#bi light's. somewhere in there

[tinkatonnageoffun]

Here's a few questions for you.

If you were a Dark Souls/Demon's Souls/Bloodborne styled boss battle, what would your arena look like, what would you be (a creature, just some dude, other, etc, etc), and what would your theme sound like?

[alaiasole]

🍸 welcome back to solè’s bar 🍸

tonight’s special: eren yeager, unfinished business, & your back against his bathroom mirror.

→ eren yeager x black!reader

→ smut | exes to ??? | modern au | you and eren doing shit you’re not supposed to

→ tags: f!reader, oral (f receiving), mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, jealousy, possessiveness, dirty talk

༺☆༻

the music is loud. like, bass-in-your-throat loud.

the kind of loud that makes your drink ripple in your cup as you sway to the beat with your girls.

tonight’s been fun. niyah dragged you out, mikasa found a table, the bartender gave you a free shot just for smiling.

life is good.

your relationship’s been steady, solid. no complaints. your boyfriend’s sweet, consistent, got his shit together.

and you? you’re glowing. you’re soft and happy and trying not to think too hard about anything.

“okay, we gotta move,” niyah calls out over the music, fanning herself dramatically.

“sasha said there’s an afterparty like five minutes from here,” mikasa adds, already standing and reaching for her purse.

you glance around. ���where’s sasha at now?”

“she said she was coming right back,” niyah says. “that was like ten minutes ago.”

you pull your phone out. call. no answer.

call again. voicemail.

you frown, looking toward the upstairs hallway. “i’ll go check for her upstairs. maybe she went to the bathroom or somethin’.”

“we’ll come with you,” mikasa offers, already starting to follow.

you shake your head, already stepping away. “nah, it’s fine. it’ll be faster if i go alone. plus… i know my way around here.”

you walk past bodies pressed against the walls, pass the kitchen with the sticky floor, head up the creaky stairs that’ve stayed the same since the last time.

you keep going, past the second-floor hallway, down toward the last door at the end.

you see the bathroom light glowing under the door. it’s cracked open.

“sasha?” you call softly, stepping closer.

you nudge the door open and your whole body just… stills.

your heart drops.

shit.

it’s not sasha.

it’s him.

eren.

your ex.

he’s shirtless. sweat-damp hair, jaw tight, tattoos peeking down his arms and across his chest like they never left your memory.

he’s leaned over the sink, eyes flickering up to meet yours in the mirror like he’s been expecting you.

your breath catches and you swear the whole house goes silent in your ears.

he blinks, slow, then turns around to face you fully.

“…hey.”

fuck.

it’s like your mind just… drifts. naturally.

right into memory lane.

you and eren had been together since high school.

the golden couple. the blueprint. the ones people pointed to and whispered soulmates.

and in the beginning? you really believed it.

you two were so in love. inseparable. always touching, always whispering to each other, always riding for one another.

but somewhere along the way, shit just… shifted.

the fights started small, then turned into full-blown arguments.

you were on and off so many times you lost track.

people stopped asking if y’all were still together because nobody ever really knew.

until eventually, you called it quits. for real.

now you’re with your boyfriend.

he’s sweet. stable. treats you right.

you’re not unhappy.

you’ve convinced yourself you’re happy.

but as you stand here, face-to-face with eren—shirtless, hair a little longer, tattoos you don’t recognize licking down his ribs, his sweat-slick chest rising and falling slow

your heart does that annoying little skip.

you scan him arms flexed, pants slung low, a hint of that deep v-cut on his hips, a little trail of curls leading down to that bi—

whoa.

okay, reel it in.

you blink, shake your head a little.

were you just… eye-fucking your ex?

girl. please.

is that cheating? probably not.

but why the hell does he still look so good?

your eyes meet.

his are calm.

soft.

dangerous.

you swear you feel the room tilt just a little.

his lips move. he’s talking to you.

you’re not even listening.

“are you done staring?” he says, voice low, teasing.

your mouth opens, but you’re still looking at him.

oh.

he’s talking to you.

