, his voice quieter now, more measured. He could feel the weight of Skye’s gaze on him, sharp and calculating. “What do you want in return for my life if not information on the Hunter's Association?”

Skye chuckled softly, the sound light but dripping with malice. He looked out the window for a brief moment, as if pondering the question, then slowly turned back to Xavier, his smile deepening. “I don’t usually make deals where I don’t get more of a benefit.”

Xavier swallowed hard, his heart racing faster, though he kept his face expressionless. He didn’t respond—he was waiting, watching Skye carefully. The man’s words were a game, just like everything else he’d said. Xavier knew there had to be more, some twist, some condition that hadn’t been revealed yet.

Skye leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “However…” He paused, as if savoring the moment, watching Xavier closely. “I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead. If you stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it—you’ll live.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of the ultimatum settling over him. Stay away from the Zone. That meant cutting ties with everything he’d worked to find, abandoning the hope of finding you, abandoning you. Could he even afford to do that? Would agreeing with this deal mean he'd never get the chance to see you again?

Also how was he useful to Skye?

"And if not..."

Skye’s smirk widened, sensing the internal struggle playing out behind Xavier’s calm facade. He leaned in closer, invading Xavier’s personal space, his presence suffocating. Xavier instinctively tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go—the car’s cabin suddenly felt too small, too enclosed.

“Lets just say I don't really give second chances,” Sylus whispered, his voice low, dripping with menace.

Xavier swallowed hard, his body tensing, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact, even as the urge to run surged through him. Skye was too close, too calm, too dangerous. The warning wasn’t just a threat—it was a guarantee. Sylus had already proven what he was capable of, and Xavier knew that crossing him again would mean death, or worse.

The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating, as Skye leaned back again, his smile never fading, his eyes never leaving Xavier.

“So,” Skye said, his voice almost casual now, as if they were discussing something far less deadly. “What’s it going to be?”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as Skye’s words echoed in his mind. Stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it? The weight of the ultimatum pressed down on him, suffocating. He didn’t want to abandon the N109 Zone, and even more than that, he couldn’t abandon you. The thought of leaving you behind gnawed at him, the sharp pain of longing cutting through him like a blade.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining your face—how much he longed to see you again, to hold you, to feel your warmth. It had been too long since he’d last heard your voice, since he’d last felt any sense of peace. But now, this? This deal with a devil, this impossible choice?

Xavier wasn’t sure why Skye was so insistent on keeping him away from the N109 Zone. Maybe it had something to do with his work as a hunter—his job was to take down people like Skye, after all. But that didn’t matter. What mattered now was survival. Because if he didn’t agree, if he didn’t concede right here and now, Skye might just kill him on the spot.

And then who would save you?

The thought gripped him like a vice, twisting his insides. No. He couldn’t let that happen. If he died here, there would be no one left to protect you. No one left to pull you out of whatever darkness was festering over the N109 Zone. He had to live, for you.

Xavier took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the words out, even as they weighed heavy on his soul. “Fine,” he said, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. “I agree. I’ll stay away from it.”

Skye’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the faintest smile curling at the edges of his lips. He nodded, his demeanor cooling instantly, the menacing presence he’d exuded just moments ago receding into something more neutral. “Good,” Skye said, his voice soft but still holding that dangerous undertone. “I knew you’d see reason.”

The tension in the car seemed to shift, though the air was still thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Skye leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed now, as if the deal had wiped away any lingering tension. Skye was certainly dangerous, but seemed to be a man of his word at least.

Xavier forced himself to nod, though the weight of the decision felt like it was crushing him. I’ll find a way, he told himself, his mind racing. Skye’s only one guy. He can’t keep me out of there forever, right? There had to be a way back in. A way to find you. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon you.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, the tension still hanging in the air but now subdued, like a coiled snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Xavier’s thoughts churned, his mind battling with itself as the distant lights of the city began to appear on the horizon. The rising sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Xavier saw the light breaking through the darkness.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun brush against his skin. How long has it been? Too long. He had missed the sun. He had missed the light, the feeling of something familiar, something safe. But most of all, he missed you.

But this wasn’t the end. Skye was only one man. He couldn’t keep Xavier away from the N109 Zone forever. Xavier would find a way back—he had to. He wouldn’t rest until he found you, until he knew you were safe. And once he did, Skye would regret ever making this deal.

As the city drew closer, the familiar skyline of Linkon coming into view, Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tall buildings glistened in the morning light, their architecture grand and imposing. But even with the comforting familiarity of home, his mind remained restless.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of City Hall. The building stood tall and unyielding, its imposing columns and grand facade casting long shadows across the street. Without wasting a second, Xavier pushed the door open and stepped out hurriedly, the weight of his decision still heavy on his shoulders.

He stood for a moment, looking up at the structure, taking in its architecture. It felt strange, being back in the city after everything that had happened. But he wasn’t here for reflection. He was here for answers.

Xavier’s hand instinctively moved to the pocket on his chest, patting the place where the SIM card was safely tucked away. The key to everything. Whether Skye was after associations secrets didn't matter now, the information on that SIM card was everything Xavier needed right now. It could give him answers, maybe even lead him to you. It was his only chance to understand what had happened in Reese’s basement, and where you had possibly gone.

With a deep breath, he turned back toward the car—only to find that Skye had already sped off, leaving nothing but the faint smell of exhaust in the air. The man was gone, disappearing into the distance as if he’d never been there at all.

Xavier stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where the car had been, his mind still whirling with thoughts. This isn’t over, he told himself again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Skye’s shadow would loom over him, no matter where he went.

But for now, he had work to do.

With one last glance at the distant city skyline, Xavier turned and made his way past city hall, heading straight for headquarters, the weight of the SIM card in his pocket a constant reminder of what was at stake.

And of what was still to come.

“Caw! Caw!”

Your eyes snapped open, the sound cutting through the suffocating darkness. For a moment, you couldn’t tell where you were—the inky blackness of the N109 Zone was so complete that it pressed in on you from all sides. There was no light here, not even the faintest glow filtering in through the windows. Just endless, crushing darkness.

You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as if it could shield you from the cold reality of your situation.

Not yet. You just wanted to get lost in your dreams for a little while longer.

Through the thick stillness of the room, you could hear the faint rustling of feathers, and even without seeing, you knew exactly what had disturbed your sleep.

“Go away, you stupid fucking bird…” you muttered into the blanket, your voice hoarse and tired. But the familiar flap of wings told you the crow wasn’t going anywhere.

There was a slight rustle at the head of the bed, and then you felt it—the sudden weight of the bird landing on the pillow next to you. Its presence was unmistakable, a cold, ominous shadow in the already oppressive darkness. You didn’t need to see the bird to feel its eyes on you, watching, waiting.

You sighed heavily, pulling the blanket away from your face just enough to squint into the darkness. Mephisto's shape was barely visible, a faint silhouette against the dim outline of the room. Even without light, you could sense the bird’s beady eyes, glowing with unnatural intelligence, watching your every move.

“Why are you always here?” you groaned, turning your head to the side but not making any real effort to shoo the bird away. It wasn’t the first time you’d woken to find the crow lurking in the shadows, unsettling and always too close for comfort.

The bird didn’t move, only cocked its head at you, its dark feathers rustling in the silence. A low, throaty caw escaped it, the sound strangely muffled by the thick blackness of the Zone. The air felt heavier here, like it was weighing down on you, draining what little energy you had left. Fatigue clung to you like a second skin, making it hard to even lift your head from the pillow.

“Go on, then…” you muttered, voice trailing off as exhaustion tugged at your body. You were too tired to fight, too tired to care. Whatever strange game the bird was playing, you didn’t have the strength to resist.

Mephisto's soft caw echoed in the suffocating stillness, the sound barely audible but enough to gnaw at your nerves. The scrape of his claws on the pillow sent an uncomfortable chill through you, his dark presence creeping closer, settling into the shadows like it belonged there. The oppressive darkness of the N109 Zone outside made it impossible to see him clearly, but you didn’t need to. You could feel him—watching, waiting, like he always was.

For a moment, the room was silent again. Then, without warning, Mephisto took flight, the sharp flutter of wings cutting through the air as he landed somewhere across the room. You didn’t bother to follow his movement, too tired to care. Not until his caw broke the silence once more. And again. And again.

The crow’s incessant cawing drilled into your already frayed nerves, each sound louder than the last. You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter over your head in a futile attempt to block him out. But the bird’s persistence didn’t stop. Caw. Caw. Caw.

“Are you serious?” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled. But Mephisto continued, relentless, as if mocking your exhaustion. The weight of the past few weeks pressed down on you—sleepless nights, endless fatigue, nausea creeping at the edges of your mind. The last thing you needed was this damn crow breaking what little peace you had.

Finally, you had enough. With a frustrated groan, you sat upright and turned the lamp on, ready to scream every obscenity you could think of at the annoying bird.

But before you could let the words fly, the sound of metal scraping against metal stopped you.

Your eyes darted to the door just as a small slit opened, and the tray was pushed through with a loud clank. On the tray sat a plate of buttered French toast, syrup drizzled generously on top, fried eggs glistening with oil, and three thick slices of bacon.

You blinked, staring at the meal as if it were the most absurd thing you’d ever seen.

Breakfast? All of that noise and irritation—for breakfast?

You glanced at Mephisto, who had now stopped cawing and perched himself smugly atop a shelf in the corner of the room. His beady eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, and you could swear there was a mocking glint in them. As if he were proud of himself for his part in waking you.

“The hell, Mephisto?” you muttered, rubbing your temples in frustration. “You woke me up…for breakfast?”

The crow gave a final, low caw, as if satisfied with himself. You glared at him for a moment before your stomach growled, betraying your irritation. The rich smell of bacon and syrup filled the room, and despite your fatigue and frustration, your body responded.

“Unbelievable…” you sighed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “I guess I can’t be mad at you. But next time? A little less cawing, alright?”

Mephisto tilted his metal head, as if considering your request, then fluffed his feathers and settled into silence. For now.

You dragged the tray toward the couch, the familiar clank of metal chains following you with every step. The buttery smell of the French toast filled the room, a comforting contrast to the cold, oppressive dim darkness of the room. It was a simple pleasure, one you rarely allowed yourself to enjoy. Sitting down, you tucked your legs beneath you and began to eat, the warm toast melting on your tongue, the crisp bacon adding a much-needed crunch to the silence.

But as you chewed, your thoughts began to drift, slipping away from the meal in front of you. Unwillingly, they went back to him.

Sylus.

The room was empty now, and yes, you had often eaten breakfast alone—but more times than not, Sylus had been there. His presence had always loomed, a constant shadow in your confined world. Sometimes he was silent, simply watching you with those cold, unreadable eyes. Other times, he would speak, absently chatting about his ventures outside the N109 Zone, about deals made or enemies eliminated. You had never cared much for the details—most of it sounded like distant noise, some half-forgotten memory—but even then, it had been more entertaining than staring at these four black walls.

A scowl crept across your face as you took another bite. Why the hell are you thinking about that prick now?

You shook your head, frustrated. You were alone now. Sylus was gone, off somewhere dealing with whatever business had called him away, and you should be enjoying this time without him. You should be savoring the silence, the freedom from his looming presence. You should be grateful that he wasn’t here, filling the space with his mind games, his cold, possessive gaze always tracking your every movement.

Fuck him.

You stabbed at a piece of bacon, chewing aggressively as if it could help rid him from your thoughts. He was a manipulative bastard. And yet… despite your best efforts, his presence lingered in your mind, as persistent as ever.

Your gaze drifted to the empty space where he would normally sit, his absence both a relief and an unsettling reminder. You had despised him, hated every moment he had been there, the way he made you feel like a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing. But now that he was gone, the space felt… strange.

Stop it. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not now. Not when he was out of your life—if only for a while.

But even as you tried to push him from your mind, one of his last words echoed in your head, an unshakable whisper: “This may be the last time we talk, kitten.”

The way he had said it, that cold finality in his voice, had stuck with you, nagging at the back of your mind ever since. He had called you that damn pet name after days of ignoring you, his voice dripping with condescension, as if he were giving you a final warning. Or a promise.

You hated it. You hated how those words seemed to hang over you, even now, as if he had left part of himself behind in this room, even after he was gone.

“Kitten.”

You shook your head again, harder this time, trying to shove the memory aside. No, you told yourself. You wouldn’t let him get to you, not like this. He was gone. For now, you were alone. Enjoy it while it lasts, you thought bitterly, taking another bite of French toast, the syrup coating your tongue in sweetness.

But no matter how hard you tried, that final word—kitten—kept echoing in the back of your mind, a lingering reminder that Sylus might be gone for now, but he was far from finished with you.

You forced yourself to focus on the meal in front of you, determined to push any lingering thoughts of Sylus away. You chewed quickly, finishing the French toast, the syrup leaving a sticky sweetness on your lips. The bacon and eggs soon followed, and though the food was far from satisfying, it was enough to momentarily distract you. You let the warmth of the food settle in your stomach, willing the heaviness in your chest to dissipate with it.

"No drink to wash this down?" you muttered, annoyed that the chefs had seemingly forgotten yet again.

With the last bite taken, you placed the empty plate back on the tray and rose from the couch, the clink of metal cuffs reminding you of your ever-present situation. The chains dragged behind you as you moved toward the bathroom, passing Mephisto, who had settled back onto his perch in the corner. His black feathers were fluffed up, his head tucked beneath a wing, and for once, the bird seemed content to leave you in peace.

You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. At least now, with breakfast behind you, you could take a moment for yourself.

The bright lights of the bathroom strained your eyes as you flicked them on. The chill of the tile beneath your feet made you shiver as you moved toward the shower, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into your bones. The mirror reflected your tired eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the weight of sleepless nights etched into your face. You needed this—the chance to feel clean, to wash away the grime of the past few days. Maybe then you could feel a little more like yourself.

With a sigh, you began to undress, your fingers reaching for the clasps at the sides of your underwear. You couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude as you unclasped the sides with ease. Sylus had, at the very least, provided you with something that made life a little more bearable. You didn’t have to go bare for two weeks, which had been your fear the moment you realized the cuffs restricted you from putting on anything that required more movement.

At least he wasn’t completely cruel, you thought, though you hated giving him even that much credit.

The underwear unclasped easily, falling to the floor as you stepped into the shower. The hot water hit your skin like a wave of relief, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe, closing your eyes and letting the steam rise around you. The weight of the cuffs dragged slightly at your wrists, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the heat that loosened the tension in your muscles, if only temporarily.

As the water washed over you, you forced your mind to stay present, to focus on the warmth, the small comfort of being alone in this space. You scrubbed your skin, letting the soap and water cleanse the sweat, the fear, the exhaustion that had clung to you like a second skin.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not now.

The shower passed without incident, the warm water a brief respite in an otherwise unchanging routine. You let it wash over you, not bothering to rush. There was no need to hurry—nothing would be different when you stepped outside the bathroom. The four black walls of your confined world would still be waiting, the ever-present weight of captivity pressing down on you.

You dressed slowly, fingers lazily fastening the clasps on your new underwear and pulling on the rest of your clothes. It was a mundane task, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much. What was the point? Nothing was going to change outside of this small space. Nothing ever did.

With a sigh, you stepped through the bathroom opening and stepped back into the main room. The dim light from the lamp did little to brighten the space, but something caught your eye near the door—a small bottle, sitting neatly on the floor.

You walked over, the clink of your chain echoing in the silence as you crouched down to pick it up. A small bottle of apple juice. You stared at it for a moment, turning it over in your hands. Ah. So the chefs finally remembered your drink.

You examined the label, noticing the word "organic" printed in bold letters across the front. A scoff escaped your lips as you raised an eyebrow. Organic? Really?

It wasn’t like you had asked for anything fancy. Just apple juice. Something simple, a small comfort in a world that was anything but. But the idea that the chefs had gone out of their way to make sure it was organic felt almost laughable. As if the quality of the juice would somehow make up for everything else. As if this one, carefully selected bottle could erase the chain around your ankle or the suffocating darkness that clung to every corner of the N109 Zone.

You shook your head with a faint smirk, unscrewing the cap. The liquid inside swirled lazily as you brought the bottle to your lips, the familiar taste of apples flooding your senses. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was probably the best thing you’d had in days.

Still, the absurdity of it lingered, and the small humor in the situation wasn’t lost on you. Organic apple juice, of all things, in a place like this. It almost made you laugh—almost.

You took another sip, walking back to the couch where your breakfast tray still sat, the weight of the cuffs dragging slightly as you moved. You sat down, staring at the empty plate, the apple juice bottle still in hand. For a moment, the silence stretched, and the thoughts you’d been pushing away started to creep back in.

But no. You wouldn’t let them take over. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, you focused on the small sweetness of the juice, the faint taste of apples grounding you in the present moment. A small comfort in an otherwise impossible world.

Time passed, though you weren’t sure how much. Minutes? Hours? The stagnant silence of the room made it impossible to tell. The dim light never changed, the walls never shifted. Everything felt stuck in place, leaving you floating in a haze of monotony, barely tethered to the reality outside your mind.

It wasn’t until you heard the familiar scrape of metal against metal that you realized lunch had been passed through the small opening in the door. You glanced toward the tray and sighed. Another meal, another reminder of how routine your captivity had become.

Grilled chicken sandwiches with a side salad, the tangy scent of vinegar dressing wafting up as you sat back down on the couch. For a drink, water. The sight of it barely registered. You gave the chef your dirty dish from earlier and took your new meal. You ate out of necessity, chewing mechanically as your thoughts drifted away from the plate in front of you.

Xavier.

His name filled your mind suddenly, unbidden, and a sharp pang of worry twisted in your chest. You tried to swallow it down with a bite of chicken, but it lingered, heavy and insistent.

Was he okay?

You hadn't allowed yourself to think about him much since you’d been taken here. The thought of him searching for you, desperately trying to figure out what had happened, was too much to bear. The last thing you wanted was to feel hope. Hope was dangerous, a slippery slope into despair. But now, as you sat alone in this suffocating room, your thoughts strayed to him without your permission.

Had he given up searching for you?

You forced yourself to take another bite, trying to ground yourself in the present. But the idea gnawed at you. Xavier was relentless. He wouldn’t stop—not unless… No. You shook your head. You knew him better than that. If there was even the slightest chance that you were alive, Xavier would be searching, tearing apart the world to find you. He wasn’t the type to give up. He couldn’t give up.

But still, even as you tried to cling to that thought, the darker possibility crept in. Slowly, insidiously, like a poison sinking into your veins.

What if… he couldn’t find you because Sylus wouldn’t let him?

A chill ran through you, cold and unsettling. Even if, by some miracle, Xavier had tracked your location, there was no way he’d get anywhere near this place without Sylus knowing. Sylus had eyes everywhere. He controlled everything in the N109 Zone. No one could move in or out without his permission. If Xavier had found you, Sylus would have stopped him.

Or worse.

Your stomach churned, the food on your plate suddenly unappetizing. A horrifying thought started to crawl its way into your mind, gripping you tightly. You tried to push it away, but it clawed its way to the surface.

Had Sylus… killed him?

You swallowed hard, the tang of vinegar burning your throat as you forced the food down. The thought stuck in your chest like a stone. Was that why you hadn’t felt any hope? Why everything had felt so bleak, so final? Because somewhere, out there, Xavier was—no. You couldn’t let yourself believe that. Not now. Not when the possibility of his death could unravel you completely.

But still, the idea sat there, festering, filling the silence with dread. Sylus wouldn’t have hesitated if he saw Xavier as a threat. The cold, calculated way he moved, the ease with which he eliminated obstacles in his path—it was entirely possible that Xavier had become just another casualty in Sylus’s game.

You set down the sandwich, your appetite gone. Your mind raced, heart hammering against your ribs as you sat there, staring at the black walls that had closed in around you for what felt like an eternity. If Xavier was dead, then what? What did that leave you with? Nothing but these four walls and Sylus’s twisted version of captivity.

No.

You couldn’t think like that. Not now. You couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Xavier had to be alive. He had to be out there, still fighting, still searching. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t abandon you. You refused to believe anything else.

But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the seed of doubt had already been planted. And it wasn’t going anywhere. You clutched your stomach as a surge of pain cramped in your lower abdomen. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Chalking it up to the food, you decide to lay down.

The fifth day. At least, you thought it might be. Time had blurred into a strange, formless thing, slipping through your fingers without any markers to distinguish one day from the next. You had no way of knowing how long it had been since Sylus left, or even what day it was. You were just staring at the ceiling now, your mind slowly unraveling from the sheer weight of boredom.

The darkness of the N109 Zone outside was relentless, pressing in from all sides, and the oppressive silence only seemed to make it worse. You had run out of things to think about, your mind turning over the same memories, the same thoughts—where was Xavier? Was Sylus really gone?—until they became noise. Background static.

You turned your head, your eyes landing on Mephisto, perched nearby. He was preening his feathers, utterly unconcerned with your slow descent into madness.

“Hey…” you muttered, breaking the silence. The bird paused, one red eye shifting toward you.

“You should’ve told your owner to leave me a clock,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “A calendar... books. Something. I’m going crazy here.”

Mephisto stilled, cocking his head slightly as if he were processing what you said. He blinked, staring at you with his unnervingly intelligent eyes. For a brief, absurd moment, you wondered if he understood you. You let out a soft, bitter laugh, turning your head away from him.

“Yeah, I figured.”

The silence settled in again, the darkness heavier now. Your body felt sluggish, your mind clouded with exhaustion. Sleep had become your only escape from the monotony, so you let it take you. You felt odd. Like something was wrong in your gut. Despite this, your eyelids fluttered shut, and soon you were drifting into a restless slumber, the weight of the world outside slipping away.

When you woke, the room was still dark—unchanged, like always. But something was different. Your eyes drifted to the door, and you blinked in surprise. A small bundle of items lay just inside the door. Food, probably. You were used to meals being passed through the metal slit in the door, arriving without ceremony.

But this wasn’t food.

You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stared at the items. Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. You shuffled across the room, the clink of your chain barely registering as you crouched down in front of the bundle.

A calendar. And an old, slightly battered record. On the record a note reads:

Listen to this if you're bored. Should help.

-Sylus

You stared at the items in disbelief, your fingers hovering over the calendar as if touching it might cause it to disappear. A calendar? It was such a simple thing, but it felt monumental in this place, where time had become meaningless.

Mephisto let out a soft caw from his perch, but you ignored him, your thoughts spinning. You reached for the calendar, flipping it open to find a bookmarked page and a date circled in bright red ink.

February.

It was February now. The realization hit you like a wave, and you froze, staring at the circled date. How long had it been since you’d arrived here? Days? Weeks? It was impossible to tell. Time had slipped away from you, leaving nothing but this void of endless darkness. And now, suddenly, a date was staring you in the face, mocking your inability to track time.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. Sylus probably had the chef leave these things for you. A reminder. A subtle way to toy with you maybe? Reminding you that no matter what you did, he was always watching? Or was it really a nice gesture?

You glanced at Mephisto, who was once again preening his feathers, seemingly oblivious to your shock. The absurd thought crossed your mind—could this bird telepathically communicate with Sylus?

No. You shook your head, trying to push away the ridiculousness of it. There was probably a live feed in his eyes. Sylus had eyes everywhere. This was just his way of reinforcing the fact that you were never alone, no matter how much you wanted to be.

But even with that realization, a small, giddy excitement bubbled up inside you. A calendar. An actual date. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something real. Something you could hold onto, in a place where everything felt so distant, so out of reach.

You rushed to open the calendar fully, your fingers flipping through the pages, tracing the days you had lost. How long had you been here? You couldn’t tell anymore. The days blurred together, the passage of time meaningless in this dark, suffocating world.

February. You had been here for longer than you thought. But how much longer? Weeks? The time was slipping away from you, and even now, with the calendar in your hands, you weren’t sure what it meant.

Still, you clung to it, flipping through the pages again and again, as if the answers you sought were hidden somewhere in the numbers. You sighed, settling back against the couch, holding the calendar in your lap. The small victory of having something, anything, to mark the days felt like a lifeline.

You glanced at the record. Another piece of the puzzle. Was it just an old record, or was it something more? Maybe a way for Sylus to toy with you, another way to keep you under his thumb.

For now, it didn’t matter. You had a calendar, a way to tell time. February. It was something to hold onto.

But the unsettling thought still lingered in the back of your mind—how long had it really been?

Your gaze shifted to the record player in the corner of the room, one that had been there since you arrived but had remained untouched. Shelves lined the walls, filled with records you had never bothered to look at. They felt like relics of another time, useless in the darkness of your current world. Besides, you had never known how to use one, and even if you did, the thought of music felt distant, disconnected from the stark reality of your life here.

But now, with the record in your hand, the idea of playing it stirred something in you. The room was suffocatingly quiet—always had been. Maybe music, any music, could break the monotony, even if only for a little while.

It couldn’t be that hard to figure out.

You stood slowly, the weight of the chain dragging slightly as you crossed the room toward the record player. The shelves of records loomed next to it, untouched and collecting dust, but your focus was solely on the player now. You stared at it for a moment, feeling a small flicker of uncertainty. You’d seen record players in movies, but you’d never used one. Still, how complicated could it be?

Placing the record down carefully on the turntable, you fumbled with the needle, your fingers shaky as you tried to set it up the way you remembered from vague recollections of old movies. The needle slipped a few times, scratching lightly over the surface of the record, and you winced.

“Come on…” you muttered under your breath, frustration building as you fiddled with it, adjusting the speed and placement. For a brief moment, you considered giving up entirely. What was the point of this? It wasn’t like playing some music was going to change anything.

But just as you were about to pull the needle away, the record began to spin. You held your breath as the sound of soft crackling filled the room, and then—music.

A hauntingly beautiful tune drifted through the air, slow and melodic, the soft notes of an organ echoing in the stillness. The melody was deep, resonating with something inside you that had been silent for too long. The music wrapped around you, filling the empty space, pulling at emotions you had long since buried.

You stood there, frozen, as the music enveloped the room. It was strange, hearing something so beautiful in a place that had become nothing but a prison. The contrast made the music feel almost ghostly, like it didn’t belong here. Like it was an echo from another life, another time.

For a moment, you just listened. The sound washed over you, the haunting notes tugging at something deep inside. It was almost too much. The weight of the loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it seemed to rise to the surface with each note that played. You hadn’t realized how much you had been holding in, how much you had forced yourself to push down, until now.

The haunting tune was a reminder. A reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been stolen from you. But it was also… comforting, in a strange way. It was the first thing in this place that had touched you—really touched you.

You closed your eyes, letting the music sink in, every note heavy with meaning, every chord reverberating through you. For a moment, it was as if the darkness of the N109 Zone didn’t matter. As if the four black walls that surrounded you had disappeared, leaving you in a space where only the music existed.

The tune swelled, filling every corner of the room, its melody bittersweet, carrying an unspoken sadness that felt far too familiar. It wrapped around you like a soft blanket, drawing you into its haunting embrace, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel. To let the music stir something inside you that you had locked away for too long.

As the song played on, you sat down on the edge of the couch, the record player spinning quietly in the corner. Your fingers absently traced the label of the calendar in your lap, your mind floating somewhere between the haunting melody and the strange sense of calm it brought.

It had now been two days since you first played the record, two days of trying to distract yourself from the endless monotony of your existence in the N109 Zone. You’d made it a habit now—when you woke up, you marked the calendar with a ballpoint pen you’d found in Sylus’s desk, scratching a line through the date as if it could somehow bring you closer to freedom. Or at least closer to understanding how long you had been trapped here.

Your circadian rhythm was the only other way to tell what time it was.

The haunting melody from the record still played in your mind sometimes, but you hadn’t touched it again. There was something about the music that unsettled you. Too emotional. Too revealing. So, for now, you kept your distance.

In an attempt to stave off the boredom clawing at your mind, you finally agreed to join Luke and Kieran for a game of Kitty Cards—something they had pestered you about for days. You figured it was better than staring at the walls, waiting for nothing to happen.

At first, the game was almost enjoyable. Luke’s awkward attempts at jokes and Kieran’s quiet intensity made for an interesting dynamic, and for a brief moment, you let yourself relax. It was a small respite, playing cards with these two in the dim light of the room, their presence a distraction from the oppressive weight of your thoughts.

But then, slowly, you started to feel it.

The familiar aches. A dull, persistent cramp settling in your lower half, tugging at your body like an unwelcome reminder. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the tiredness crept in next, sudden and heavy. The exhaustion weighed down on your eyelids, your muscles growing sluggish.

You sighed softly, knowing what was coming.

“Sorry, guys,” you said, trying to keep your voice light as you gathered the cards in front of you. “I think I’m done for now. Just… feeling off.”

Luke blinked, his mask tilting slightly as he looked at you. “You okay?”

Kieran’s eyes followed you as you rose from the table, his expression unreadable. You nodded quickly, not wanting to explain.

“Yeah, just tired. I’ll catch you both later.”

Without waiting for a response, you made your way back to the small bathroom. The cramping in your lower half was more noticeable now, pulsing with every step, but you welcomed it. At least it means something’s happening, you thought bitterly.

Once inside the bathroom, you heard the door close as the twins left, your body aching as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You exhaled sharply, leaning forward slightly as the cramps continued to tug at your abdomen.

Then, as you glanced down at your underwear, you saw it—tiny specks of blood, dark against the fabric.

Relief washed over you, heavier than you expected. That time again? Already? You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, feeling the tension drain from your body. The blood meant your period had come. It meant everything was still functioning normally, despite the chaos of your life. And most importantly—it meant you weren’t tied to him.

You weren’t pregnant. You weren’t carrying his child.

Your stomach unclenched slightly at the thought, and you leaned back against the cool tile wall, closing your eyes. Sylus had tried to plant that seed in you, that much you knew. But your body had fought against it, and now, seeing the blood, you knew for sure—you weren’t tied to that monster in the way he had planned.

Relief mingled with anger. How dare he even try to bind you to him like that? As if forcing you to bear his child would somehow solidify the twisted power he had over you.

But now? Now you were free from that possibility. You pressed your hand against your lower abdomen, feeling the faint ache of cramps beneath your palm, and allowed yourself to feel grateful. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small victory in a place that gave you so little.

You dressed again slowly, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through your body. You were exhausted—your body already begging for sleep—but you felt lighter. Freer, even. The blood meant you weren’t Sylus’s pawn, not in the way he had wanted.

And for now, that was enough.

Week one without Sylus had passed, but the moments that passed blurred together. You woke up feeling more drained than the last. No matter how many hours you spent in bed, you couldn’t shake the exhaustion that clung to you. It felt like a weight pressing down on your entire body, your limbs heavy and uncooperative, as though sleep was nothing more than a brief interruption in the long strain of fatigue.

You rubbed your eyes, the dull ache of sleepless nights pounding behind them. It’s just the insomnia, you told yourself, convincing yourself that the exhaustion was simply from the tossing and turning that plagued you every night. After all, how could anyone sleep well in this place?

But deep down, you knew this tiredness was different. It wasn’t the usual grogginess from a restless night—it was deeper, more persistent. No matter how long you tried to rest, you woke up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all.

With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed, each step slow and heavy as if your body had to drag itself from the sleep it never really got. You winced, pressing a hand to your stomach as you moved. The bloating was worse after every meal now. Every time you ate, your stomach would swell uncomfortably, tight and distended, like something inside was pushing against your skin. The discomfort was constant, and by the end of the day, you could barely stand it.

It’s the damn period, you thought, grimacing as you placed your hand over your abdomen. Has to be.

Periods always made you bloat. That wasn’t new. And with all the stress you’d been under lately, it made sense that things weren’t exactly running like clockwork. Still, the bloating felt different this time—more intense, more persistent, as though it was refusing to settle. Even after hours had passed, the discomfort clung to you, making you feel like your body was swelling from the inside out.

You shuffled to the bathroom, trying to focus on anything but the nagging fatigue and the bloating that made your movements stiff and awkward. A cramp twisted briefly in your abdomen, but it was dull, barely noticeable. You sighed, pulling down your underwear to change your pad, expecting to see the usual gushing blood.

But there was hardly any.

You blinked, staring at the emptiness on the pad. Yesterday, you had bled more—definitely. The first day had felt like a normal start to your period, but now, there was barely anything.

Huh?

You sat there for a moment, staring down at the pristine white of the pad. Your fingers traced the waistband of your underwear as confusion settled in. The cramping had mostly faded, too, just a slight ache now, nothing like the intensity of what you usually felt during your period.

Where is it?

You pressed a hand to your lower abdomen, the discomfort of bloating still lingering beneath your fingers. There should have been more blood. There should have been more something. But now, all that was left was a faint stain and a gnawing sense of unease.

It’s fine, you told yourself, standing up and trying to shake the feeling off. Periods can be irregular. It’s just stress.

That had to be it. The sleepless nights, the strain of living in the N109 Zone, the constant tension pulling at you—it was all catching up to you. Your body was just reacting to the emotional and physical stress. It made sense.

But still, the small voice of doubt in the back of your mind was growing louder. You’d always had unpredictable cycles, but this? This didn’t feel right. The bloating, the exhaustion, the lack of blood—it was all off. Yet, you forced yourself to ignore it. What else could it be?

You shook your head, forcing a laugh under your breath as you stared at the nearly empty pad. It’s fine. Just stress.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the nagging discomfort remained. And as you changed your pad and moved to wash your hands, the question gnawed at you with every breath.

Where is it?

It didn't help that with every meal from that day forward you'd get a slight pang of sickness in your belly. Maybe the chefs weren't that great of cooks after all.

But as time passed, the nausea only become more unbearable. It was no longer just an inconvenience that popped up here and there—it was constant. It churned in your stomach from the moment you woke up, creeping up before you even thought about food, making the thought of eating feel like a battle. Each meal now brought a wave of queasiness that lingered long after you forced yourself to swallow a few bites. The food you once ate out of necessity now felt impossible to keep down.

It wasn’t just the nausea, either. The small comforts you’d relied on—like lying on your chest when you finally collapsed into bed—were gone, too. Your breasts had grown tender, so sensitive that even the thought of pressing them against the mattress made you wince. Rolling over had become a challenge, and any attempt to settle into your normal sleeping position left you frustrated and sore.

You sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly pulling on a loose shirt, hoping the fabric wouldn’t irritate your nipples any further. Every little thing seemed to be falling apart inside you. Between the nausea, the tenderness, and the bloating that hadn’t eased up, your body felt like it was turning against you.

It was the same with everything else, too. Even simple things—like playing another round of Kitty Cards with Luke and Kieran—had started to feel overwhelming. You had hoped the game might distract you from the constant discomfort, but it wasn’t working. Every time you sat down to play, your mind would drift, thoughts swirling around Sylus, his absence, and the creeping uncertainty that gnawed at you.

The twins were patient, at least. They sat across from you, dealing the cards and chatting casually, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind. But today, the pressure felt different. Everything felt different.

You stared at your cards, barely processing the game as it unfolded in front of you. Your head was spinning, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You had lost again—no surprise there. Normally, you’d shrug it off, crack a sarcastic joke about how the twins were impossible to beat. But this time, you felt something break inside you, something small but undeniable.

Before you could stop it, the tears welled up in your eyes.

“Damn it,” you muttered, your voice trembling. You quickly wiped at your eyes, trying to will the tears away, but it was too late. They fell fast and hard, streaming down your cheeks before you could control them.

Luke and Kieran exchanged a panicked glance at each other through their masks, their playful demeanor evaporating as they rushed to your side.

“Whoa, hey, it’s just a game!” Luke said, his voice soft and cautious as he reached out, clearly unsure how to handle your sudden outburst. “It’s not a big deal, we can play another round, yeah?”

Kieran didn’t say anything at first, just shifted closer, his presence more of a quiet comfort than anything. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice calm but concerned. “You okay?”

You shook your head quickly, choking back a sob as you tried to speak. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really. It’s just… I don’t know.” The words felt flimsy, hollow, even as you said them. You didn’t know what was happening—why the sudden flood of emotions, why you felt so completely out of control. It wasn’t like you.

“It’s just everything,” you whispered, more to yourself than to them.

The twins stayed close, Luke rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly while Kieran quietly handed you a tissue. You wiped your face, embarrassed by the sudden outburst. This wasn’t you. You weren’t the kind of person who broke down over losing a card game, and yet here you were, crying in front of two people who probably didn’t know what to do with you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I don’t know why… it’s just been—everything’s been so off lately.”

The twins exchanged another glance, but they didn’t push you. Instead, they nodded, offering small smiles of reassurance.

“We get it,” Luke said softly. “It’s a lot. You don’t have to explain.”

But as you sat there, sniffling and trying to regain control, the spinning in your head worsened. Your mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, none of them settling. What was happening to you? The nausea, the fatigue, the sensitivity, the tears. It didn’t make sense. You had blamed it all on stress and your period, but now the doubts were creeping in again.

And with those doubts came the nagging thought you’d been avoiding for days now: When is Sylus coming back?

The last time you’d seen him, he had left without giving you any real answers. His cold, detached demeanor had sent chills down your spine, and the memory of his final words replayed in your mind over and over again, like a taunt you couldn’t escape.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the words away, but they echoed louder than ever. Was he dead? Had something happened to him? No… that wasn’t possible. Sylus wasn’t the kind of man who went down easily. He was always ten steps ahead, always in control. But then why did his words haunt you like a final goodbye?

Your chest tightened, your stomach churning as the weight of it all pressed down on you. You needed answers, but you had none. And without Sylus here—without knowing if he was ever coming back—there was nothing to do but sit with the spinning confusion, the unease, and the gnawing fear that something was very, very wrong.

Days pass in a blur and you were getting tired of feeling god awful. And thirsty? You couldn't stop drinking.

You kept finding yourself asking Mephisto, of all things, if he could somehow pass a note to the chef for more drinks. Water, juice, anything you could get your hands on. The constant thirst gnawed at you, as relentless as the rest of the changes you couldn’t understand. The more your body demanded, the more frustrated you became.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you muttered under your breath, staring into the mirror after pushing away yet another meal you couldn't finish. Your reflection stared back at you, tired and drawn, with dark circles under your eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Your body felt foreign—heavy, sluggish, like something you couldn’t control anymore. You weren’t even sure what was happening to you, but you hated it. You hated how powerless you felt inside your own skin.

It was as if your body was betraying you in slow, painful ways. And it was getting harder and harder to hold yourself together.

You stepped back from the mirror, and the weight of it all—everything you had been pushing down—suddenly crashed over you. A sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop it, you were breaking down. Again. You slid to the floor, pressing your hands to your face, trying to stifle the tears, but they came faster than you could handle. The frustration, the exhaustion, the endless confusion—it all bubbled over.

Your hands were shaking as you cried, your body feeling too weak to even hold yourself upright. You were falling apart, piece by piece, and there was nothing left to keep the walls up.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting there on the floor, tears streaming down your face, you glanced over at the calendar. Through tear-stained eyes, you caught a glimpse of the circled date—the day Sylus was supposed to come back.

Your heart sank, a hollow pit forming in your chest as the realization hit you like a blow.

Three days.

Three days had already passed since he was supposed to be back.

Your breath caught in your throat as the thought consumed you. Shit. He’s dead. That’s the only explanation that made sense. Sylus was dead, and now you were trapped here, in this miserable, suffocating prison, forever.

And what made it worse—what twisted the knife in deeper—was that you cared.

You shouldn’t. You knew that. Sylus had kidnapped you, manipulated you, left a scar on your arm and worse, scars in your mind. He had controlled you, twisted your life into something unrecognizable. And here you were, crying—actually crying—because he wasn’t coming back?

Fuck him, you thought, angrily wiping your tears away. Why do you even care?

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the tears kept falling. Why did you care? What was wrong with you? Why did the thought of Sylus being dead, of him never walking back through that door, tear you apart in ways you couldn’t explain?

Your head spun, the weight of your emotions crashing over you, dragging you under. You hated him. You hated everything he’d done to you. He’d stolen you from your life, cut into your skin, ripped away your freedom. You should be celebrating the thought of him being gone. You should want him to be dead.

But you didn’t.