“oh—yeah. um… sorry. have you seen sasha?”

“no,” he says, “but how’ve you been?”

gosh, the nerve.

“i’m good,” you reply, turning toward the hallway.

he steps behind you.

slams the door shut.

“baby, where you going?”

curse that stupid pet name and what it does to you.

you freeze. “eren, i can’t do this with you right now.”

your voice is calm. too calm.

you’re looking at him.

and suddenly, it’s like everything crashes back at once.

the late-night drives.

the yelling matches.

the slow kisses in the back of his car.

the way he always looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

the breakup.

the heartbreak.

the silence.

“just let me talk to you,” he says.

“eren—”

“five minutes,” he pleads. “just five.”

you sigh. “fine.”

he steps back, arms folded, leaning against the sink like he’s trying not to look too eager.

“i just wanna catch up with my favorite girl.”

your heart flutters.

you shove it down like it means nothing.

“boy, get on with what you wanna tell me.”

he shrugs. “how you been?”

“good.”

“that’s good. how’s college treatin’ you?”

“it’s fine.”

“how’s your sister?”

“she’s cool. she still asks about you.”

he smirks. “how’s your little boyfriend?”

there it is.

you don’t respond right away.

“he’s… great,” you say, but even you don’t believe it.

eren raises a brow. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

“so how’s the relationship?” he asks, real casual.

you hesitate. just a second too long.

“it’s good.”

“mm.” he hums.

but he doesn’t say anything else. just looks at you.

you try again. “it’s good. like… really good.”

he leans forward, slow. “you don’t sound convinced.”

your mouth opens, then closes.

why is your heart racing like this?

“my relationship is great.”

he nods, but the look on his face?

it says sure, baby.

and now your thoughts are racing.

like, okay. your relationship is good.

he’s a good guy. he does everything right.

but… you’ve never felt like this.

not the way eren’s always made you feel

like he could set your whole world on fire with just one look.

and now he’s looking at you like he’s thinking the exact same thing.

eren’s mind is racing.

he never thought he’d get the chance to be this close to you again.

talk to you.

hear your voice.

yeah, sure you both go to the same college.

he’s seen you around.

at a distance.

in passing.

but you always looked straight ahead, never once turning your head to look his way.

and he got it.

he couldn’t blame you.

but still

he never stopped looking.

and now?

you’re right here.

standing in front of him.

goddess braids flowing down your back, honey blonde catching the bathroom light just right.

that color always looked good on you made your skin glow like it was kissed by the sun itself.

he swears you look even more beautiful than you did the last time he saw you.

if that’s even possible.

how the fuck is that even possible?

his eyes drop

to your pretty brown eyes, the ones that used to roll when he made you laugh.

to those soft, full lips he used to kiss like they were his last meal.

to the tiny necklace resting on your collarbone the one he bought you back when shit still felt good.

his gaze trails lower, slow.

he shouldn’t.

but he does.

your outfit hugs every part of you just right.

he can see the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the thighs he used to fall asleep between.

those thighs he swore were made to suffocate him.

he shouldn’t be thinking like that.

but here he is.

god, he misses you.

he misses everything.

the sound of your voice in the morning.

the way you’d always throw your leg over his in your sleep.

how you’d pout when you were mad at him but couldn’t stay mad for long.

he misses the soft moments.

he misses the loud ones too.

he misses you.

he can’t believe someone else gets to call you theirs now.

some random ass dude gets to touch you, hold you, listen to you laugh, wake up to you in the morning.

some other man gets to see you smile like that.

he wants to hit something just thinking about it.

and the worst part?

he can’t even be mad.

he’s the one that fucked up.

he’s the reason things ended the way they did.

he was reckless, impulsive.

he said things he didn’t mean, left when he should’ve stayed.

he took for granted what the two of you had.

what you gave him.

and now here you are same girl, whole new glow.

stronger.

prettier.

happier.

or at least, that’s what you’re trying to convince him of.

he can’t stop staring.

and when your eyes finally meet his

it hits him in the chest like a brick.

goddamn.

you’re right there.

close enough to touch.

close enough to ruin all over again.

he wants to say something.

something real.

please come back.

i miss you.

i never stopped loving you.

but his mouth won’t move.

his heart is too busy slamming against his ribs.

you stare at him

“why are you shirtless”“oh. alcohol got spilled on my shirt. why? am i making you nervous?”“eren please.” you roll your eyes.

he laughs a little under his breath, shaking his head like he knows something you don’t.