You leaned your head against the wall, pressing your hands to your chest, trying to quiet the storm inside of you. The nausea was back again, swirling in your stomach, making it harder to breathe. Your body felt like it wasn’t yours anymore, like you had lost control in more ways than one.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you shook your head, whispering to yourself. “What is wrong with me?”

There was no answer, only the suffocating silence of the N109 Zone, pressing in on you from all sides. And in that silence, one thought kept repeating itself, over and over again, haunting you with every breath:

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

“FUCK YOU!” The words ripped from your throat before you even realized it, raw and filled with a fury you didn’t know you still had in you.

You surged to your feet, your vision blurred with tears and rage as you grabbed the calendar from its place on the wall. The innocent object, the one thing that had grounded you to the passing of time, now felt like a mockery. Every marked date, every circled day—it was all a lie. He wasn’t coming back.

Without thinking, you hurled the calendar across the room with all the strength you could muster. It hit the opposite wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor, pages crumpling as it landed. The sound echoed in the room, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the roar inside your head.

You stood there, chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. The room felt too small, too suffocating, the darkness pressing in on you from every side. You wanted to scream again, to throw everything in the room, to tear it all apart until there was nothing left to remind you of him, of this place, of the horrible truth you couldn’t escape.

Sylus. His name was a bitter taste in your mouth. He had controlled you, twisted your life into this nightmare, and now he had the audacity to leave you here—alone. The anger burned in your chest, mixing with the sadness, the confusion, the overwhelming feeling of being lost.

You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. But in that same breath, the thought of him being gone forever, of him never walking through that door again, left you hollow. Why?

You felt an intense pain in your chest. In your heart. Physical, longing, brimming underneath all the hate when you thought of Sylus.

Tears streamed down your face as you stood there, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the crumpled calendar on the floor. The broken mess of it mirrored the way you felt inside—shattered, with no way to piece it back together.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. It wasn’t just for Sylus anymore. It was for everything. For the N109 Zone, for your broken body, for the endless spiral of confusion and fear that had taken over your life. You didn’t know who to scream at anymore, who to blame, because everything felt like it was crumbling.

You wiped your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand, your breath shaky. The calendar sat motionless on the floor, a reminder of time slipping away, of promises not kept. And with it, a reminder of the haunting words Sylus had left you with, the ones that echoed in the hollow space inside your chest.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

You sobbed, eyes turning toward the record player. You had been avoiding it. But now you longed for its song.

You sobbed, knees giving out as you slid to the floor, your body trembling with the weight of everything crashing down at once. The room spun around you, the tears blurring your vision, and for a moment, all you could do was sit there, letting the raw emotion pour out of you, your chest heaving with every breath.

Through the tears, your eyes drifted across the room, falling on the record player sitting in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust. It had been sitting there for days, untouched, and you had purposefully ignored it, trying to avoid the haunting melody that had stirred too much inside you the first time. You’d been afraid of it—afraid of what the music had made you feel. Too much.

But now, as you sat there in the suffocating silence, the world collapsing around you, you longed for it. You longed for the song.

There was something in that music, something that had connected with you in a way nothing else here had. The haunting melody had pierced through the walls you’d built, allowing you to feel, really feel, in a place where emotions were a dangerous luxury. And now, in the midst of your grief and anger, you craved that connection again, that strange, bittersweet comfort.

Wiping at your tear-streaked face, you slowly pushed yourself up, your legs shaky beneath you as you staggered toward the record player. You hesitated for a moment, standing before it, your fingers hovering over the record that sat waiting, as if it had known you would come back.

Your hand trembled as you placed the needle on the record, the familiar crackling sound filling the room as it began to spin. For a moment, there was nothing but static, a brief, fragile pause before the music began.

And then, the first notes hit.

That hauntingly beautiful melody. It drifted through the room, filling the empty space with its ghostly echo. The sound wrapped around you, soft and delicate, but heavy with meaning, with emotion. The organs slow, mournful tune carried through the air, each note pulling at your heart, drawing out the feelings you had tried to bury.

You sank to the floor again, leaning against the wall, your head resting back as you let the music envelop you. The tears didn’t stop, but the sobs quieted, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. The melody tugged at your soul, a reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been taken from you.

But in that sadness, there was a strange comfort. The music understood. It mirrored your pain, your frustration, your confusion. Every note felt like it was speaking directly to you, like the song itself was mourning with you.

The organ swelled, and your chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over as the emotions surged again. But you didn’t fight it this time. You let the music carry you, let it take you wherever it wanted to go. There was no point in resisting anymore. You were tired of fighting.

As the melody continued, you closed your eyes, the sound pulling you deeper into its embrace. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to truly feel everything. The sadness, the anger, the fear—it all poured out of you, spilling into the notes of the song.

Sylus’s absence still loomed over you, his words still echoed in your mind, but for now, the music dulled the edges of that pain. It was a small reprieve, a brief moment where the chaos of your mind quieted.

And even though the haunting melody was filled with sorrow, in this moment, it was exactly what you needed.

Sylus stepped into the room quietly, the soft click of the door unlocking barely audible over the faint hum of the record player. He exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing heavy on him from days of endless travel, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, they landed on you, and the fatigue seemed to fade into the background.

There you were, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, your chest rising and falling in steady, peaceful breaths. The haunting melody from the record player filled the air, casting a strange, melancholic atmosphere over the room. Sylus’s gaze flickered to the spinning record and, with a small smirk, he turned the player off, cutting the music short. It pleased him to see you had actually played it.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you sleep. There was something oddly vulnerable about the way you lay there, your body relaxed in sleep, your face free of the tension that so often creased it when you were awake. His eyes traced the faint tear tracks on your cheeks, the puffiness around your eyes, the clear evidence that you had been crying.

You’ve been sobbing, he realized, his smirk fading as he studied you more closely. Dried tears clung to your skin, and your face looked stressed and worn, as if you’d been fighting a losing battle with your emotions for far too long. He could see it now—the exhaustion, the way your body seemed to have given up.

His gaze softened, lingering on you for a moment longer. You stirred slightly in your sleep, your eyelids fluttering as if caught in some dream. Your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to simply observe the small details—the way your breath hitched every now and then, the way your lips parted slightly, the faint twitch of your fingers.

It was strange, this feeling. Sylus had seen you broken before, had seen the moments when you were at your most vulnerable, but watching you like this—so peaceful, yet so fragile—something else stirred in him. A flicker of something softer, something he quickly brushed away.

He stepped closer, kneeling beside you as he reached out to gently shake your shoulder. “Wake up, honey” he murmured softly.

Your eyes flew open, wide and startled at first, darting around the room in confusion before finally settling on him. For a split second, something flashed in your gaze—relief? But it was quickly replaced by something else. Worry? Concern?

Before he could say anything, you grimaced, your face twisting in discomfort, and then you were dry heaving. Instinctively, Sylus moved quickly, slipping his arms under you to help guide you toward the bathroom. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but he held you steady, his grip firm but not rough.

“Easy,” he said, his voice low as he helped you to the bathroom. You could barely focus, your body convulsing with the effort of dry heaving, but Sylus kept you upright, guiding you with surprising gentleness.

Once inside, you collapsed near the toilet, and he crouched beside you, watching as your body struggled against the nausea. His hand rested lightly on your back, a quiet, stabilizing presence as you fought to regain control.

One dry heave. Your body convulsed, a sharp, painful spasm that left you gasping for breath. Sylus's grip tightened slightly, his hand steady on your back as he helped guide you to the edge of the toilet. The nausea had been building for days, and now it was finally pushing its way out, relentless and overwhelming.

Then came another heave, your stomach twisting violently, your muscles contracting as if your body was trying to wring itself dry. Your vision blurred, and the room spun as you tried to fight it, but it was no use.

The final heave hit hard, and this time, you couldn’t hold it back. The contents of your stomach surged up, and you vomited into the toilet, your whole body trembling from the effort. The acrid taste burned in your throat as you retched, your eyes squeezing shut as tears leaked from the corners.

Sylus remained silent, his hand still resting on your back, his presence a quiet anchor in the chaos of the moment. He didn’t speak, didn’t react—just stayed there, watching as you emptied yourself, each convulsion wracking your already exhausted body.

When the retching finally subsided, your shoulders sagged, and you leaned against the toilet, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The nausea still lingered, but the worst had passed, leaving you feeling weak, drained, and raw. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still shaking, your entire body feeling like it might collapse at any moment.

Sylus knelt beside you, his gaze fixed on you, studying your every movement. There was no mocking smirk this time, no cruel amusement. Just a quiet, almost clinical focus as he watched you recover. His eyes flickered over your tear-streaked face, the sweat glistening on your skin, and the unmistakable exhaustion that had settled into every fiber of your being.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his voice softer than you expected.

You nodded weakly, though you weren’t sure if that was the truth. The nausea had faded, but your head was spinning, and your body felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You slumped back, resting against the cool tile floor, trying to steady your breath as the overwhelming fatigue took over.

“Were you so excited to see me that you threw up?” Sylus’s voice slipped out, laced with dark amusement as he eyed you laid on the bathroom floor. The corners of his lips tugged into a smirk as he watched your exhausted figure, trembling from the aftermath of your retching. The sight of you, so vulnerable yet still so defiant, stirred something in him. It was quite adorable.

Your head snapped up, eyes red and watery, and shot him a glare that would’ve been more effective if you weren’t barely holding yourself together. That was what he liked about you, though—you still had fire, even when everything else was crumbling.

“I hate you,” you muttered, barely audible, your voice weak and strained.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in the quiet room. Of course you did. You’d spat those words at him more times than he could count, but they never carried the weight you thought they did. “I'm hurt, kitten,” he said, letting the pet name slip out with just enough bite to remind you of your place.

He shifted, straightening up slightly but still crouched beside you, watching the way your body slumped against the cool tile. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand again, trying to recover, but he could see how drained you were. Your limbs looked heavy, like they’d given up on you, and the flush of your cheeks told him you were still fighting that lingering nausea.

But it wasn’t just the exhaustion that interested him—it was the way you looked up at him, the fire still burning behind your eyes despite the tears and the clear discomfort. Even now, as broken as you were, you fought. That was what intrigued him, what kept him coming back to you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle again, this time quieter, more to himself. The sight of you like this, caught between rage and weakness, pulled at something in him. You didn’t want him here, and yet, your body still leaned into his support, still let him guide you when you needed it most. Whether you hated him or not didn’t matter. You still needed him.

He watched you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. The tear tracks were still fresh on your cheeks, and he could see that you’d been crying long before he’d arrived.

The silence stretched between you, and Sylus felt it settle—heavy, weighted with something more than just your physical exhaustion. He could feel it in the way you looked at him, as though you were grappling with something you didn’t want to admit. And then there was that brief flicker in your eyes, something that looked almost like relief before it shifted to concern.

It intrigued him. What were you so worried about?

He could see your body still trembling, and before you could react, your face twisted again, and you dry heaved once more. His amusement faded as his hands instinctively moved to help you, his grip firm but not rough, guiding you back toward the toilet just in time as you retched and gagged again.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something quieter. For once, the teasing tone was gone. You were still shaking, still fighting the nausea, and he kept his hand on your back, steadying you as you vomited again, your whole body convulsing with the effort.

He knelt beside you, watching the way your frame trembled, the way your body seemed to be betraying you. His eyes narrowed slightly. Something was different—off. This wasn’t just exhaustion or sickness. He’d seen you in pain before, seen you in worse states, but this… this felt heavier.

He kept his hand on your back, waiting until your body stopped shaking, until you slumped again, too weak to do anything but rest against the cold tile.

"You okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low, though he doubted you had the energy to do much more than nod.

And sure enough, you gave a weak nod, not even trying to speak. He watched as your chest rose and fell, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The fight hadn’t left your eyes, but the exhaustion had taken over now, and he could see it in the way you struggled to keep yourself upright.

Sylus stared at you for a moment longer, something cold and calculating behind his eyes. You were breaking, yes, but not in the way he had expected. Something else was happening—something deeper, beyond the physical symptoms. He could feel it, a shift in the air between you.

Sylus remained there for a moment longer, his eyes tracing over your trembling form. You looked so small, so fragile in this moment, slumped against the cold tile with tear-streaked cheeks and watery eyes. The sight of you like this stirred something inside him—a mix of satisfaction and curiosity, though he wasn’t entirely sure which feeling dominated. He could see how much this had taken a toll on you, how every day without answers had chipped away at your resolve. But this? This was different. This was the moment he had been waiting for—the moment where the walls finally came down.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, keeping his tone even and composed as he turned away, heading toward the bathroom drawer. He could feel your eyes on him, glaring into his back with what little strength you had left. You were trying to hold onto that defiance, trying to summon some kind of fight, but he knew better. You were unraveling, and the truth of what he was about to show you would tear down whatever was left.

He rifled through the drawer, his movements slow and methodical, savoring the quiet tension building in the room. His fingers brushed past a few irrelevant items before closing around the small box. It felt almost anticlimactic, the weight of it so light in his hand, yet what it represented was monumental. He straightened and turned back toward you, holding the box just high enough for you to see.

Your reaction was immediate—your mouth opened in shock, and your eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. There it is, he thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He watched the shift in your expression with a quiet, controlled satisfaction. It was like watching a puzzle piece snap into place, watching you connect the dots and realize just how deep in this you really were.

“No…” you whispered, your voice cracking, barely more than a breath. The desperation clung to your words, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus felt something akin to pity stir in his chest. But he quickly brushed it aside. This is how it has to be. He knew it. You were spiraling, trying to cling to the lie that everything was normal, that your body hadn’t betrayed you in the way you feared most.

“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...”

Why lie to yourself?, he thought, though there was no cruelty in those words. He didn’t enjoy seeing you like this—no, not quite. But there was something about your vulnerability, something about watching you come to terms with this new reality, that intrigued him. You were always so strong, so determined to fight him at every turn, and now, with this one tiny box in his hand, he had you crumbling.

Tears poured from your eyes now, and your voice wavered as you kept trying to convince yourself, to convince him, that this wasn’t real. That you were just sick, that this was something else, something manageable. He could see the panic rising in you, the way your hands trembled, the way your breath hitched between sobs.

But Sylus just watched, his eyes soft, yet calculating. He wasn’t surprised by your reaction—he’d anticipated it, even counted on it. You weren’t ready to accept the truth yet. That’s why he was here. To guide you into it. To show you that, whether you wanted it or not, you were his in ways you hadn’t even realized.

He stepped toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. Kneeling back down, he reached out and wiped the tears from your face, his touch unnervingly tender. The way he was looking at you displayed the same tenderness but also something else. Control, This was control—calm, steady control. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks, watching the signs, knowing where this was all leading.

“Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.

He watched the panic bloom in your eyes, the way the tears kept coming, your body shaking with the effort of holding back the reality you didn’t want to face. It fascinated him—the sheer desperation in your every movement. The fear of being tied to him in a way you couldn’t escape, in a way that would bind you together forever.

She’s terrified, he thought, his thumb brushing away more of your tears. But beneath that terror, there was something else—a kind of inevitability. You already knew. Deep down, you must have known. He could see it now, in the way your sobs became more frantic, the way your body shook as the weight of the truth crashed over you. You weren’t just crying from fear anymore. You were crying because this was real.

The satisfaction he felt wasn’t born of cruelty. It was born of the quiet control he had over you now, a control that went beyond the physical, beyond the chain that kept you tethered here. This was a different kind of control—one that reached into your mind, your soul. And it was deeper than anything he had ever seen in you before.

As you burst into sobs, your whole body trembling with the force of your breakdown, Sylus stayed right there, crouched beside you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The box sat between you like a looming reminder of what was coming, and he knew there was no turning back from this.

Watching you crumble like this, completely undone by something as small as a pregnancy test, brought a strange sense of finality to the moment. You were his now. Not in the way you had been before—this was something more permanent, more inescapable.

All that was left was to confirm it. Show you its real.

And as your sobs wracked your body, Sylus watched with soft, patient eyes, knowing that no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you resisted, there was only one way out.

The truth.

616 notes · View notes

55szn · 7 months ago

Text

always and forever - cs55

carlos sainz x fem!reader smau

summary an instagram timeline of carlos and yn’s 8 years long relationship warnings too much fluff fc dua lipa taglist @jaydaaasworld notes i have more requests to get to but i’ve had this idea for a while and let’s just say i needed to write some carlitos fluff🥲

INSTAGRAM

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 10.302 others

carlossainz55 Always a good time with this one 😜❤️

tagged yourusername

view all 52 comments

yourusername t quiero Carlitosss (love you)

carlossainz55 te quiero más ynnnn (love you more)

user scrolled all the way down to carlos first post and of couse it’s yn

user he’s always been so in love with her is so cute

user so pretty

april 20, 2016

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, yourbsf and 4.291 others

yourusername Feliz cumpleaños a mi persona favorita 💕😘 #birthdayboy (Happy birthday to my favorite person)

tagged carlossainz55

view all 43 comments

carlossainz55 muchas gracias preciosa 💓😘 thank u so much beautiful

yourusername por muchos más cumpleaños juntos 💘 here’s to many more birthdays together

yourbsf feliz cumpleaños!!

user so we are all just stalking their instagrams after their last post, right?

user how can you not

user and they posted each other sooo often it’s so sweet

user i’ve been a fan of carlos for so long and they’ve ALWAYS been there for each other i love yn

september 1, 2017

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, fernandoalo_official and 24.289 others carlossainz55 Quick getaway to celebrate two years and counting with my soulmate by my side 🌅❤️

tagged yourusername

view all 98 comments

yourusername oh carlitos 🥺

yourusername you sure know how to make a girl swoon

yourusername i’ll love you forever <3

user STAWWWWPP

user his caption and her comments i might die 😣

user they’ve been together for a lifetime oh my god

august 15, 2018

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 12.210 others

yourusername my boy and his new boyfriend 🙄

tagged carlossainz55, landonorris

view all 73 comments

landonorris sorry i’m just that charming 💁🏻

yourusername he was mine first 😠

carlossainz55 don’t fight i’ll choose yn anyway

landonorris damn 💔

user bro was so down bad he couldn’t even play along to the joke

user omg i never knew it was yn who posted these iconic carlando pics

user well it makes sense she’s carlando’s no. 1 fan

user supporting her boyfriend’s boyfriend iktr 😌

may 22, 2019

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 368.291 others

carlossainz55 i would have gone insane without you during this crazy year, feliz año nuevo mi amor😘💘 (happy new year my love)

tagged yourusername

view all 1.308 comments

yourusername gotta admit quarantine sucked a little bit less with you by my side

carlossainz55 just a little? 😏

yourusername okay maybe it didn’t suck at all 🤐

user oh to be carlos a be able to lay on yn all day long

user she looks so cute in the third pic 🥺

user from when they were FINALLY (yn’s words) able to see each other after spending two weeks apart 😭

user most in love mfs i’ve ever seen

december 31, 2020

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 15.291 others

yourusername already knew he looked good in red but thanks for the confirmation @ scuderiaferrari 😝

tagged carlossainz55

view all 119 comments

carlossainz55 you’re making me blush ☺️

scuderiaferrari you’re more than welcome yn! 😌

user this pic is so sjdiaq

user i don’t want to speak of the things i would do if carlos looked at me like that with those big ass eyes 🫠

user yn is such a lucky girl

user SHE is lucky??!?!? have you seen her??? carlos should be thanking every god above

user i’m pretty sure he does that everyday 😭

march 12, 2021

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 456.412 others

carlossainz55 guess i’m a tatted man now, i just can’t say no to that face 😶

tagged yourusername

view all 1.302 comments

yourusername you have to admit it’s pretty cute

carlossainz55 whatever you say🫡

user oh my god carlos get up!!

landonorris i don’t think that’s enough ink to call yourself a tatted man mate

yourusername maybe i should make another appointment 🤔

carlossainz55 don’t give her ideas you muppet 🤦🏻

user i didn’t know they had matching tattoos that’s so cute 😭

user sleeping on the highway tonite

october 17, 2022

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe and 732.819 others

yourusername how could i say no when my date looked like that? 🤭

tagged carlossainz55

view all 3.995 comments

carlossainz55 can’t wait to spend forever with you mi amor ❤️

maxverstappen1 congratulations you two! 😘😘

carmenmmundt so so thrilled for you both! love you 🫶🏻

yourusername i love you my girl, get ready to try on a loooot of dresses 😅

user EVERYONE remembers where they were when this post dropped

user i remember dropping my phone on my face when i opened instagram

user i cried happy tears, had been waiting for that day for years 🥹

august 15, 2023

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 3.281.819 others

carlossainz55 can’t believe i finally get to call you my wife. just you and me, always and forever, te amo yn ❤️

tagged yourusername

view all 10.371 comments

yourusername te amo y te amaré por siempre, mi carlitos (i love you and i’ll you forever, my carlitos)

user “mi carlitos” oh god i’m sobbing

landonorris congratulations, you two were made for each other ! 🥰

yourusername your boyfriend is now my husband 😜

landonorris don’t even remind me about it.

charles_leclerc so happy for you two ❤️❤️

user can’t believe i’ve been following carlos since the beggining of their relationship and now they’re married

user omg don’t even talk to me abt it i feel like a proud mother

september 28, 2024

the end

1K notes · View notes

pshbites · 16 days ago

Text

✦ BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN ━ yjw

pairing ?! jungwon x fem!reader. genre ?! est. relationship, fluff, so cute u wanna D WORD. warnings ?! none. synopsis ?! your bf wants you to dye his hair. wc ?! 0.5k a/n ?! i SWEAR!! i will work on miss moving on guys the jungwon brainrot was too strong 😵‍💫😵‍💫, pls like n reblog as always!!

taglist ?! @leeechin @00kittenz (my loves this ones for u 💗) @wensurr @livelaughluvryanreynolds @yeehawnana @ami-soph @t1iqaa @jjongsaengzz @rriribelle @cherrybeomm @mochamvgz @squiishymeow @mitmit01 @justalittle-hee @yourmomssneakylink @heelariously @bubblytaetae @wintertxt @17ericas @beatrizmel-472 @vveebee @luvyou2ooo @sunghoonsperfume @hmusunoo @mariahxrrera @silquids @thedemonriot @blockbusterhee @suneng @mamuljji (bold cannot be tagged)

perma taglist !

jungwon sat on your bathroom toilet, watching you as you mixed up the hair dye. he smiled softly at the sight of you reading the instructions on the box. he smiles also at the thought of how quick you jumped up to help him dye his hair when he first told you he wanted to. you were always so attentive to him, he was to you as well.

“you got it figured out honey?” he mumbled, heart swelling at your tongue sticking out slightly because you were focused. “yeah, but we might have to leave it in longer since your hair is black” you sighed softly, slipping gloves on and shaking the bottle.

jungwon gasps at your professionalism, “are you going to be my personal stylist?” he looked up at you as laughed softly. “yes i am” you smiled at him, shaking the bottle still. you began to squeeze the bleach out into the sections. jungwon kept his eyes trained on you as you worked diligently on his hair.

jungwon loved to admire you, how pretty you looked in lounge wear even with your hair in a loose ponytail. or how you bit your lip, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. you moved closer to jungwon in an attempt to get the back of his head. you leaned back a little once you got the section.

you knew jungwons eyes were on you this whole time, you felt it. “you’re really distracting you know that” you glanced at him and he only smiled. “i’m just admiring my pretty girlfriend” he tilted his head as you continued to brush in the dye. you cheeks turned slightly pink, but you kept quiet trying not to give in. “would you stop it” you mumbled, trying to concentrate.

“says the one who’s blushing” he smiles, making you smile even harder. “whatever” you mumbled back. you went on with applying the dye in his hair. now, you were standing in between his legs, jungwon still watching you intently.

“isn’t your back going to hurt hunching over me like that?” jungwon sighed out, tilting his head, then you tilted it straight so you could apply the dye correctly. “no it’s okay won” you said, straightening your back slightly then going back to hunching over him.

he could see the discomfort on your face and only sighed once more. “sit on my lap” he said, now you were looking at him with a face. “what?” you laughed out, ears not registering what he said. “sit, you’ll be more comfortable” he pulled on your shirt, trying to get you to sit. reluctantly, you gave in, straddling his lap.

you sat comfortably on his lap now, continuing to dye his hair. “why did you want to go blonde anyways?” you glanced down at him, his eyes never leaving yours. “blondes have more fun” he smiled, making you laugh. “as if you aren’t like an orange cat” you remarked, setting the brush down on the counter and looking at him. his eyes twinkled as his hands rested on your waist, rubbing up and down.

”yeah but you love that about me” he smiled, tilting his head. you tilted your head along with him, teasing him, “yeah i do” you smiled even bigger now that he was looking at you like that, the look of adoration. “you have to leave it in for about 40 minutes if we really want the bleach to pick up properly” you ran your gloved hand through his hair. “what does my love want to do in the meantime?” jungwon smiled at you once more, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

“we could start that show we wanted to watch a couple weeks ago, but we’d only get through one episode” you smiled softly and jungwon grinned, nodding. “c'mon i'll get some snacks for us” jungwon patted your back as a signal to get up and you only smiled, getting up. there was never a dull moment with jungwon.

461 notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 8 days ago

Text

PREACHER'S DAUGHTER PT 2 | MV1

an: GUYS IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS AU! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this au im so ready, it'll be tagged as #preacheraumax on my page if you want to find all the posts. i'm already writing pt 3, feel free to talk to me abt this au!!

wc: 6.3k

part one

The late-afternoon sun spilled golden light over the trailer park, painting the rusted edges of Max’s trailer with a soft glow. From the open window of his trailer, the smell of dinner drifted out—pasta, he thought, though he wasn’t sure. She’d insisted on cooking again, and he hadn’t had it in him to argue. He leaned against his car outside for a minute, absently wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag, trying—and failing—to ignore the way his T-shirt hung loose on her frame when she flitted through the tiny kitchen through the small window.

A week of this. A week of her brushing past him, all sweet smiles and quiet thank-yous, like she didn’t notice the way his pulse spiked every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or hummed while folding his clothes. He’d been respectful, giving her space, knowing she needed time to heal, but damn if she didn’t make it difficult.

The screen door creaked open, and there she was, standing on the step with a plate in her hands and a soft grin. “Dinner’s ready.”

He bit back a groan, tossed the rag onto the bike seat, and followed her inside.

They ate quietly, the scrape of forks on mismatched plates filling the small space. She’d been unusually quiet all day, and when she finally set her fork down, her eyes were a little too bright, her voice a little too soft.

“I talked to my aunt,” she said.

Max froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah?”

“She’s expecting me next week. She’s got a room for me, and she says I can stay as long as I need to.”

He nodded, keeping his face neutral, even though something sharp twisted in his chest. “That’s good. Safe place for you. Close to college.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the table. “You’ll take me, won’t you?”

“Of course.” His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, and her eyes flicked up, searching his face.

The week passed too quickly. Every time he came home from work to see her curled up on his couch or folding laundry to some old song on the radio, he told himself not to get used to it. But it was impossible not to, and when the day came, he couldn’t shake the weight in his chest as they loaded the last of her bags into the back of his truck.

The drive to her aunt’s house was quiet. She played with the hem of her dress, and he kept his hands tight on the wheel, like if he gripped hard enough, he could keep her there.

When they pulled up to the modest house on the edge of town, she didn’t move right away. He cut the engine, the silence stretching thin between them.

“I’ll come back on weekends,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Promise?”

Her head turned, and for the first time all day, she smiled—a small, fragile thing that made his chest ache. “Promise.”

He stepped out, helping her with her bags, and when they reached the porch, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around her waist. She stiffened for a moment, then melted into him, her head resting against his chest.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, you know,” he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to his cheek, her lips warm against his stubble. His heart stopped, then kicked back up at double speed.

“Don’t forget me, Max,” she said softly.

“Not a chance.”

The door opened behind her, and a woman—her aunt, he assumed—stepped out, eyeing him curiously.

“And who’s this?”

She glanced back at Max, her eyes lingering on him like she didn’t want to let go. Then she smiled, a little sadly.

“Just a good friend.”

The words stung, but he smiled anyway, stepping back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Take care of her,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Her aunt nodded, ushering her inside. Max stayed on the porch for a moment, watching the door close behind her, the ache in his chest settling into something heavier.

When the weekend came along, Max was in the middle of patching up an old carburetor on a kitchen counter when he heard the knock at the door. He wiped his hands on his jeans and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was late—closer to eight than six—but the knock came again, firm and impatient.

Grumbling under his breath, he crossed the room, swung the door open, and froze.

She was standing there on his porch, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back in that effortless way that always drove him crazy. She smiled up at him, all innocent charm and a hint of mischief, like she hadn’t just made his heart stop.

“Hey,” she said, stepping past him and into the trailer without waiting for an invitation.

“Hey?” he echoed, spinning to follow her. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to call.”

She dropped the bag onto his couch, her smile not faltering in the slightest. “It’s the weekend, isn’t it? I promised I’d come back.”

“Yeah, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sound stern. “You’re not supposed to just show up. I could’ve come and picked you up, you know.”

She waved him off, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m not helpless, Max. I caught a bus. Besides, I liked the idea of surprising you.”

Max sighed, leaning against the counter as she poked around his cabinets, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Hmm.” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not fainting when I walked in here.” She gestured to the cluttered counters and the pile of laundry shoved into the corner. “Honestly, the state of this place would make half the church faint.”

Max smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, my cleaning fairy hasn’t been around this week.”

She turned back to him, arching an eyebrow. “Your cleaning fairy?”

“Yeah, little thing. Shows up unannounced, makes herself at home, organises my life for free.” He shrugged, his voice teasing. “She’s gotten kinda bossy, though.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the grin spreading across her face. “Well, your cleaning fairy is back.”

“Don’t.” His voice softened, and she looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t clean, okay? You don’t have to do all that. You’re not here to look after me.”

“I like it.”

Her words were simple, but they hit him harder than they should have. She liked being here, liked taking care of him, even if he didn’t deserve it.

Before he could think of how to respond, she stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. Then, leaning up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, quick and light.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

Her fingers lingered on his arm for a moment before she turned away, diving into the mess with a determination that made him smile despite himself.

He leaned against the wall, watching her, his heart feeling lighter for the first time in a week. She was impossible, infuriating, and everything he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I was supposed to go out tonight,” he finally said.

She glanced back at him, her hands covered in soap. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Danny called earlier. Said he wanted to hit the bar. I told him I might swing by.” He paused, watching her reaction.

She didn’t seem fazed, just smiled. “You should go. It’s fine.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

She rinsed a plate, setting it on the drying rack with a satisfying clink. “Max, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“That’s not the point.”

Her gaze softened as she turned to face him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I know you want to stay. But you shouldn’t put your whole life on hold just because I’m here.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she stepped closer, her expression gentle but firm. “Go out. Have fun. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he debated pushing back. The idea of leaving her here, even for a few hours, felt wrong. But the quiet certainty in her voice eased something in his chest.

“Okay,” he relented. “But only if you promise to text me if you need anything.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a playful smile on her lips. “Yes, daddy.”

He shot her a mock glare as he grabbed his jacket and keys. At the door, he turned back to her, his hand lingering on the frame. “Don’t clean anything, all right? Just relax.”

“Sure,” she said, a little too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she waved him off with a laugh, and he finally stepped out into the night.

When Max got to the bar, it was loud and crowded, the kind of place Max usually thrived in, but tonight felt different. Danny was mid-sentence about something—or someone—when Max’s attention drifted again.

He found himself staring at his beer, her voice echoing in his head. I like it here.

“Max, you listening?” Danny nudged him with an elbow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Max muttered, though he wasn’t. His mind was back at the trailer, wondering if she’d actually taken a break or if he’d come home to find everything spotless.

“Man, you’ve been spaced out all night. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Max lied, draining the last of his beer. “I gotta head out.”

Danny raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Suit yourself.”

When Max got back to the trailer, the place didn’t feel like his.

The counters were wiped clean, the laundry folded and stacked neatly, and even the perpetually sticky spot on the floor by the fridge was gone. He sighed, shaking his head as he locked the door behind him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips.

His gaze landed on the couch, and there she was, curled up under one of his old blankets, her chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths.

“Of course,” he whispered, his voice soft as he crouched beside her.

Carefully, he slid his arms under her, lifting her with ease. She stirred, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her to the bed.

“Max?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice low.

“I wanted to wait up,” she whispered, her words slurring slightly.

“I know.” He laid her down gently, pulling the blanket over her.

He moved to the dresser, rummaging for a clean shirt to sleep in when her voice, still soft but more awake, stopped him.

“You usually just sleep in boxers.”

He turned, eyebrows raised. “Noticed that, huh?”

She smiled, her eyes half-lidded. “I don’t mind if you do.”

For a second, he didn’t move, her words hanging between them like an unspoken promise. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

Her smile widened, but she was already drifting back to sleep.

Max sighed, tugging his shirt off and tossing it onto the chair. He slid under the blanket beside her, careful not to disturb her. As her breathing evened out again, he let himself relax, the weight of the night fading as he listened to the quiet.

She was here. And for now, that was enough.

The warmth was the first thing Max noticed as he stirred awake. His trailer was always cold in the mornings, the thin walls doing little to keep the night chill at bay, but now there was a soft, comforting heat pressed against his side. He cracked one eye open and immediately froze.

She was curled into him, her head resting on his chest, one arm draped across his torso like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her breath was slow and steady, her face relaxed in sleep, and her fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

Max’s heart thudded hard against his ribs, a deep ache settling in his chest. She fit so perfectly against him, like she’d always belonged there. He lay still, not wanting to wake her, though he couldn’t stop his hand from coming to rest lightly on her back.

The quiet moment stretched, his mind racing with thoughts he wasn’t ready to face, until the smell hit him. Warm, buttery, sweet—pancakes? His brow furrowed as he sniffed the air. Was he imagining things?

He shifted slightly, and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, her expression soft and drowsy, and he swallowed hard.

“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice low. “You smell that?”

She smiled, untangling herself from him and sitting up with a yawn. “Yeah. Pancakes.”

He frowned, sitting up as well. “I didn’t even know I had stuff to make pancakes.”

She turned to him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You didn’t. I snuck out earlier and grabbed a few things.”

He blinked. “You went shopping? Without waking me?”

“You looked peaceful,” she said with a shrug, climbing out of bed, not bothering to put the skirt she must have left with earlier back on.

He was sure that his cause of death was going to be her walking around his trailer in one of his shirts and her stupid cotton panties.

He followed her to the kitchen, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of her slipping out and coming back unnoticed. Sure enough, there was a stack of golden pancakes on the counter, a jar of syrup beside it, and two mismatched plates waiting to be served.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though there was no heat in his words.

“Thank you,” she replied with a grin, flipping the last pancake onto the stack before turning to him.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, gesturing to the pancakes.

“It’s Sunday,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

“Yeah, and?”

Her smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe—crossing her face. “It’s church day.”

The realisation hit him like a freight train. Of course. It was her first Sunday since she’d left home. A pang of guilt tugged at him as he imagined what this day must mean to her.

“Right,” he said softly. “Big day.”

She nodded, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

“Do you want me to come with you?” The words were out before he could stop them.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and he immediately regretted it. “I mean, I know I’m not exactly the church-going type, but—”

She cut him off with a laugh, her expression softening. “Max, you don’t even own a church-appropriate outfit.”

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward his wardrobe. She wasn’t wrong. His idea of formal wear was a clean pair of jeans and a button-up he hadn’t worn in years.

“You sure you don’t want me to tag along?” he asked, feeling strangely out of his depth.

She shook her head, her voice gentle. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. You can wait outside for me this week if you want.”

“Deal,” he said, relief and a hint of disappointment mingling in his chest.

She smiled again, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you for offering, though. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

She laughed, her fingers lingering on his arm for a moment before she turned back to the pancakes.

Max leaned against the counter, watching her as she plated their breakfast. She moved with a quiet confidence, her presence filling the small space in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

As they sat down to eat, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this Sunday—this moment—was going to stay with him long after she walked out the door.

Max didn’t know what he had with her, but he loved it. He loved every weekend she spent with him, loved the way her presence brightened his space. He loved the little things she did—the soft hum of her voice filling his trailer, the way she folded his shirts with the corners lined up perfectly, and the way she always looked at him like he was more than the guy with grease-stained hands and a rough past.

He didn’t deserve her, and he knew it. But damn if he wasn’t going to soak up every moment she gave him.

It was midweek when she surprised him. The steady rhythm of clanking tools and revving engines filled the garage as Max worked on a beat-up old Ford, grease smudged across his forearms. The day had been uneventful so far, the usual grind of repairs keeping his hands busy and his thoughts on autopilot.

Then she walked in.

He didn’t see her at first, his head buried under the hood, but the sound of her soft “Hi, Max,” was enough to make him straighten immediately, his heart giving an uncharacteristic jump.

She stood near the door, a paper bag in hand, wearing one of those sundresses that always made him weak. Her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the open garage door, and she looked so out of place among the grease and oil stains that it made him grin.

“Hey, angel,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag as he walked over to her. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo—something floral and sweet—hit him, and he lingered for just a second longer than he should have.

“What’s this?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.

“Lunch,” she said simply, holding it out to him.

His brow furrowed as he took it, glancing inside. A neatly packed sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water stared back at him. “I was fine for lunch,” he said, a little sheepishly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and she crossed her arms. “A hot dog and a beer is not healthy for you, Max.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What, you been spying on me now?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” she countered, stepping closer and poking playfully at his stomach. “You keep eating like that, and you’ll lose your figure.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” he teased, setting the bag on a nearby workbench. He leaned down slightly, lowering his voice to a flirtatious drawl. “You trying to cop a look at my abs, angel?”

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it just enough to reveal his toned stomach, a smirk playing on his lips.

Her face turned bright red, and she quickly looked away, stammering, “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you started it,” he said with a laugh, dropping his shirt back into place. He couldn’t help but admire the way her blush crept down her neck. She was too easy to fluster, and he loved every second of it.

“I have to catch the bus back soon,” she said after a moment, still avoiding his gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The mention of her leaving tugged at something in his chest, but he nodded. “All right. Thanks for the lunch, though. Really.”

Her smile returned, softer this time. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always.”

After she left, Max stood by the workbench for a moment, staring at the lunch bag like it was some kind of relic.

“Who was that?” a gruff voice broke his reverie.

Max turned to see his boss, Tommy, leaning against the frame of the garage’s office door, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Just a friend,” Max said, though the words tasted wrong. She was more than that, even if he couldn’t quite put a label on it.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, sure. A friend who packs you lunch and makes you look like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

“Shut up,” Max muttered, grabbing a wrench and returning to the Ford.

Tommy laughed, taking a long drag from his cigarette before speaking again. “You’ve got balls, kid. Being with the preacher’s daughter? That’s a whole mess I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

Max stiffened, but he didn’t respond.

Tommy continued, his tone softening. “But I gotta say... I haven’t seen you this happy since the day you bought that trailer. She’s good for you.”

Max glanced over his shoulder, his grip tightening on the wrench. “Yeah. She is.”

Tommy nodded, stubbing out his cigarette. “Don’t screw it up, kid.”

Max didn’t answer, but as he went under the Ford, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Whatever this thing was with her, he wasn’t letting it go.

No less than a few days later she was stepping out of her last lecture of the day, her bag slung over her shoulder and her friend Sarah chattering animatedly about some party happening over the weekend. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the campus, and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass.

But then she saw it.

Parked just beyond the gates was a familiar motorbike, its polished chrome glinting in the sunlight. Leaning against it, arms crossed and looking every bit the troublemaker he was, stood Max.

Her breath hitched, a smile spreading across her face before she could stop it. He didn’t belong here—his grease-streaked jeans and leather jacket a stark contrast to the sea of students with their backpacks and books—but somehow, he looked perfect.

“Is that... your boyfriend?” Sarah asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

She hesitated for a split second, then shook her head. “Just a friend.” But her cheeks betrayed her, flushing pink as she adjusted her bag and headed toward him.

As she approached, Max straightened, his expression softening in a way he reserved only for her. “Milady,” he said with a playful smirk, holding out the spare helmet like a knight presenting a prize.