“you look nervous. like old times.”

“boy, please,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “this ain’t that.”

“nah, i know. you got somebody now,” he says. “you happy?”

“what kind of question—”

“it’s a yes or no.”

you pause. “yes.”

“right.”

he nods like he believes you. but the silence says otherwise.

you shift your weight, already regretting even walking in here.

“eren, don’t do this.”

“do what?” he steps closer, low and calm but firm. “ask about the guy who gets to call you his now? the guy you let hold you at night? the guy you let kiss that smartass mouth?”

“you don’t get to be mad. we broke up.”

“we broke up?” he repeats it, a scoff escaping. “nah, you walked away.”

your jaw tightens. “and you gave me every reason to.”

his face falls, just a little.

“yeah,” he says. “i did.”

he looks away like he can’t even face himself for a second.

but then he looks back at you, fire building behind his eyes.

“but don’t act like it was just me. you didn’t even try. you shut down, you ran, and suddenly i was the only one fighting for us.”

“because you drained me, eren. you think this was easy? loving you was not easy.”

he steps in again, voice rising. “but you did love me, didn’t you?”

your breath catches.

his eyes are burning into you now, like he’s searching for the answer inside your silence.

“and don’t lie,” he says, a little quieter. “you still do.”

you scoff, trying to collect yourself. “you don’t know shit about how i feel anymore.”

“don’t i?”

he leans in, drops his voice.

“the way you were looking at me earlier? the way you’re looking at me now?”

you roll your eyes again, ready to brush it off, but your body’s betraying you. you’re still standing there. still listening. still feeling.

“i have a boyfriend,” you say, almost like you’re reminding yourself.

he nods. “and?”

your eyes narrow. “and i’m loyal to him.”

“even if you don’t love him?”

you hesitate.

he takes a breath, voice softer now, but no less sharp.

does he make you happy?”

you hesitate. and that’s all the answer he needs. but he doesn’t stop there.

“does he remember the little things about you?”

he moves in closer, voice brushing your skin like a touch.

“your favorite color?” he tilts his head. “the way you hate sleeping with socks on? how you always eat the fries first?”

you look away, jaw tightening.

“what about your favorite song? that stupid playlist you made called ‘bad bitch energy only’ even though half of it is sad ass r&b?”

“eren—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“does he please you?”

your heart skips.

he leans in, close enough to kiss, but doesn’t.

“does he make you come the way you like to be pleased?”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

and suddenly, he’s behind you. you didn’t even realize how fast he moved. his hands on your hips now, guiding you to face the mirror in front of you.

and there it is. you and him, reflected back. too close. too familiar.

“fuck…” he breathes, eyes dragging down your frame in the mirror. “look at you. so fucking beautiful.”

his lips ghost over your ear, voice low and filthy.

“you remember how i used to fuck you right here… in front of this mirror?”

your breath hitches. memories crash down like waves.

you remember when you said you knew your way around here?

yeah.

that’s because this is Eren’s house.

and this is his party.

fuck.

your stomach flips. all this time. and you walked right into it.

“eren—” you try again, turning your head, but he’s not done.

“yes, i stalk your shit.”

his voice is tight now, rough.

“yes, i see the little pictures you post. you and him all cuddled up. captions like ‘my peace’ and ‘my person.’”

he laughs bitterly.

“that’s supposed to be me, you know that?”

he’s looking straight into the mirror now, straight at you.

“it fucking kills me. watching you play house with someone else. knowing i fucked it up. but that doesn’t stop me from still wanting you. still loving you.”

you swallow hard, trying to stay still even though your body’s screaming.

“why’d you come to the party?”

his voice is softer now, but still cuts deep.

“because… sasha invited me.”

“but you knew it was here.”

“…yeah.”

“and you still came?”

“…yes.”

his smirk is slow, knowing.

“you sure you didn’t come to see me?”

“no, eren. i’m in a relationship. a happy one.”

“mmm.” he presses a kiss to the crook of your neck.

“then why are you letting me touch you like this?”

you close your eyes. “we can’t do this.”

“yes we can.”

“eren—”

“shh.”

his hand slips around your waist, lips brushing your ear.

“tell me… does he make you cum?”

you stiffen.

“like i did? does he fuck you right? make you feel good?”

he kisses your neck, hands gripping your hips tighter.

your silence makes it worse.

“answer me.”

“…no.”

he exhales, satisfied.

“there we go. see?”

his voice dips low again, proud and tender all at once.

“not so hard to tell the truth.”

he turns you so your lips meet in a kissmessy, hungry, like he’s been starving. like he needs this to breathe. he locks the door behind him without breaking the kiss, hands already roaming, gripping, pulling you in like he’s scared you’ll disappear again.

“come here,” he breathes against your mouth, picking you up by the waist. you let out a small gasp as he sits you up on the counter, his lips already back on your neck, jaw, collarbone like he’s trying to memorize every inch of skin again.

his fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts, a smirk tugging at his lips. “can i taste you, baby?”

your brain screams no you shouldn’t have kissed him, you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be doing this.

but your body? your body is already leaning in. already throbbing for him.

“yes,” you whisper.

he pulls down your shorts and panties in one slow motion, eyes glued to the way you glisten for him. he spreads your thighs open gently, like unwrapping something precious. “fuck,” he groans. “so wet, baby.”

and then he smiles. that same sinful smile that used to ruin you.

he leans in, lips brushing your inner thigh before kissing it softly.

“hi, beautiful,” he murmurs low, hot breath hitting your skin. “i missed you.”

your pussy clenches.

he glances up at you with that cocky-ass expression. “seems like she missed me too.”

you open your mouth to say something smart, but it melts into a moan when his tongue presses flat against your clit. slow. thorough. like he’s savoring it.

he groans into you, deep and hungry, like the taste is better than he remembered. his hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he devours you like a man possessed. “you taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, circling it slow and then fast again until your hips are rocking into his face.

“e-eren—” you gasp, your hand reaching down to tangle in his hair.

he moans in response, like he loves hearing you say his name like that. his tongue dips lower, licking up everything you give him, and then he’s back to sucking that spot the one he always knew could make you see stars.

“god, you sound so pretty,” he says between licks, voice thick with want. “you still moan the same. still taste the same. still fuckin’ mine.”

his fingers dig into your thighs tighter, and he flattens his tongue against your clit, fast and relentless. your head falls back. you swear you black out for a second. your legs shake.

“come for me,” he whispers. “don’t hold it. give it to me, baby. let me hear it.”

and just like that you break.

you moan his name as your whole body tightens, thighs squeezing around his head, hips bucking as your orgasm hits you like a fucking tidal wave. it rushes over you, blinding, electric, and so deep it steals your breath.

he doesn’t stop.

he licks you through it, even slower now, letting you ride his mouth until you twitch and whimper from overstimulation. when he finally pulls back, his lips are shiny with you, and he licks them like he just finished dessert.

“fuck,” he whispers, standing between your legs again. “you always give me the prettiest moans.”

and just like that, you’re still panting on the counter. legs trembling. lips parted. looking up at your ex who just reminded you why it was always so hard to let him go.

meanwhile, downstairs?

your girls are looking for you. confused, whispering, pacing the party floor.

“where the hell is she?”

“you don’t think she left, right?”