She laughed, her smile widening as she took the helmet from him. “You’re ridiculous,” she teased, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across his face as she slid the helmet on. Swinging her leg over the back of the bike, she settled behind him, her arms wrapping securely around his waist.

“Hold on tight, angel,” he said, revving the engine.

The ride to her aunt’s was a familiar one now. She’d spent so many weekends at his trailer that the route was second nature, but it never lost its charm. The wind whipped past her, carrying away the stress of the day, and all she could think about was the solid warmth of Max in front of her and the way her heart felt light every time she was with him.

When they pulled up outside her aunt’s house, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the world in hues of orange and pink. She slid off the bike, pulling the helmet off and shaking out her hair.

“Drive home safe,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on him.

“For you, always, angel,” he replied, his voice low but steady.

Her lips curved into a small, grateful smile as she turned and headed up the walkway. She glanced back once, just in time to see him watching her, the faintest hint of a smile on his face before he started the engine and roared away into the fading light.

Max never would have referred to his trailer as a home. For years, it had been little more than a roof over his head—a place to sleep and keep his stuff, nothing more. It wasn’t like the house he’d known she’d grown up in, with its creaking floors and warm kitchen smells, or even the crummy apartment he’d shared with Danny in his early twenties.

But now...

Now there were little reminders of her everywhere. A book she’d left on the coffee table, its pages dog-eared in the way she knew drove him crazy. A neatly folded throw blanket she’d brought over one chilly night. The small vase on the windowsill, holding wildflowers she’d picked on a whim.

She hadn’t moved in—not really. But every item she left behind, every small touch of hers that lingered, made the space feel warmer. More alive.

More like home.

Max sat on the couch, his gaze drifting over the room. His place was still rough around the edges—there was no hiding the peeling wallpaper or the worn linoleum floors—but with her here, even in these small ways, it felt different.

He picked up the book she’d left, turning it over in his hands. The corners were bent, and a faint scent of her perfume clung to the pages. He shook his head with a smile, setting it back down.

Yeah, he thought, leaning back against the cushions. She made it feel like home.

<3 <3 <3

Max’s life continued with her like this for another eleven months. Each day, it felt like he was living in a dream he never wanted to wake up from. They fell into a rhythm—a routine that felt as comforting as it was impossible to believe.

She was no longer just the preacher’s daughter he had met outside a Church. She was part of his life, his home. More than half the time, she stayed at his place now, spending her nights curled up on his couch, reading or laughing at some ridiculous things he'd say, more often than not in the same oversized t-shirt she’d first worn when she moved in. Her presence filled every corner of his small, humble space, making it feel less like a place where he merely existed and more like somewhere he belonged.

He had never pushed her for anything—never tried to rush her into kissing him, never demanded more than what she was willing to give. There were moments where he could feel the pull between them, when their eyes lingered a little longer or their hands brushed in ways that made his heart race, but he was patient. She had her own pace, and for once, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. She had her own life to rebuild, and he was content to be a steady presence in it.

She still went to church every Sunday, keeping that part of her life separate, even though she never spoke to her father anymore. Church was the one thing she still clung to, the only part of her old life that hadn’t unravelled completely. Max didn’t understand it—he couldn’t—but he never asked her to give it up. If it brought her peace, if it helped her hold on to a piece of herself, then he respected it. He just wished she would let him share in it, but he wasn’t going to force it.

And then, the day finally came.

Max had been saving for months, every extra penny he made going toward the dream he’d never dared to voice out loud—the dream of getting them out of the cramped, creaky trailer and into something better. A place where she didn’t have to worry about the walls being thin or the smell of grease lingering in the air. Something more... theirs.

He had found it. A small but cosy apartment uptown, with high ceilings and a view of the city skyline. It was perfect for them—quiet, private, and just far enough from everything they both needed to escape from. He’d signed the lease that morning, a rush of pride and anticipation filling his chest as he pictured her reaction.

When she walked through the door that evening, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His heart was racing, his palms sweaty as he met her at the door.

“I got us a place,” he said, his voice thick with excitement.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the suddenness of his words, but the moment she saw the joy in his eyes, the realisation hit her. She stepped forward, her face lighting up with the kind of smile that made everything else fade into the background.

“Max...” she whispered, and without thinking, without hesitating, she threw her arms around him, pulling him close.

Her lips found his in an instant.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, not one of those cautious first kisses that came with hesitations or uncertainty. It was full of the weight of everything that had built up between them—the months of waiting, the slow burn of tension that had been simmering beneath the surface. Their kiss was deep, heated, urgent, as if they both had been holding their breath and were finally allowed to exhale.

Max’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against his. He deepened the kiss, his lips claiming hers as if he had waited an eternity for this moment. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, tugging him closer, her body pressing into his with a desperation that matched his own.

It was the kind of kiss that shook him to the core, that made everything else in the world fade into the background—her soft breath against his lips, the quiet hum of the city outside, the rush of blood in his ears. All that mattered was her.

Her arms slid up around his neck, her body melting against his, and for the first time in a year, Max felt like he had finally found the place where he belonged.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, their breaths ragged, she looked at him with something that could only be described as wonder. Her eyes were wide, her lips swollen from their kiss, and there was a softness in her gaze that made his heart stutter in his chest.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

Max smiled, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. “Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that spoke volumes in the space between them. Her hands lingered on his chest, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his. He had never known a kiss could feel so much like coming home.

He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “We... we really did it, huh?”

She nodded, her smile widening. “We did.”

Max had never been one for big, sweeping gestures. But with her, it was different. Everything about her made him want to be more than the guy who had nothing. He wanted to be the man who made her feel safe, cherished, loved. He wanted to give her everything—everything she deserved.

He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips brushing over hers as if savouring the sweetness of the moment. When they finally pulled apart, he smiled down at her, his hand gently cupping her face.

“I’m so damn lucky to have you,” he said softly.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place, but it was the kind of look that made his heart stutter in his chest. “No, Max,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’m the lucky one.”

And for the first time, in a long time, Max allowed himself to believe it. He wasn’t just living with her. He wasn’t just sharing space with her.

He was building a life with her. A life that, even in its quiet moments, felt like everything.

And for the first time, he realised what home truly was.

The kiss lingered in the air between them, warm and slow, as if time had stretched to accommodate the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Max’s hands rested gently on her waist, feeling the soft press of her body against his, and the faint sound of their shared breath was the only noise in the room. They were tangled together—hearts racing, bodies melting into each other—as though nothing else mattered.

For the first time in a year, Max felt completely alive. Completely whole.

She pulled away slightly, breathless, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide, still processing the heat of the kiss, the weight of what it meant. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers one last time, a soft whisper against her skin.

“Marry me.”

The words were so quiet, so soft, that for a second, she thought she had imagined them. She blinked, drawing back slightly to look at him, her chest tightening with uncertainty. “What?”

Max smiled at her confusion, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. His hands gently cupped her face, his thumb running along her jawline as if trying to memorise every detail of her. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers as he whispered again, more seriously this time, “Marry me, angel.”

She froze for a heartbeat, thinking it was some sort of joke, some playful teasing. The idea of Max, the guy who’d never believed in love or commitment, asking her something like that was almost impossible to believe.

But the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability she had never seen from him before, made her heart skip a beat. There was no hint of jest, no trace of humour. He meant it.

Max saw the hesitation in her eyes and gently kissed her lips again, his voice rough and low as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“I never thought I’d make it past twenty-one,” he began, his gaze intense, almost haunted, as if these words were ones he had carried inside him for far too long. “I’ve been lost for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to keep going, to fight for anything.”

She could hear the rawness in his voice, the weight of everything he had lived through—the loneliness, the struggles, the doubts. His eyes searched hers, looking for understanding, for a connection that only she could give.

“But you, angel...” His voice softened, but the words still hit her like a wave, sweeping away any doubts. “You’ve given me hope. You’ve given me a reason to live. A reason to fight for something better.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was peaceful, full of something unspoken, something they both felt but had never truly expressed until now.

She could feel her heart racing, her emotions swelling inside her chest, a warmth spreading through her like wildfire. Max—rough-around-the-edges Max, the guy who had been her rock for so long—was here, telling her that she had been the reason he had found the strength to keep going.

With her, he had found his reason.

“I...” Her voice faltered, thick with emotion, and she cupped his face in her hands, leaning in closer. “Yes, Max. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before he kissed her again, this time softer, more tender, as though sealing a promise. She melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair, holding on to him as if this moment was the only one that mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, the weight of their promise hanging in the air, Max’s hands moved slowly down her body. He smiled as he reached for her purity ring, the symbol of the life she had left behind. With the gentleness of someone who understood the significance of the gesture, he took the ring off her finger.

“I’ve got something for you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Max took one of his necklaces, a simple silver chain that had always felt like a part of him, and threaded her ring onto it. He placed it around his neck, letting the cool metal of the ring rest against her skin. “This is you now,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving hers. “And I’m the only one who gets to wear it.”

Her fingers gently touched the ring, feeling the warmth of her promise against him.

Then, Max reached down to his own hand, taking off a ring—one he never took off, the one that had been his symbol of defiance for years. He hadn’t given it to anyone else, and he certainly hadn’t planned on giving it to anyone. But now, with her, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

With a steady hand, he reached for the cross necklace she always wore, taking it between his fingers and slipping the ring onto it. The cool metal of his ring clicked against the chain, its weight heavier than it had ever felt before.

“This one’s for you,” he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear as he tucked the cross back against her skin. “Because we’re in this together now. No going back.”

She stared at the ring hanging from her necklace, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions—love, disbelief, and gratitude. She had never imagined a life like this. But now, with him, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“I’m ready, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m ready to start this new part of my life. With you.”

Max pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and whispered against her hair, “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.”

And in that moment, with her purity ring around his neck and his own ring on her cross necklace, it was clear to both of them that this was only the beginning.

The beginning of forever.

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt

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highvern · 1 month ago

Text

Steam (TEASER)

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

warnings: violence (bending fight club), alcohol consumption, fire bender! wonwoo, water bender! reader, (more tbd)

Teaser Length: ~2.5k | Full Fic: ~20k

Note: anyway i did the thing! thank u to @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo for the banner! @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies and @gyuswhore for being my betas. im hoping to get this out in the next two weeks but we shall see... idk what it is about wonwoo that makes me want to write long as fics but it is what it is

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Comment to be tagged when the full fic is posted or join my permanent taglist HERE.

Ranchous voices filled the warehouse, deafening as the hoard of bodies looking for a night of gruesome entertainment flooded the stands. Steam and smoke and dust clogged the air, only cleared by the occasional rush of wind the massive hole in the ceiling that showed the clear night sky above, the moon barely half full and the stars dusted across the sky.

Wonwoo watched from the catwalk criss-crossing high above the ring like always. He won’t fight until later, not until someone is dumb enough to challenge him once the adrenaline of the smaller spars bubbles to their head and they decide they would be the one to end his winning streak proudly tallied on the leaderboard.

But for now he watched the metal platform below, where Jihoon launched a clay disk at his opponent with terrifying speed. With a wide swing of his arm, Chan knocked it aside before it could land, spinning off balance from the recoil.

Too easy. But no matter how many times the two fight, Chan never catches on to Jihoon’s tricks until it's too late. Jihoon hurled a second disc – cracking it into pieces with a squeeze of his fist – at Chan’s head. The airbender managed to dodge the first piece but the other two landed true, crumbling him to his knees. The crowd fell into a frenzy of starved animals, foaming at the mouth as a tally mark appeared next to Jihoon’s name on the victory board.

Wonwoo’s name sat on the next line above, so many tallies they nearly ran off the side of the sheet of repurposed metal.

Wonwoo rarely lost. Dokyeom might force a draw for fear the building would burn down if a fight dragged on; but the last time that happened was nearly two years ago when Seungcheol demanded one final fight before retiring. They both walked away with matching black eyes and limps, his friend with singed uneven hair, and Wonwoo with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder.

It was one of the few fights Wonwoo didn’t mind losing. Defeat was much sweeter when he got paid half the betting pool for it.

The next fight gears up to start; another air bender and fire bender racing into the ring. Wonwoo rarely cared to watch their fights. Hoshi lacked finesse, relying on overwhelming his opponents, while Seungkwan’s temper historically ended the match before it could really begin. But it never stopped the audience from rushing to place their bets with Jeonghan like always.

Deciding he needed a drink for the chaos about to unfold, Wonwoo descends the stairs towards the crude bar in the corner of the upper tier of the stands. It’s nothing more than a shabby counter top, covered with colorful bottles and cracked cups..

The sting of fire whisky going down doesn’t shock his system nearly as much as the woman leaning against the wall; watching him, gaze heavy on his skin even in the dim light.

Rounding the bartop, Wonwoo doesn’t look away as he approaches. If you balk under his gaze, he can’t decipher a tell; only a satisfied smile pulling the corner of your lips high and your eyelids lowering until his chest brushes yours..

His arm rests above your shoulder, pinning you beneath his gaze. “You’re staring at me.”

It isn’t a question, it's an accusation. And you’re more than guilty.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You asked, chin tilting back defiantly, eyes narrow.

Wonwoo makes the mistake of looking at your mouth, hypnotized by the tantalizing pout of flesh as it slips into a smirk. He walked right into your trap before he even knew what was happening.

He dipped closer, eyes still on your lips. “What's your name?”

Just as your nose brushed his own, you melted off the wall and under his arm. Wonwoo cut a glance over his shoulder to find you stalking backwards into the crowd, eyes never leaving his until you're swallowed into the fold without a trace.

The dare was so obvious in your gaze. Paired with the teasing words, Wonwoo felt something surge inside him. That hot need to chase, to tease you back. To find out if your boldness evaporated with enough attention or if you’d use the same haughty tone to chaste him in private.

Wonwoo moved to do just that but he’s called to the ring for the next fight.

“Our reigning champion, the man of fire,” Dokyeom preened dramatically into the mic. “The longest running victor in bending battle history!”

People parted as Wonwoo approached the walkway leading to the isolated platform surrounded by a steep drop off into a pool of water. Maybe he reveled in the applause and anticipatory cheers longer than necessary but if anyone’s earned, he has.

“And our newest challenger!”

The poor idiot who signed up to fight shouldn’t last too long, Wonwoo isn’t interested in dragged out humiliation. Especially not now. Hopefully, he can end this quickly and find you again, bargain his victory for your name and maybe some time alone.

But, as swiftly as his hope ignited, they crumbled to ash. Dokyeom continued his rambling as you flashed a smug smile across the ring.

He faltered for only a moment before continuing towards the center of the ring. Out of the dark, he failed to decipher anything that might give him advantage. You lacked the breezeness of an airbender, posture too rigid, the cocky defiance from earlier still present. Maybe an earthbender. Or better yet, a firebender.

Your eyes trickle down his form. Only one of you is at a disadvantage so far but it won’t remain that way for long. Wonwoo thrives on a challenge, and after so long without one his heart squeezed in excitement.

“Good luck.”

You remained silent, eying Wonwoo’s outstretched hand before ignoring it, turning towards your side of the platform with your nose in the air.

Gasps of shock erupted around the warehouse. The stands circling the platform were fuller than before, even the people who only come to socialize finding a sudden interest in the stranger bold enough to snub the best. Wonwoo paid them no mind. You’re the most interesting opponent he’s had in a long time.

Words from earlier echoed in his ears.

What are you going to do about it?

Wonwoo followed suit and retreated to his post with a few grounding breaths. The flame inside him grew in preparation, hungry. Vicious. It raged until there's nowhere for the fire to go but out.

The starting bell cut the air; immediately he's on the offensive, dropping into a low stance, arms drawn into his side before the shrill sound stops. A swift punch launched a huge fireball from his fist, a swell of heat surging through his veins as it sails over the ring with terrifying speed. Then another and another, fast enough that just as one dissipates, it’s already replaced with a new explosion of flames.

Barely any smoke filled the air when they dissolved. They were nothing more than a cheap scare tactic; completely hollow shells aimed to intimidate rather than maim. The fight is just starting and there's no reason to throw his best moves just yet.

You sidestepped each blow, dipping close to the floor before rising again and twirling out of the way with catlike grace. Wonwoo lobbed the next one right in your path but you adapt without pause. Like you’re dancing around the fire. With the fire.

Wonwoo rushed forward, taking the advantage to drive you towards the edge of the platform, refusing to grant an ounce of reprieve. Not that you needed it. Every blow is avoided even as he adds more punch to the moves, each burning hotter and brighter than the one previous.

He maintained a healthy distance, plenty of room to keep the heat away from himself as his arms sweep and a ring of fire slices at your feet, close enough to singe the edge of your boots before you can avoid it completely. But you dove through the opening and rolled back to your feet, as if you expected the blow.

Wonwoo sliced his hand through the air, a razor thin whip of flame bursting forth to lick against your chin, close enough to feel the heat but Wonwoo maintains control. You could’ve blocked the move but you retreat again, eyes furious at the smoke of burnt hair jagged from contact dangling next to your jaw.

Wonwoo can’t detect any attempt at bending. The clay disks stacked at the edge of the ring remained unmoved, the air undisturbed. There’s no pull at the flames he’s conjuring, no hint that you're manipulating his own fire against him.

After another one sided volley of hits, your refusal to fight began to wear on his nerves. He harnessed more flame with a sweep of his leg, a swift stomp sending it over your head before it exploded and knocked you to your knees. You controlled the impact and roll to a crouch, eyes blazing,

“Is that really all you’ve got?” you said, shoulders squared but lax. There’s no teasing in your voice, if anything it’s cold disappointment.

To Wonwoo’s shame, a hot bolt of want ran through him. Images of you whispering the same words, with the same snotty tone, flashed in his mind; back in the dark corner near the bar where you started this entire game.

Your leg circled around and Wonwoo finally prepared himself for something of interest to happen but you only use the momentum to rise back on your feet and brace for the next round.

Wonwoo realized you must be a waterbender. The way you move, melting around every attack, shifting with impressive flexibility, it’s a dead giveaway. That or just plain stupid. If you walked into this fight with no bending then it’s only a matter of time before you cut your losses and yield.

Only one way to find out.

A towering wall of pure flame, large enough it’d scare even him to be on the receiving end, swelled in front of Wonwoo. The crowd roared in excitement, feral for the inevitable end to the match. There's nowhere for you to evade this time. It’s into the flame or off the backend of the platform.

A flat footed kick sent the wave barreling directly towards you, consuming more oxygen and growing wider with rapid speed.

The flood of fire finally forced your hand. A tsunami of water rises from the grates criss-crossing the ring, geysers gushing with enough pressure to shake the floor. A sharp hiss echoes as opposing elements collided in an explosion of steam thick enough to clog the entire warehouse. So dense Wonwoo can’t see in front of his own nose.

Wonwoo stood unfazed, even as the crowd distantly murmured in confusion. Now, the game begins.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called, listening. Waiting.

A splash behind him is the only warning of your presence. Wonwoo slashed his leg through the air, an arch of flame slicing through the fog providing a brief glimpse of visibility. However, it does nothing more, you’re still nowhere to be found.

“Longest running victor in battle history, and he can’t even land a hit,” you tsk.

Wonwoo jerked at the sound of your voice, so close he expected to find you right behind him but he’s only met with a faceful of powder.

A fucking snowball?

You must have been close enough to see the scowl twisting his face because you giggle before launching another.

“Can’t handle a little water?” you snorted.

Under different circumstances, ones not involving you pelting him like a child, Wonwoo might enjoy the sound. He might even want to find out what the sound tastes like on his tongue.

Another snowball, this one more ice than anything, collided with his chin and that desire turned into cinders. He whipped fire towards the noise but missed.

Arms raised, he feigns as if to launch another and instead opens harnesses his breath and forces a wider arch of flame that evaporates the fog you’ve hidden in. Wonwoo finds you evading from the corner of his eye and uses the moment of weakness to spring into action.

Except you crumbled with a choked scream and the sudden rush of victory tastes like ash.

Three wide strides and Wonwoo is there, hunched and ready for the next blow. But your choppy breathing ends the match. The air reeked of burnt, the entire ring smoldered with heat.

He should’ve known better; especially with you. So clearly unprepared for the intensity of a fight like this. Dokyeom shouldn’t have let you put your name down to fight, let alone against Wonwoo.