“no, she wouldn’t just leave.”

your phone’s been blowing up for the past ten minutes buzzing and lighting up on the counter behind you, ignored and forgotten while eren’s got you bent over the sink.

he palms your ass, spreading your cheeks wide. “gonna fuck you just like i always did right in front of this mirror,” he groans, lining himself up. “so you can watch me take what’s mine.”

you barely manage a moan before he thrusts in deep and your back arches instantly. the stretch is too perfect, too familiar. your eyes roll back as he fills you completely.

“fuck,” you whimper, breath fogging the mirror.

he doesn’t even give you a second—he’s already pounding into you, hard and deliberate, gripping your hips like a man with something to prove.

SLAP.

he smacks your ass, then grips it tight with one hand while the other comes around your neck, pulling you back so you have no choice but to watch your own expression in the mirror.

“look at that,” he pants. “look at her fucking cream.”

and you are. slick dripping down the base of his cock, coating your thighs your body is giving in like it missed this, like it was just waiting for this exact moment to lose all self-control.

he pulls your leg up onto the counter, opening you wider. deeper. rougher. he fucks you like he’s punishing you for ever moving on. each thrust knocks a moan from your throat, your body shaking with every snap of his hips.

your phone vibrates again. and again. and again.

the screen lights up behind you, messages flooding in:

Mikasa:

girl. where tf are you??

pick up your phone

sasha’s here she said she hasn’t seen you

are you ok???

Niyah:

we’re literally looking for you rn

your man’s texting us. should we tell him something??

Sasha:

umm where did you disappear to????

Bf❤️:

babe? everything okay?

mikasa said you’re not answering your phone

where are you?

i’m getting worried. pls text me

and then even eren’s phone starts lighting up on the counter, buzzing loudly.

Connie:

brooo did you know y/n was here???

her girls are looking for her did she leave??

Armin:

eren… answer your phone

is y/n with you?

are you okay???

but none of it matters.

because eren’s got you choking on your own moans, hand still wrapped around your throat, lips by your ear.

he thrusts in harder meaner.

your nails claw at the counter, eyes half-lidded.

you sob out a moan. it’s too much. it’s so good.

“he’s never gonna fuck you like this,” eren growls, picking up the pace. “no one ever will. you’re mine—you know that?”

you can’t speak. you can’t think. all you can do is moan as he slams into you over and over again, dick hitting that perfect spot so deep you feel yourself start to come undone.

“say it,” he grunts, voice tight. “tell me who fucks you like this.”

you gasp. “you, eren—fuck—it’s you—”

“that’s right.” he bites your shoulder. “nobody fucks you like me.”

you come hard body shaking, mouth open, crying out his name with a raw, broken moan as you clench around him. your orgasm crashes over you, legs trembling, vision blurred.

he follows right after, groaning deep and guttural as he spills inside you, holding your hips still so he can bury himself in you, deep and messy and so fucking wrong.

he stays like that for a second breathing hard, hands still on your hips.

and then, slowly, he pulls out.

your thighs are shaking. you’re still bent over the counter when he watches it happen his cum dripping out of you, slow and sticky, painting your thighs.

“fuck,” he breathes, licking his lips. “that’s my favorite view.”

and your phone is still vibrating.

still lighting up.

still full of people who don’t know what you just let happen.

but in this moment?

you don’t care.

eren helps you clean up, wordless.

he grabs a towel, wipes you down between your thighs, his eyes still dark and quiet as you tug your shorts back on. you smooth your top. he zips his pants. you fix your hair. he washes his hands. you stare at your reflection like maybe if you blink slow enough, this moment will rewind itself.

but it doesn’t.

you both glance at the door.

you already know it’s time.

eren exhales. you nod.

he unlocks it.

click.

the door swings open, and there they are.

right outside the bathroom, standing in a half circle like the most awkward intervention of all time:

Armin.

Connie.

Sasha.

Mikasa.