Acrid smoke rose from the discolored collar of your tunic; too close to hope he hasn’t burnt your face but he does anyway. Wonwoo prepares for the worst as he rolled you over, already yelling for a healer.

He isn’t prepared for an icy fist straight to his nose with enough force to send him onto his back. “What the fuck?”

Another blow lands on the back of his head. Hot blood rushes forward as the next punch lands with a grotesque crunch against his nose. His skin burns with cold, eyes stinging from the sudden influx of pain.

Long channels of water with blunt frozen ends sprout from the grates like a watery forest. You stand unscathed amongst the pulsing curtains, smiling like a lunatic.

Wonwoo covers his head from the brunt of attacks. His nose is broken and one of his eyes is already swelling shut. A torrent of water collapses over him, bearing down with the power of a waterfall. His knees buckle. The air in his lungs abandons him.

In a last ditch attempt to save his pride, he thrusts his hand forward. The reek of ozone clouds the warehouse as electricity splinters towards you.

And as if it’s nothing, you redirect the bolt of lightning through the opening in the warehouse roof as Wonwoo watches in shock.

The warehouse is silent. Seconds stretched into minutes but no one moved as you rose into a lazy stance.

Wonwoo watched through sweat and blood, dark spots floating in his vision as your boots grew closer.

“How disappointing,” you sighed just loud enough for him to hear before striding towards the platform and out of view.

When the echo of your footsteps faded, Wonwoo let the darkness swallow him whole.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia @tinkerbell460 @gyuhao365 @ourkivee

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hwaightme · 8 days ago

Text

23:13 PM

(masterlist)

🌆pairing: bf!yunho x gn!reader 🌆genre: fluff, established relationship, comfort 🌆summary: to be loved is to be heard, and yunho reminds you of this again and again, knowing you beyond the literal and the expected. 🌆wordcount: 1.5k 🌆warnings/tags: unedited, speedwriting, kissing, mildly suggestive in one part (through a light joke), pet names (angel, princess, sweetness), overthinking, rumination, low mood/sadness, implied anxiety (reader) 🌆taglist: at the bottom. would love to add you if interested <3 🌆a/n: genuinely have been loving yunho's styling so much <33 again another small timestamp to try warm up~ any love is so appreciated!

“Your tone.”

“My what?”

“Your tone was off, that’s why I’m here, so… may I come in or…” you gape at Yunho as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, accompanied by the rustling of a plastic bag in his hands.

“Um… sure?” you step aside and let him pass, taking a moment to register that you do, as a matter of fact, still have to play the role of a welcoming guest despite your current state of mind.

In a rush you take out some slippers for him and throw a new hand towel by the bathroom sink. He is endearingly awkward even in the midst of having made the bold decision to come here in the first place, you note, and timidly smile to yourself. Yunho’s eyes dart around the entrance and corridor as though he is looking for something.

“Is there anywhere I can leave this?” he lifts the bag, and it hits you that he had brought food. Takeout from a restaurant that you had been raving about on your latest date with him. You feel nauseous and guilty at the thought of him speeding through town at ‘probably should be getting ready for bed o’clock’, firstly to the restaurant, and then all the way to yours. Why did he? He most certainly does not have to. It’s not like you said anything or asked.

“Oh! Yes, sorry, let me take that, I’ll put it on the table,” you make a beeline towards him, freeing him from the takeaway, “The bathroom is-”

“Right here to the left. Sweetness, I do recall being here a few times before,” you catch his smile - reassurance that his comment contains nothing malicious, but nonetheless drop your head, choosing to focus on untying the plastic handles.

Rustling drowns out the constant noise in your head. On and on it rumbles and cries trying to overpower polystyrene and running water. What did Yunho mean by ‘tone’? Surely you were not texting any differently than you normally did? The usual ‘how are you’s and ‘when are we seeing each other next’s - nothing out of the ordinary. You try to retrace your steps as though you are a criminal on the run having found out that you are now being hunted by police. What is it that let Yunho know of what you were trying to not reveal?

“Need any help?” while you are stuck in your mind again you do not notice Yunho approaching you and gasp in surprise. He tilts his head, obviously having noticed your reaction, but does not comment on it, instead choosing to focus on your choice of dress for the late evening. You try to suppress the embarrassment welling up in the corners of your eyes and that stubborn intensifying lump in your throat as he studies you. Maybe you should have changed, or not let him in, or something else entirely, just so you can be alone.

“I think I’ve got it…” you mumble, having finally undone the knots and commenced taking out the different containers.

“The hoodie,” you glance up at him and immediately meet his glistening brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I-”

“I think you look beautiful. And adorable. And my heart will give out,” a soft grin, and you swear you could melt, “besides, we did agree to give each other some space in our homes right? The only difference is I’m not sure I would wear what I have at mine since I wouldn’t want to ruin your linger-”

“Yunho!”

“Just saying!”

“Cheeky! Anyways… Do you want water, tea, or maybe Coke?”

“You know exactly which one I’ll pick.”

“Coke it is-”

“Let me get it though. What do you want?” He steps around the table to intercept your path to the kitchen.

“It’s no big deal.”

“Can’t I treat my princess a little? You already unpacked all the food,” not wanting to make a big deal out of nothing, you surrender to the temptation of doing nothing.

“Water will be fine.”

“One water coming right up!” you chuckle as you watch your boyfriend move around the kitchen, knowingly opening the right cupboards as if this is as much his place as it is yours. You hide your hands in the sleeves of the hoodie, languidly pushing two chairs back when Yunho tells you to take a seat.

“Thank you,” you accept the glass, using it as an excuse to not look at Yunho.

If there is some way in which he can detect shifts in messages, you most certainly can sense when he settles into a more serious version of himself. It is nothing intimidating, of course, but nonetheless, something you presently need to prepare yourself for. He is worried, and it is a little too clear by how closely he positioned his own chair to yours, how he shifted to be almost facing you. How… How does he know?

“Let’s eat! Tell me what you want, point at things, anything!” again, he chooses to avoid interrogating you, you can sense it. His voice is laden with something unreadable, but you do not want to dive into the matter and decide to simply follow what he suggests. On top of avoiding what you fear, you realise that Yunho’s voice is considerably louder than your inner critic.

You observe his movements. He carefully ladles some soup for you, picks one side dish after another, breaks apart the pieces of another dish you merely glanced at, just to be sure that you are having what you want. In the dimmed lights his navy hair, which usually gives a mesmerising vivid blue gleam appears to be almost black, the elegant strands swept to the side and falling over his forehead reminding you of ink strokes. You recall that he mentioned having a schedule earlier that day, and that same feeling of guilt spreads over your body. What if he is tired? What if said schedule ended later than expected and he did not have a single break? Dealing with his job, dealing with you-

“Try this, it’s apparently a bestseller,” once more, Yunho is the one to take you out of your own paranoia.

“I’m sorry-” the words escape your mouth before you can process them. A deer caught in the headlights, you are staring at your boyfriend, feeling your pulse quicken. He puts down his chopsticks, completely turning to you, his and your legs pressed close together under the table, his hands searching for yours. Before you know it, more agitation spills and keeps on spilling, “I really did not mean to worry you, I should’ve insisted you rest… I mean you are probably so tired and stressed because of work and-”

“I am here, angel, am I not?”

“You are… but-”

“I both need and want to be here. So what if I had work. Now is not work time. Now is ‘us’ time. Yeah?”

“How?” a little confused, Yunho raises an eyebrow and gently squeezes your hands, “How’d you know?”

“What do I know?” you know that expression. The ‘fully aware of what you mean but wants you to say it’ look. A little unnerving because it makes you look inside yourself, but still possessing an unparalleled charm. Classic Yunho. You crack under his enamoured scrutiny.

“The tone thing… too on the dot. So… how?”

“Ah, that! Surprised you, did I?” Letting go of one hand, he leans onto the table and while resting his head on his palm, holds your gaze, “Just a hunch really. I don’t know how either, maybe my brain has a special ‘you’ alarm in it.”

“Oh come on-”

“What? Very plausible. I like thinking about you, a lot.”

“You really are too sweet,” you leave your original question hanging in the air, unsure if you even need to hear what he will say, or if it will help in any way. Yunho reads your doubts like an open book.

“I mean if I knew for sure, I would tell you. I would tell you everything. But I cannot pinpoint anything in particular. It was this feeling in my chest that bubbled up while we were texting. The words, the sentence structure… it’s you, but it’s you when you’re upset, and I don’t want you to be alone when small steps appear giant.” At a loss for words, you merely nod, biting your lower lip to keep it from trembling, and let his voice echo in your heart.

“You have superpowers I swear,” you force out a barely audible whisper, and gingerly reach to move one of his strands, blushing when he captures your hand and plants a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Nope, just think about you always.”

“I’m sorry again-”

“Apologise by having dinner with me, and then we can move,” he gestures at the sofa with your intertwined hands, “right over there, and talk through things, if you want to of course. How does that sound?”

“Good,” you move to give him a feather-light kiss, “it sounds good.”

Silence. Total silence aside from Yunho’s warm, loving presence, soft chatter, and the awareness that sometimes, you don’t need to say anything in particular to be truly heard.

🌆taglist: @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @marsstarxhwa @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

enjoyed? i would love to hear from you, it means the universe to me. thank you.

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always-just-red · 17 days ago

Note

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly.

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

#🖋rach is actually writing #🌻 anon #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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kwanisms · 2 months ago

Text

Kinktober 「10:02」 — s.mingi

» ateez menu | mingi menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ werehyena!Mingi × fem!reader wc: 4k summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with her boyfriend but not by choice. Every time she tries, he always ends up pushing her away and its starting to affect her confidence. After an argument, Mingi finally blurts out just why he's been pushing her away this whole time. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: food consumption, insecurities, past trauma, breakups; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: i promise the next thing i write for Mingi will make him dom. I already promised @yoonguurt and i will keep that promise but here is some sub mingi for the sub mingi enthusiasts lol also, if anyone is curious, i'm using STRIPED HYENAS as a reference for his werecreatures. NOT SPOTTED. Spotted hyenas are fucking insane to learn about. seriously, if you're curious, look up spotted hyena reproduction. it's literally unreal. anyway, the next part is for Chris' birthday and includes our fave aussies from stray kids! notice how i said aussies 😉 stay tuned for that and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), facesitting (m receiving), mommy kink, oral (f receiving), handjob (m receiving), sub!Mingi, dom!Reader, use of pet names (hers: mommy, ma’am; his: baby boy, sweetheart, etc), and I think that’s all but let me know if I missed any. kinks: facesitting + mommy kinkdialogue prompt: ❛❛ Sit on my face. ❜❜

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When you first met Mingi, you were intimidated by his presence, taking him as a very imposing and menacing but once you got to know him, you discovered it was merely in his looks alone. Standing at 6’1 with broad shoulders, he was a physically imposing man.

Adding to that aura of dominance was the fact that he wasn’t entirely human. You learned early on that Mingi was a werecreature. Specifically of the hyena variety. It was something you were new to, having never met another werecreature before him.

When things shifted in your relationship with him from platonic to romantic, Mingi was quick to let you know everything he felt was important about his condition. When he transformed, when his heat was, and what he usually did during his transformation and how long it lasted.

When his first transformation since making your relationship official happened, you had seen him the day before, making him a variety of meals for afterwards as you knew he would be too tired and weak to do it himself. His first cycle passed by without issue and soon it became part of your monthly routine to go over the day before, check on him, make him a week’s worth of meals and kiss him goodbye until you saw him a couple days later.

For almost a year, this was the norm for you. Something that had also unintentionally become the norm was not being intimate with Mingi. At all. Sure you’d kissed and even made out but as things got heated, Mingi always managed to push you away, trying to change the course of the evening or even leaving before you got a word in.

You’d never gone beyond a few lingering touches and it was slowly chipping away at your confidence and self esteem. It made you feel unwanted and unattractive despite being the center of male attention when you went out with your friends to the clubs once a month.

You didn’t want the attention of some random guy at the bar trying to buy you enough drinks to forget your own name and end up in bed with him only to regret it the following morning.

You wanted the attention of your boyfriend.

You’d tried speaking to Mingi about this, expressing your concerns but each time he managed to change the subject, steering it in an entirely different direction and avoiding the conversation altogether.

You didn’t expect sex from him. Of course he could have very specific reasons for not wanting to have sex with you but it was the fact he wouldn’t discuss it with you. All you wanted was a reason, something as simple as he wasn’t ready and you would drop it but you didn’t even get that.

And so, after being rejected all day on one of your rare days off, you wanted to find out why your boyfriend didn’t want to have sex with you.

You let out a sigh, keeping your eyes on the TV as you sat on the couch with Mingi sitting a cushion’s distance away, his massive frame taking up the opposite side of the couch from you. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his eyes were wandering your body, focusing on the exposed skin of your thighs.

He often would look but never touch. You wanted so desperately for him to touch you in more ways than guiding you out of his way when he was trying to pass you or cupping the back of your head so he could kiss your forehead. You want his hands everywhere.

You heard Mingi clear his throat and you quickly focused your gaze back on the TV. You had no idea what was playing, having lost interest in it a long time ago as you were too busy fantasizing about your massive boyfriend’s hands all over you.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want one?” he asked as he got up from the couch, towering over you. “Sure,” you said softly as he nodded and moved around the couch to the kitchen behind where you sat. You heard the fridge open and close and a few moments later, he returned with two cold cans of cola, handing one to you and sitting back down.

“You don’t have to sit all the way over there,” you said as you cracked open your can and took a sip. Mingi turned to look at you wide-eyed. “Oh, uh I’m okay over here,” he said nervously. You set your can down, settling back against the couch, disappointment settling in your chest. “Fine,” you muttered, picking up the remote and changing the channel.

Mingi turned to look at you, taking in your profile as you flipped through channels until you exasperatedly tossed the remote onto the couch between you. “You pick something,” you snapped, not looking at him. Your tone made him recoil internally, wondering why you were upset.

He picked up the remote and flipped through the stations until he found something to put it on. He set the remote on the coffee table as an uncomfortable silence fell over the two of you. He could tell you were thinking hard, something bothering you but you were working out a way to bring it up.

Mingi hated this. He hated fighting with you. He hated the silent treatment. He hated denying you. Earlier, when he’d arrived and sat on the couch, you had joined him while dinner was finishing cooking in the oven. What started as a few kisses turned into more as you straddled his lap, kissing him deeply as you started to grind against him.

Mingi wanted more than anything to let you have him right there on the couch but he was reminded of his past experiences. His previous partners who became weirded out upon learning that a man so strong and physically large was so submissive. He’d never been one to be a leader or in charge of anything and that extended to his preferences in the bedroom.

His relationships in the past failed because of his inability to take charge in not only the bedroom but in the relationship as well. He wasn’t comfortable with it but he really, really liked you, possibly even loved you, and he didn’t want to mess this up. He’d forced himself to take charge in some scenarios but he felt so out of his depth.

And when it came to intimacy with you, he wanted more than anything to be intimate, to give into his more carnal desires but his past trauma held him back and he ended up pushing you away just like earlier. He’d quickly pushed you off him before things go get too far and luckily for him the timer on the oven went off and he was saved for a little while longer.

He knew it was no way to conduct things and that he should have a serious conversation but he just never seemed to be ready because he felt that things would end if he was honest with you. He was trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Do you not like me or something?”

Your question caught him off guard as your words hung in the air, waiting for his response. He turned to look at you, taking in your profile as you sat there, arms crossed over your chest, one leg tucked under you. “What?” he asked stupidly. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have immediately refuted your claim but he was just so taken aback.

“Do you not like me?” you asked again, turning to look at him. Mingi hesitated. Of course he liked you. He loved you. His brows knitted together in confusion. “Of course I like you,” he replied, turning in his seat to look directly at you. “Then why do you always do this?” you asked.

“Do what?” Mingi asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to ask. He knew what you were talking about. Your eyes narrowed. “Always push me away when we start to get intimate.” Mingi felt his stomach sink, the same feelings of anxiety and dread that he always got when this topic came up, rising into his chest.

It was starting to get hot in the apartment. He needed fresh air.

“I need some air,” he said getting up.

“No,” you said, getting to your feet and following your boyfriend. “We’re not doing this again!”

Mingi sighed as he stopped abruptly, making you run into him before he turned. “I can’t have this conversation with you, really,” he said. “Why?” you asked, feeling a pang in your chest when he turned and started for the door. Panic rose up inside of you as you watched him grab his keys from the counter as he passed it. You don’t know what came over you but you weren’t about to let this go.

“Song Mingi, if you walk out that door, we are through!!”

He froze, hand on the doorknob as your voice rang through the apartment. His shoulders visibly relaxed before he turned to look at you, a look of shock on his face. “You’d break up with me over this?” he asked softly. You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what you expect me to do!” you all but shouted at him.

“I’m trying to have a mature conversation with you but all you’ve done is shut me down. I just want to know why you don’t want me!” you said, the corners of your eyes burning as you fought back tears. “I… don’t want you?” Mingi asked, sounding confused. “When have I ever said I didn’t want you?” he asked, walking back into the living room.

“You didn’t have to say it!” you countered. “Every time we’re intimate, you always push me away before it gets too far. I could understand if you would explain to me that you aren’t ready or it was something else but you won’t even entertain a conversation about it with me!” You blinked away the tears and turned away from him, not wanting to let him see you cry.

“What else am I supposed to think?”

Silence fell over the two of you, punctuated only by the sound of the TV, forgotten in the midst of your argument. Maybe it was better to just let him go, let this all go. Maybe you’d be better off. You loved Mingi, you really did, but you never signed on for all of this. You knew getting involved with him was going to be a learning experience after he revealed his nature as a werecreature but to you, that was nothing.

The silence was broken by the sound of Mingi’s keys being set on the counter and the floor creaking as he walked towards where you stood. You felt his arms wrap around you, warmth from his body enveloping you as he rested his head on yours. “It’s not because I don’t want you,” he murmured, finally speaking.

“I want you so bad I can barely stand it,” he added. “I just don’t want to scare you off.” You turned in his arms to face him. “How would it scare me off?” you asked, looking at him with a confused expression, brows knitting together. “Because,” Mingi started, his voice faltering. “It’s embarrassing,” he continued. “You thought I would judge you?” you asked. Mingi shrugged.

“It’s happened in the past. The people I’ve dated didn’t want…” he trailed off. “Didn’t want what?” you asked, trying to coax it out of him. He sighed, throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Someone like me,” he blurted out. You reached up, cupping the back of his neck and forcing him to look down at you. “What does that mean? Someone like you?”

“I’m not very… confident,” he started. You snorted. “Now that’s a damn lie,” you retorted. “You’re the most confident man I know,” you added. Mingi shook his head. “Confident is the wrong word,” he admitted. “I’m not… I don’t like to be… in charge.”

Realization dawned on you and you let out a sigh. “You’re not dominant,” you stated. Mingi nodded, shutting his eyes and bracing for what you assumed was some sort of angry response. It nearly broke your heart that he felt he had to lie and hide this from you because of the reactions of his past relationships. You could understand his hesitation. But you weren’t like his previous partners.

“Mingi,” you started, grabbing the front of his shirt when he tried to turn away. “Yah,” you said sternly. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” the tone in your voice must have surprised him. You’d never sounded so commanding before. At least not to him. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered quickly.

“I wish you had just told me, instead of hiding it from me,” you explained, cupping his cheek. “If you had told me, we could have solved this a lot sooner instead of tiptoeing around it.” Mingi leaned into your touch. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I thought that if I told you, it might make you leave me.”

You pulled him into a kiss. “I almost broke up with you because I thought you weren’t attracted to me,” you said softly. “This is why we need to communicate,” you continued. “I’m not like your previous partners, you know this.” Mingi nodded, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I know,” he murmured. “And I never should have compared you to them. I was just…”

“Scared,” you said. “I get it. It can be hard to break that cycle of trauma.”

“It’s not weird though,” you continued, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom. “I don’t mind taking control,” you added, smiling at him as you pushed the door open with your back. “How about you lay down and let me take care of you. How does that sound, baby?”

Mingi nodded wordlessly as you guided him over to the bed, turning so you could push him down onto it. He landed on his butt with a soft oof as you moved to shut the door and returned to him. “Let me take care of you,” you repeated, slowly kneeling in front of him, hand sliding down his chest to the waistband of his sweats.

You slipped your fingers under the elastic pulling it forward slightly before letting it snap back against his stomach, making him gasp. You chuckled softly as you grabbed the sides of the waistband and started tugging. He lifted his hips, letting you pull the material all the way down his thighs and to the floor where it pooled around his ankles. He sat in his underwear, waiting for your next move.

You could see he was starting to grow hard but you knew Mingi’s body, even if you hadn’t seen it fully. You knew that your boyfriend had a massive cock and from what you could see now, half hard, you were correct in your assumptions. You pressed your hand over the bulge in his boxers, making him his, a shudder run up his spine as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Does that feel good?�� you asked, stroking him slowly, watching his expressions. “Y-yes,” he whined, hips starting to roll up into your touch. You could feel him growing harder and harder by the minute and decided to take it a step further. You slipped your hand into his underwear, pulling his cock free from the material. Wrapping your fingers around the base, you started to slowly pump your hand up and down.

“Fuck,” your boyfriend hissed. “Feels so good, babe.”

You let go, spitting into your hand and resumed stroking him, your saliva working as a lubricant and moving faster with ease. He was almost completely hard by this point. “Babe, please,” Mingi whined. “What is it?” you asked softly, your speed never faltering as you looked up at your boyfriend. “I wanna be inside you,” he whined, hips bucking.

You clicked your tongue as you slowed your hand for a moment. “No, baby,” you answered. Mingi whined again, shaking under your touch. “Please, mommy,” he gasped and you felt your cheeks burn. That was a new one. You’d never been called that before but you weren’t about to comment on it. Not when you wanted to focus on making Mingi feel good. You could discuss it later.

“Sorry baby,” you said softly. “Only good boys get their dicks wet.” Mingi whined, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “It’s literally wet right now,” he countered but you shushed him, stroking him faster and making him remove his shirt. He did as you asked, tossing the tee to the floor.

“Please, baby. I’ll be good, I promise,” Mingi begged. It was tempting to give into him but why the rush? “Not tonight, baby boy,” you cooed. “Maybe in the morning.” You continued to stroke him, his hips bucking up to meet your movements as you drew him closer to his high.

You felt his cock throb and twitch in your hand and you knew he was close. “Just a little more,” you cooed. “Be a good boy and cum.”

As if on command, Mingi let out a moan and you angled his cock away from you, watching as thin ropes of his milky white cum shot out of him, landing on his toned stomach, contrasting with his tanned skin. You continued to pump him slowly, making sure to squeeze every last drop out of him.

“What a good boy you are,” you said sweetly as you got to your feet, ignoring the gusset of your panties sticking to you as you climbed onto the bed. “I bet that felt really good, didn’t it?” you asked, to which he nodded. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said, starting to get up but his grip on you was strong. He muttered something that you couldn’t make out.

You leaned over to hear him better. “What was that, baby?” you asked. “You need to speak up.”

“I said,” Mingi started, licking his lips. “Sit on my face.” You let out a chuckle. “It’s okay, baby,” you said softly, caressing his cheek. “You don’t need to do anything. We can clean up and go again tomorrow if you really want to.” Mingi shook his head. “No,” he said, grabbing your wrist, moving to lace his fingers with yours. “Please, Y/N,” he whined. “P-please, mommy. I want you to sit on my face!”

You stared at him, nibbling on your bottom lip for a moment before you relented. “Fine,” you said. “But no cleaning or wiping your mess away until I cum, do you understand me?” you asked, leaning over to look into his eyes. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

You got off the bed, tugging your shorts and underwear down and letting them fall to the floor, stepping out of them and then returning to Mingi on the bed. He waited eagerly as you straddled his chest. “Before we do this. You have to tell me if you can’t breathe. Tap my thigh three times if you need air,” you instructed. Mingi shook his head. “I don’t need air,” he replied. “I just need your pussy on my tongue, right now.”

You reached behind you, grabbing his sensitive, soft cock. He let out a whimper before nodding. “Yes mommy,” he said quickly. You let go and scooted forward until your knees were on either side of his head. Mingi’s hand moved up to cup your ass. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Just sit down.”

You lowered yourself onto his waiting tongue and let out a moan as he immediately wrapped his lips around your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, the room filling with lew slurping sounds. You reached down, combing your fingers through his hair gently. You felt him flatten his tongue against your clit, licking up and down slowly before he started to circle the nub with the tip.

You let out a moan, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to make out with your sex, ignoring the wetness that seeped from you onto his lips and chin. He could careless and lapped away at your core, fingers digging into the plush of your ass, pulling you down and close as possible.

His tongue traced down to your hole, teasing the entrance before he pulled you flush against him, his tongue wiggling into your pussy. You let out a gasp, feeling his nose bump against your clit as he tasted everything you had to give him. His tongue slipped out and was back on your clit, flicking against it in quick succession, each flick making your body jerk violently as he built you up to your climax.

Your fingers in his hair tightened as your hips started to move involuntarily. Mingi gently pushed you up slightly. “Yes, ride my tongue,” he murmured, slurring his words before pulling you back down on his flat tongue, letting you grind against him. You let go of his hair, leaning over to place your hands against the mattress as you started to roll your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue.

Your body shook, thighs squeezing his head as your orgasm washed over you, a wave of euphoria spreading throughout your body as you continued to ride out your high. Finally, you shuddered, feeling the effects of your exertion in the burning of your thighs but also in the sensitive bundle of nerves your boyfriend was still licking slowly.

You finally pulled away, lifting off his face and swinging your leg over to kneel beside him. The lower half of his face was coated in your release, shining in the low light of your bedroom.

“You are a mess,” you said with a chuckle before getting up and heading into your ensuite bathroom to grab a clean washcloth, wetting it with warm water and returning to the bed. Mingi held out his hand but you pushed it away and started wiping his face clean before wiping down his stomach, cleaning it of his release.

Once you were satisfied he was no longer sticky, you tossed the towel into the hamper as Mingi’s arms circled your waist, pulling you onto his naked lap and smiling up at you with a very tired and lazy smile. You felt his cock prod at your thigh and you chuckled, running your fingers through his hair before kissing him. “You’re hard again,” you noted between kisses.

“Mmm,” he hummed in answer. “I could go again,” he offered. “But I’m also very tired.” You nodded. “My thighs are burning,” you admitted. “How about we rest and then maybe later we can go again. Maybe I’ll even let you fuck me,” you said, pulling him into a slow, languid kiss that was messy and nothing but tongue. “Have I been a good boy?” he asked, perking up slightly, making you laugh.

“Yes,” you answered. “You’ve been a very good boy,” you added. Mingi pulled you into a kiss, grabbing your hips and pushing you down so his cock pressed against your clit. “I could go right now,” he said eagerly. “You won’t even have to do anything,” he added. You cupped his cheek, pressing a kiss to his lips. “If you promise I won’t have to lift a finger,” you said.

Mingi nodded excitedly. “I promise!” he said eagerly. You nodded, nose bumping against his. “Alright,” you replied, kissing him and pulling back, resisting the urge to laugh when he pouted, trying to chase your lips. “Show me what you can do, big boy.”

Keeping his hold on you, Mingi shifted from sitting to his knees and laid you back against the pillows before removing your top, dropping it to the floor and cupping your chest over your bralette. He kissed down your chest, pushing your bralette up and taking one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before kissing down your stomach, moving your legs over his shoulders as he drew level with your cunt.

“Will you let me fuck you without a condom?” he asked suddenly. You reached down, brushing his hair back. “One step at a time,” you said. “Make me cum with your mouth and then we’ll discuss condoms afterwards. Sound good?” you asked. Mingi nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You nodded, leaning back against the pillows. “Don’t worry about rushing,” you reminded him.

“We have all night.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

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winterzsurprise · 2 months ago

Text

Change My Mind [4]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 7.1k

nothing much to say this time but this is not beta read, my friend who was supposed to read it is unfortunately unavailable, idk if the argument makes sense in the end cause I personally run from confrontations so idk how to write good arguments so yeah.

ANYWAYS, Happy reading!!

<<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>>

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud

___________

In all of your years working for Bangtan, as one of their staff and the youngest stylist, you've been included in every life events and celebrations there is. Birthdays, first wins, comebacks, everything there is even something as important as family dinners. You've never skipped or forgot a single member's birthday, period.

But as Guwon stands before you, a plane ticket to Jeju in hand with the departure scheduled tomorrow and returning just a day short before the tour, you find yourself at a crossroad. It’s Jungkook's birthday tomorrow and Jimin has planned a small party tonight at their dorms before the formal celebration at the company the next day.

While you've been trying to rectify the awkward air between you and the maknae since his confession by starting conversations, the maknae only replied to you with silence before promptly vanishing in two seconds flat.

But despite the strain in your relationship, you could never think of not attending his birthday. You'd never thought to be petty enough to return his energy. His present was already wrapped in a pretty bow under your bed for a week now for Christ's sake!

“I-I can't… It's one of their birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His smile falls. “Can't you just give your gift today? Surely they can party for one night without you.”

It was a genuine question, logical and true but for some reason, his tone raised concerns within you. You swear to the highest heavens you could hear a bit of irritation hidden beneath dejection.

You winced. “I can't, I'm really sorry… I-I can pay you back what you've spent for the trip. I'm really sorry, I just never missed any of their birthdays. I swear I'll make it up to you next time!”

Guwon's shine dulled the further you went on and your heart twinged with guilt. In another universe where some humans gained animalistic features, he'd have dog ears pressed to his skull, staring at you with wide and glistening eyes.

You waved off the image immediately, disturbed.

“It's also my fault for not asking for your schedule. The tour is next week and then you'd be away from me for months so I kind of… panicked. I'm sorry.”

He should've known better than not to do research on your bosses , a voice at the back of your head scoffed and you waved the thought away as you put a hand over his.

“I should've notified you as well. Tell me if those are refundable or not, I'll pay you back.”

He waves you off. “Cute but I've been raised well to know not to ask a lady to pay for my mistake, so don't worry that pretty head of yours about not being able to go.”

The date continued and thankfully, no dead air remained and conversation eased out of the both of you. Guwon sorted out his reservations early on, he'd stopped eating every once in a while to pick up his phone to either receive a call or respond to an email.

With how often he answered the chimes of his phone and how long it took for him to finally put it down, you figured he must've prepared a lot for the week and it made you feel more guilty every time he did it.

Today, he brought you both to an indoor park he rented for an hour for a picnic. It was on the outskirts of Seoul and he also cooked most of the food placed between you both, his mother however, was responsible for the side dishes.

Speaking of mothers, yours called earlier to congratulate you on whatever it was she was adamant on keeping secret but you already knew what it was and you were glad Jungkook’s mother gave birth on such a perfect day almost 21 years ago.

Guwon was planning to propose to you during the trip.

It left a bitter taste in your tongue. Sure you had expected to be married to him at some point but you barely knew the man outside of his colorful stories, and knew none of his actual behavior in his home. You haven't even visited his house yet for a vibe check so why is he rushing too fast?

Despite the guilt in your heart, relief is more palpable knowing you'd have more time to figure out if you truly want Guwon in your life.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you took a glance at it.

[17:29] Jinnie: I'll pick you up at your apartment by 6. [17:29] Jinnie: please be prepared😊

Seeing the t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶e̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ friendly smile attached at the end of his message, you're suddenly reminded of the present. You hadn't told any of them of your date today, something that had drawn out longer than you thought it would. You frowned, fingers drumming on the side of your phone as you pondered on what to reply.

You had promised to help with the food yet here you are, out of town and on a picnic date inside a garden observatory.

“Who is it?” Guwon asks, seeing the frown on your face. Your mind immediately picks up the odd tone he has.

“Their oldest, Jin. We're supposed to cook together before the rest comes home.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought the birthday was tomorrow?”

“Oh, we're planning a small party before it, just his closest friends.”

Guwon nodded, eyes distant and thoughtful as he took a bite of his sandwich before continuing. “What time are you expected?”

“Their eldest said he'll pick me up at six.”

He looked at his watch and frowned deeper. “It's already 5:30. Maybe I can drive you to their dorm instead?”

You immediately shook your head. Remembering the promise you had with Jin and Jungkook. The maknae had recently begun to look at your direction again yesterday after Hoseok had talked to him, inviting Guwon would ruin the smallest progress you’ve had.

Not to mention, you can't reveal their dorm location even if he is to be your husband. Company rules and you've signed an NDA.

“Company rules, can't reveal their location.”

“If we're going to be a couple soon, I'm going to need to know more about these guys you're hanging around. I don't trust them.” He says as he turns to the picnic basket to take another sandwich out, unable to see the twitch in your eye.

“Well, you have to learn how to, they’re my bosses and my best friends.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that. I mean,” He scoffed. “Did you notice how they look at me whenever I’m around? That rapper—Yun–Yoonmi stared at me like I’m an insect he stepped on.”

Anger boils deep within your soul and you’re sure it's visibly contorting your face at this point but the man didn’t notice it and continued chewing on his food.

“Besides, their location is pretty well known already, no? Just a couple searches away, why be so secretive about it?”

You refrain yourself from frowning and it takes all of the energy within you to not react as wildly as you would’ve. It was amazing how the illusion of something good could shatter with only a few words and you set down the sandwich in your hand.

There's something terribly humbling upon realization that the man you're talking to is indeed, a man.

Noticing the shift in the air, he set down his cup of coffee with a slight raise to his brows.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It's true though, I just think it's pointless to try to hide it when some people already know, so what's the use of trying to hide their dorm?”

Where's Jimin and Taehyung at times like this?

You dreaded the conversation you're about to bring up to your mother once she calls, and could hear her scolding you for having such high standards. Guwon being indifferent to the possibility of being stalked, and your boys’ privacy being breached immediately raise red glaring flags over his head.

A lawyer himself who shrugged at the threat of crimes, the joke just writes itself.

“Don't look at me like that, I'm just… trying to understand why you didn't want me to interact with them after our second date. It makes a man overthink, know?”

Whatever thread you were holding onto, a sliver of hope that you might've misheard or misunderstood him, decayed within you and you picked up your phone to stuff into your bag.

You had hoped, wished, that after your deep talk on the night Seokjin had scolded your ass to the nines he'd understand your dynamic better with the boys or at least try. You could already hear Yoongi's drawl out ‘I told you so’ as you packed up, even imagine him bringing up Namjoon’s statistical analysis and how I should've listened to it.

“If you're implying what I think you are implying then I don't think we should meet each other anymore.”

Tossing the food back into the basket carelessly, you slung your bag over your shoulder and stand, only for his hand to shoot out to grab your wrist in an iron grip.

“Wait, I-I'm sorry! I just got… jealous, that's all.”

Even with the apologetic look displayed clearly on his face and the fear swimming with them, nothing could bring back to life the trust you had on the man and you pushed his hand away.

“I can't stay with someone who can't understand why those boys are important to me, sorry Guwon but we're over. Don't you ever contact me again.”

“You can't possibly be breaking up with me because I said what I felt? Over them? Really?!”

You don't even recognize the man sitting opposite you.

He knew, he saw how close you are with them and even sat through the stories you told him during your dates. Guwon knew you cherished every single boy in the group yet he disregarded it all because of jealousy? If that isn't a warning, then you might be blind.

“It's like I never even knew you at all.”

He scoffed. “Same with you. Can't believe I actually believed your words telling me you were friends but I saw how those boys treated you!”

Sure your relationship with your bosses is unusual but it was built from hardship and loneliness from being taken away from home and surrendering their time for a glimpse of fame in a field where they're at a huge disadvantage. It was special in ways not many could fathom because in their head, what reason would there be for a man to befriend a girl other than having the intention to fuck them?

It was the mindset of the old and “ wise” and it had infuriated you to the nines.

For him to reveal himself as one of those old cogs when he expressed himself as a gentleman and be convinced by his act of kindness, even the word disappointing could express how greatly upset you are.

“Bet you've slept with all of them at least once, hell, I don't even know why your mother bothered when you're already busy whoring yourself for seven men.”

Anger flooded your veins, it was hot and rampaging under your skin. Before your mind could even register your actions, your hand had already moved, making contact with his cheek in one swift motion. The slap echoed like a clap of thunder in the silence of the observatory.

Even after seeing the angry red mark beginning to mar his skin, your anger remained.

“Goodbye Guwon, I hope we never see each other again.”

Walking away was easier said than done.

You got picked up by Guwon earlier and since you've run far enough from the indoor garden, away from your supposed ticket back home, you're now waiting for an uber at a small library sequestered between towering and loudly designed buildings. You had half a mind to ask your friends that lived nearby for a ride but decided against it.

They might be busy with their own family.

Unlike you.

As you sit there waiting for your ride to come, your mind takes you to your mother and her genuine glee at the thought of you getting married. Ever since your second date, she had been sending you photographs of weddings for inspirations, links to event places and tailors, and flower shops where you could have your bouquet arranged. She was beyond ecstatic, if she heard what had happened, she would be devastated.

A loud, exasperated sigh left your lips, the volume catching the attention of the bookkeeper who was quick to shush you.

As you waited longer with only the deafening silence of the library to accompany you, doubt began to form at the back of your head.

Was breaking up with Guwon really the right choice?

An angry, louder voice screamed at you for doubling down on your decision. You knew your boys longer than you knew him, if the trip had gone through, Guwon would've proposed to you despite the short time you've known each other. Something you didn't want. Not to mention, he would've gone through the idea while contemplating on your loyalty.

So yes, it was the right decision!

But you were to be married .

Your mother was so happy to have finally matched you with a guy you attended three dates with. The thought made your heart clench, she was excited to see you on the altar and has most likely spread it around your town with pride. She was about to have three married children.

Gods, you don't want to imagine the conversation later on, she'd be distraught.

Your phone buzzed and you dreaded looking at the screen to see your mother's name. Luckily, it was Jin instead.

[18:01] Jinnie: where are you? [18:01] Jinnie: knocked on your door but the neighbor said you were out. [18:02] Jinnie: you're late😒 [18:02] Jinnie: I'm going to have them deduct your pay this month for making me wait [18:03] You: I'm sorry your highness for disappointing you, please forgive this servant of yours🤧 [18:03] You: was on a date [18:03] You: not that it matters anymore, I broke up with Guwon [18:04] You: does it even count? I mean, we weren't official, he didn't ask me to be his girlfriend yet.

You paused, face souring as you realized what you've just typed.

Guwon hadn't asked for your hand officially even after three dates, he had the chance on your second date during the stroll but he didn't. Despite this, he went and asked your parents for their blessings when he hadn't even asked you first.

[18:04] You: wow I just remembered that [18:04] You: then he had the audacity to propose to me!

There's a pause in between his usually instant replies and you had an inkling he's already spreading the gossip around the group somehow.

[18:08] Jinnie: wow there's a LOT to unpack there [18:08] Jinnie: but worry not [18:08] Jinnie: I'll have Jimin get us the strongest drink there is for later [18:09] Jinnie: we'll drink that sorrow away and you're going to tell me what the hell you meant by proposing while not being official [18:10] You: I don't think I should tell you that… [18:10] You: considering… ya know [18:11] You: also don't you guys have an early schedule tomorrow?🤨 [18:12] Jinnie: bold of u to assume I don't want hear how massive of a failure he is [18:12] Jinnie: nothing better than hearing your enemy’s downfall😌 [18:13] Jinnie: also what do you mean ‘you guys’??? [18:13] Jinnie: you're literally our make-up artist!

You scoffed at the message but before you could type up a reply, the notification from your uber app popped out to inform you about your driver now waiting outside the library and you walked out.

[18:23] You: and just because I'm your make-up artist, doesn't mean I should let you all get away with this [18:23] You: and I won't even drink much :pp [18:24] Jinnie : if I ever see you stumbling around the house, you owe me 100000 [18:25] You: WOW [18:25] You: AREN'T YOU RICH ALREADY???? [18:25] Jinnie: money is money😌 [18:26] Jinnie: just get ur ass over here already before I add more zeros to the bet

The smell of Jin’s cooking, both spicy and something savory, welcomed you first before the sound of sizzles did. At the sound of the door closing, Jin appears round the corner with an apron hung from his neck and a tong stained with red bean paste in the other.

Despite the disappointed look he's going for, reminiscent of a mother who caught her daughter coming home past curfew, the relief you feel upon seeing his handsome face after earlier was palpable and the knots in your stomach loosened.

“I should have your pay deducted for showing up late.”

You winced. “Sorry boss, can I appeal for a heartbreak discount on that?”

“Only if you give me a hug and cry on my shoulder.”

He opened his arms wide, plush lips widening into a smile when you approached to wrap your arms around his torso. The fabric of his sweatshirt was soft and the scent of new laundry overtook his usual scent of freshly baked cakes and gentle vanilla perfume, it almost made you boneless in his hold. Moreso when he started stroking your head while the other ran up and down your back with his palm, fingers still wrapped around the tongs.

He didn't pull away despite the awkward position with him bending down and practically melting against your smaller form. In your years of being friends, you could never recall Seokjin being the first to pull away from a hug and once more, you're grateful for that.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I’ll do it while cooking, we might burn whatever you're cooking if I told you all about it here.”

He shook his head, his rubbing motions on your back turning into gentle pats. “We can just order it online if it does, I even bet that they'll still eat it even if it was. Hoba was relentless today.”

His nails raked through your scalp and you resisted the urge to shiver.

“He was being an ass towards you guys. Then when I defended you all, he accused me of sleeping around.”

His first instinct was to curse the man down to his ancestors who bred with each other until he was born, but stopped himself when he realized what he's about to say and cleared his throat.

If his arms coiled tighter around you, you only leaned into him further.

“Normally I would say "I told you so" but I know Yoongi has it covered later. So I'll just say—"

"Don't you dare. Jin don’t you dare finish that sentence."

"I knew it."

He let out a cry when your hand slapped his arm but it quickly dissolved into a fit of squeaky laughter and he pushed your head back under his chin before you could even continue hitting him. Hand continuing their petting as you let out an annoyed groan.

“My mom was so excited! God. I hate that bastard for disappointing me and her. She was sending me links to wedding planners and dressmakers because apparently he was supposed to take me to Jeju tomorrow and propose.”

He stills in your arms, the hand in your hair stopping its motion as his breath hitched in his chest. It took him a moment before he recollected himself and continued to pat your head, pressing a kiss on top of your crown.

“I'm sure auntie will understand, I know that she would've wanted you to find a good man like she and your sister did.”

A voice at the back of your head told you he was referring to himself but you threw the thought away as soon as it went.

“Personally, I would've taken the ticket and ditch him.” He laughed and you hit his arm with a barely concealed grin. “All I'm saying is that free things should be used and if it's gifted then better! You get to decide how to use it so refund it!”

“I don't think it's that easy.”

“Just say Kim Seokjin of BTS asked for a refund and they'll immediately accept it.”

Pulling away, you playfully rolled your eyes at him, earning you one last laugh as you walked to the kitchen where the sizzles of the food being fried on the pan had long been muted. Jin followed you with an onslaught of words spilling from his lips, justifying and detailing how he would've done in your place as you placed your bag down on the island counter before reaching for the spare apron.

Hearing his rants filling the silence made it easier to relax, made forgetting how upset you were at Guwon a walk in the park.

It was familiar and his voice, despite his fiery indignation, was oddly comforting.

Soon enough, your conversation halts and you both position yourself over the counter, following his orders mindlessly; which is mostly dicing the vegetables and the slabs of meat he marinated last night in soy sauce and spices.

You found the repetitive motions of chopping soothing and silently thanked the man now hovering over the saucepan, gently stirring the seaweed soup.

As if sensing your eyes boring holes on the back of his head, his ears reddened and he looked over his shoulder to meet your gaze.

“W-what is it? Wh-why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just admiring how huge your shoulders are and how reliable you are.”

You recalled how dearly he cared for his group despite the exhaustion from practicing singing and dancing the whole day. Despite being the youngest in his family, Jin took on the mantle of the oldest brother in the group easily and selflessly provided for his members alongside Yoongi and Namjoon. If it were anybody, you were sure the boys would've been sick or had long given up, especially when the company was about to file bankruptcy in their earlier years.

From the bone shattering dances, exhausting practices and routines stretching from dawn till dusk, you were thankful Seokjin was there to catch the others when they fall.

It was a hard task nobody would've assumed since selfishness is a built-in trait of a human yet Seokjin proved you wrong when he stayed up every night despite the muscle cramps and exhaustion weighing his bones to cook for his members, taking the role of the eldest like it was a second nature despite being the youngest in his family.

He barked out a half-hearted laugh as his red ears brightened from the compliment. “I already know that of course!”

“Thank you for everything, Jin.”

His face crumpled when he laughed bashfully, the bright hue in his ears crawling to dusk his cheeks as well. It didn't take long before he recovered and like clockwork, in reaction to being flustered by compliments, he got defensive and raised the saucer threateningly at you.

“Ya! If you're planning to compliment me, at least be original! I'm done hearing about how wide my shoulders are from ARMY and how reliant I am from the others! We've been together for years, do better and be original with your compliments!”

It was a joke, obviously.

But staring at the older man childishly brandishing his cooking utensil like a bludgeoning weapon, you couldn't help but ponder about what truly pulled you into him only to realize that you've never truly dove deeper than surface level details. It was disappointing to find out how shallow you've been when expressing your appreciation for the man.

Like he said, you've always pointed out how reliable he is but never have you pointed out the small things such as the warm food he claimed have been extras and the hot soups sectioned off for you on cold days.

He was the first to approach you on the first day despite being the member who mostly kept to himself, asking you if you wanted to celebrate their Rookie of the Year win with them instead of the rowdy staff behind you.

The first one to build a bridge leading to this deep companionship you had with the rest of the members, have you really never thanked him for that?

“You're so caring and humble despite your background and where you are right now. If it was anybody else, they would've left the boys to fend for themselves once they were able to yet you didn't stop cooking for them, for us. I don't think I have ever met a man so down to earth and as loving as you are,” You paused. “Well, except Jimin but if you want something more original I'd say I love your hands even when you think they're weird because they—”

You didn't even realize Jin crossed the distance between you both until his hands clasped around your lips, silencing you completely.

Unlike earlier with only his ears blushing, his cheeks now glowed red, the flushed skin spreading down to his neck, continuing past the collar of his dark blue pajamas. When your eyes meet, you find his glistening with unshed tears no doubt touched by your hastily put together declaration of your appreciation for him.

When it was clear you wouldn't continue your rant, his arms fell to your shoulders and pulled you into a tight embrace.

His violent heartbeats thudding against his chest was the first thing you've heard before you registered the stuttered exhales and his gentle saccharine scent filling your senses, clouding your brain completely. For a moment, it was just you and him in the kitchen, hugging a little longer than friends should be.

But then again, since when have you guys ever drawn the line on how platonic touches should last?

“God… You gotta stop doing that.”

“I'm just following what you told me like a good dongsaeng and I think I did exceedingly well on it. Does that guarantee a deduction on my pay deduction?”

There's an odd, invisible weight that lifted off of you, something you didn't even realize you were carrying. But there's also a tinge of guilt pinching the edges of your heart.

Jin was the first to approach you, and the first to confess four years ago. He was all shy looks and sweet smiles, his sweet words accompanied by a bouquet of flowers that must've cost him more than he could've gotten from being an idol of a new group.

When Jin loves, he gives his all and doesn't think twice to give half of himself as well. In a way, he and Yoongi were alike, just with different approaches.

He was open and unapologetic while Yoongi was subtle and often silent.

His laugh twinkled in your ears but it dwindled later on, as if he remembered something towards the end of his mirth. “You're driving me crazy, how am I supposed to move on when you're this lovely?”

Hearing him confirm your suspicion about his crush—is it even called that at this point?—relieved you from an unknown anxiety most likely sparked by Jungkook's words a few nights ago. Why are you even relieved hearing him still liking you when all you've done is hurt him?

“You're such an idiot, you know that?”

“Love makes you do the stupidest thing but I don't think I've ever regretted ever falling for you.”

He pulls away, a gentler, softer smile now tugging his lips up.

“God, you made me sappy! My god, my soup!”

Even without the warmth of his embrace, you could feel it radiate in the small space of the kitchen. You continued your work as Jin fuzzed about the seaweed soup behind you, bathing in the domesticity of it all.

Your phone vibrates loudly in your bag on the island counter. Wiping your hand on your apron, you opened it to see Jimin’s messages.

[18:56] Mimi: seokjin hyung told me to buy the strongest alcohol [18:57] Mimi: any idea why he’s being weird? [18:57] You: I’ll tell jin that you called him weird [18:57] You: but yes [18:57] You: I’ll tell you all later why [18:58] Mimi: 🤨 [18:58] Mimi: not if I get you drunk in the first ten minutes [18:58] You: I’d like to see you try, pretty boy

Your phone vibrated again. Namjoon had texted you, seeing the preview you rolled your eyes.

[18:59] Joonie: Seokjin hyung didn’t say but I already figured it out [18:59] Joonie: You'd hear enough from Yoongi hyung later but [18:58] Joonie: I told you so [18:58] You: I hope you trip and fall on shit🥰 [18:59] Joonie: Love you too, noona😁 [18:59] You: blocked🚫

“I'm not seeing enough chopping, young lady. Get back to your station!” Jin jokingly scolds. With a laugh, you return to your spot.

By the time some of the boys arrived—except Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung, no doubt pre-gaming somewhere—it was already ten and some of the dishes were plated, ready to be eaten in the dining room. If it wasn't for both your and Jin's advanced thinking to ready the bowl of rice and their plates beforehand, they would have starved to death as Yoongi dramatically puts it before blaming Hoseok for draining them out the whole day.

The man in question just laughed in response before shrugging and rebuking their ‘accusations’, saying it wasn't even that hard. To this, Yoongi grumbled under his breath and Namjoon rolled his eyes.

A few minutes later, the maknaes entered, cheeks all flushed except for Jimin who was holding up a bag full of canned alcohol as if it was game from an all-day hunt.

You thanked Jimin silently for drinking the birthday boy tipsy enough to make the dinner energetic instead of the awkwardness you thought it'd be due to what happened a few days ago. There's fleeting eyes you've caught in between jokes he made, either pouring with adoration or longing, you tried to not to pay it much mind.

But of course, the alcohol pouring could only go for so long before you're all lounging in the living room to talk about anything that comes to mind. It was half an hour short from the clock tickling to twelve, signifying Jungkook's actual birthday.

The conversation started off tame with Taehyung questioning the animals who sleep standing to something more elaborate with Yoongi asking everyone's opinion about some decrypt conspiracy theory surrounding the rich of the west. It was all fun and games when Taehyung, lost in his own mind running with the most random thought, sluggishly pointed at you and asked:

“Wh-why aren't you checking your phone? G-Guwon hyung haven't been texting you yet?”

Many heads turned to you who was practically boneless in between a tipsy Hoseok and a still sober Yoongi. You didn't even need to look to know the look of concern Jin was throwing your way.

But everything was hazy, your head throbbing from the alcohol. The words slipped past your lips before you could think about it.

“We parted ways… He accused me of sleeping around when I said I didn't want to go on a trip with him tomorrow ‘cause I didn't want to skip Jungkookie's birthday.”

Hoseok patted your shoulder and Yoongi nodded, face indifferent as usual. Despite the reaction of the boys on both sides, not everyone in the circle held the same opinion it seems.

“You didn't have to decline it, noona. You-you’ve been with us for years, missing one wouldn't hurt me much.”

Jungkook's voice was softer as if he had sobered up from the revelation and you waved him away.

“What are you saying? I couldn't leave when we weren't alright.” You glimpsed at Jin before continuing. “Besides, he was planning to propose and I'm glad he couldn't anymore.”

In your drunken mind, the information didn't carry much weight but the pin drop silence following your words did, you guessed that it must've been. However, it didn't last long when Taehyung jumped up to his feet and punched the air as if Korea just scored the final score in FIFA.

The boys look at him with wide eyes, shocked by his reaction. Jimin recovers and tries to tug him down but a drunk Taehyung is determined, with a will stronger than a monk's resilience and patience, no one could stop him from doing what he wanted.

And that was bumping his glass on your forehead, a little harder than it should've been if he was sober and you reel back, a hand over your forehead.

“Noona! you're free again! Do you know what that means?!”

“Ok that's enough for you tonight. Let's get you to bed.” Jimin says, chuckling awkwardly as he stands behind his best friend, wrapping his arms around his waist before dragging him away.

“Why? Can't I just congratulate noona from recognizing something was off instead of ignoring it like most do? Noona,” He turned to you, bottom lip jutted out. “It's not bad that I'm celebrating right?”

Seokjin’s laugh was nervous when he rose to usher the man away as well. “Alright, lets all calm down so we don't accidentally say something while drunk.”

“Fuck yeah! I-I don’t even know why I even believed his lies, he’s a lawyer for fucks sake!”

“Not that it ever stopped you before. I still don't understand why you couldn't have married one of us instead.” Jungkook cuts in, suddenly irritated.

Somehow, the tension in the room grew tenfold and everyone sits up, alert and ready to interfere if their youngest decides to let the alcohol take control of him. Your brain clears once it registered the annoyance in his voice, heart dropping to the soles of your feet.

“Jungkook—”

“I just think it's a bullshit excuse and you know it. You told that to Jin-hyung four years ago and have repeated it ever since. We’re all adults now, we can handle a little rejection and who’s to say we can’t date when we’re the only idol running the company. You say it's because you don’t want to choose but aren’t you just instilling false hope in us?”

He stood as he grew more agitated but Jin pushed him down, eyes stern as he stared down at their youngest. Seeing the conflict brew between them, the growing guilt built by years of spending time with them reawakened.

It tied your stomach in a knot and felt like a building had dropped onto your heart.

As if sensing your emotions, Yoongi’s hand found your shoulder to give it a squeeze.

“You’re not thinking straight so stop it,” Jin excuses as he turns to you with an apologetic smile. “He’s just drunk, he doesn’t—”

“I know what I’m saying and I think you’re being too biased here hyung!”

“Jungkook…” Hoseok calls from next to you, voice low, a warning.

“You too! She’s also your friend, why aren’t you pointing out how she’s just playing with us? Why are you only calling me out?”

“Because you’re being a stupid drunk right now, Jungkook. Stand down .” Yoongi ordered, voice firm and warning. His arms are crossed as he stared their youngest down but the maknae wasn’t intimidated by it, if anything, the fire in the older man’s eyes only fueled the anger boiling within him.

In years you’ve watched over them, never once has Yoongi scolded their youngest past Run BTS contents, leaving the reprimanding to their oldest and leader. For him to call him out and seeing them grow agitated by each other’s presence, dread loomed over you with your nightmares threatening to come true.

This isn’t how tonight’s party was supposed to go.

“Isn’t there anyone who’d agree with me at how absurd all of this is?!” His head snapped at Namjoon who’s watching with a careful eye. “Hyung, surely you can also see it!”

Throughout the exchange, Namjoon had sat back and watched the interaction from the sidelines instead of interfering on the first hint of a fight breaking out. Even when the situation becomes a little aggressive, he stays silent but you don’t doubt that he’d be the first to stand if the disagreement becomes volatile and inching towards physical.

That's what he always has done, observed and let the high rise of emotions eventually tides down to a calm on their own. He's a leader, he's supposed to be fair and to do so, he must first understand both sides before taking action. He also trusts his own team to temper their own ire after years of being together.

But now that he's forced to join the argument, he sighed and stood. Seokjin stepped away as he approached their youngest with both hands placed on his shoulders to sit him back down.

Obediently, Jungkook follows.

“While I do see where you’re coming from, I think it's a bit unfair that you’re blaming her for being scared.” Jungkook opens his mouth but a firm shake of Namjoon’s head shuts him up. “Don’t start again. There’s a power imbalance here kid. If her choosing someone could cause a problem, we’d get off scot free but not her. In the eyes of the company, she’s disposable—”

“But she’s not.”

“She is. In their eyes at least. By having her around causing problems for us, she’s nothing but a thorn in their side that they should remove. If she had dated one of us and eventually broke up, it would cause an awkwardness and riff between guys especially if it ended on a bad note and BigHit won't stand for it. You know how important this job is for her, right?”

They stared at each other for a long while, both unrelenting in silence. You all waited with bated breath, Namjoon was the only one who could diffuse the situation and if he fails, then who else could possibly calm the maknae down?

Turning to the clock, you bit your lip at the time.

It was nearing Jungkook's actual birthday, three minutes short before both hands ticked to twelve.

Which meant it would have to start during the denouement of an argument. The thought planting discomfort in your stomach. Such a happy celebration shouldn't be welcomed like this.

In the midst of raised voices and pointing fingers, Taehyung has completely sobered up from where he sat between Jimin’s thighs, staring beady eyed at the situation in his friend’s arms. Sensing your gaze, he turned to you with a sheepish, apologetic smile when Jungkook's heavy sigh broke through the silence.

His head fell to his chest as Namjoon removed his hands from his shoulders yet his eyes remained on their youngest’s hunched form.

“You get what we're trying to say now, do you?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Anything you want to say, gguk?” Namjoon was talking to him like he was a kindergarten teacher and you both were kids who fought on the sandbox for the shovel, warm and understanding but the disappointment in his tone is clear as day.

Jungkook doesn't reply but he shoots up to his feet, surprising Hoseok next to you, with eyes still trained on the floor.

When he did look up to meet your gaze, it was brief and cut off by a deep bow. You reached your hands out, trying to stop him from doing so but Yoongi took one of your hands and pinned them down between his and your thighs.

Jungkook never had to bow for you and it felt wrong seeing him bent down to apologize.

“I-I’m sorry noona, I—” He trails off.

In his speechlessness in a room full of people who—while understanding where he comes from—stood behind you, he clams up and then in a flash, he’s gone, bolting from the living room and skipping up the stairs. The sound of his heavy footfalls echoing like the clock ticking down to his birthday.

The argument has been dissolved, yet it left a bitter taste on your tongue, it made you feel queasy having everyone back you up without reprimanding you as well. It was true, what Jungkook said.

Weren't you practically leading them on by not choosing anyone? No matter how unintentional it must be, if he thinks that way then maybe everyone else in the group does, just silently.

You turned to the clock again. A minute closer to the next day.

Frustration made you want to pull your hair out but the long, lithe fingers that have entangled with yours in the middle of it all, forbade you from doing so. As if he could hear the internal debate between logic and emotions, Yoongi gave you a comforting squeeze.

But it didn't feel right, you shouldn't be sitting on your ass while Jungkook blamed himself for expressing his own opinion, sure it was a bit aggressive but you understood his frustration.

“Jungkook!” You called out, rising to your feet to follow him when Yoongi tightened his hold on your wrist and shook his head.

“He needs time to process, leave him be.”

Yet despite this, you shrugged his hold off and followed the youngest’s heavy footfalls upstairs and presumably into his room. You caught onto him in the hallway, with the door to his room opened and half of his body already inside.

“Jungkook, let us talk.”

“I-I don't want to see you right now, noona please.”

The desperation to correct the wrongs gives you a short burst of energy and you catch his wrist.

“Jungkook please, I—”

You heard the joyful chime of the clock downstairs before you heard the sweet jingles of bells.

Then you felt it.

Electric jolts shoot up from your connected hands, waking every cell and your mind awake and you almost keel over from the wave of relieving warmth washing over your body. There’s now a low hum accompanying the bells chiming in the background, the soft harmony between them sending shivers down your spine.

You've thought of first meetings like those scenes in Hollywood movies where a kaleidoscope of colors explodes behind your eyelids, like fireworks celebrating the precious moment where the protagonists finally meet and fireworks shoot up to the sky. They talked of a brief moment of reprieve from reality, the world slowing down and feeling the most calmed you've ever been with your soulmate in hand.

Like your soul finally recognizing its pair and suddenly, everyone became a blur in the background.

Yet when you stared back at Jungkook's mirrored astonishment, your stomach bottomed out.

Because no way in hell, after all this time, you're soulmates.

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