Niyah.

and your boyfriend.

every single one of them staring.

no one says a word.

no one has to.

because your skin is still flushed. your lips are a little swollen. your shirt’s tugged too high on one side. eren’s hair is messy, knuckles red, belt buckle crooked. and most damning of all? your boyfriend’s eyes wide, stunned, chest rising and falling like he already knows what he just walked into.

your hair’s a mess.

your lips are swollen.

your clothes are messy

the bathroom smells like sex.

you shift, eyes darting, your heart pounding in your throat like maybe you can fix this if you just explain fast enough but there’s nothing to say.

and then armin, voice barely above a whisper, murmurs:

“…what the fuck.”

but no one responds.

because this?

this is the kind of damage that doesn’t need words.

you look your boyfriend in the eyes.

he looks back at you like you just broke something he can’t pick up.

and in the stillness, the silence, the heavy weight of your decisions lingering like perfume and sweat and bad timing—

all you can think is:

fuck.

[dissolvedprincess]

imagine just having the freedom to have your hands all over frank castle. idk what it is but lately I've been really into tipsy!reader and frank, but just coming home from being out and him being in just a pair of sweats, being able to kiss and rub and trace every scar, every hair, HIS NOOOOOOSE. I fear we as a people don't talk about his nose enough it's genuinely perfection in my eyes. just that, being all pretty for frank while you get him worked up. depending on the severity of your intoxication he may or may not let it go further, also depends on how bad you're teasing him🤭

Thank you for this super fun request dear anon! This one turned out to be a favorite of mine and i hope i did your vision justice. Enjoy!!

Nobody but you

꒰ Frank Castle x Fem reader ꒱

✷ CW : 18+, intoxication, unprotected pinv, fluff, established relationship

(Not proofread)

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶

These fucking heels were killing you.

The room was spinning and you couldn’t find your goddamn keys. “Son of a bitch…” Your acrylic nails made it more difficult for your hands to effectively rummage around your purse. You start to frantically dig harder only to quickly pause as Frank’s voice echoed in the back of your head, “Hey come on— i’ll pay ‘em off for you. It’s nothing, i like doing this for you.”

The interruption granted you a moment of sobriety and it proved to be effective when your fingers curled around a familiar shape. “Hell yeah.”

You step inside to find the already dark apartment with only one source of illumination from the side of the couch; cascading the room with a dim, yellow light. Once the door closed, you brace your back on it and let out a relieved breath.

“I’m homee babyyy!” You call out, knowing Frank would stay up as long as he needs to make sure you arrive home safe from your bi-weekly hang outs with your friends. Though the intent on having a smooth arrival was interrupted by a shooting pain that went up your leg. “Ow! Fuck! Stupid fucking-“

“Hey sweetheart— whole lotta cursing there! You good?” Frank’s voice echoed from somewhere inside the apartment.

“My heels! Ugh. They’re hurting me.” You crouch down to fumble with the straps that was tightly wrapped around your ankle. “Pleasee God just this one time….gimme a break.” You whined.

“Need any help?”

“Nope!” You let out with an over exaggerated ‘P’.

After another failed attempt, you crumbled to sit on the floor in exhaustion, causing a small thud to echo in the room. As if a loyal dog, the noise quickly beckoned Frank’s attention away from his book, and before you could struggle by yourself further, you hear him padding towards you. Like clockwork.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you feel a spark of arousal in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him crouching in front of you. Frank looked freshly showered and he smelled so nice. The grey sweatpants he had on has always been your favorite. Although tempting, you could never tell him that; not when you could freely ogle at his bulge without him knowing.

Your eyes trailed from his hands to his flexing arms, working to gently take off your heels. He looked strong and untouchable in the white wife beater. The shape of it further emphasizing his prominent muscles.

“Frank…baby you don’t need to be doing all this.” You affectionately stroked the back of his hand with your palm.

“Quiet.” He gruffed. “I like-“

“Doing this for you.” You finish for him.

Frank’s dark eyes flicked briefly to meet yours in acknowledgment and he tried his best to downplay the smile that blossomed. “That’s right.”

“Soooo sweet, my Frankie.” You mumbled as your fingers raked through his cropped hair. “So handsome too.” He stiffened slightly as you sneaked the line in.

Frank doesn’t always react outwardly to things, he prefers to keep things close; never to let it be seen by anyone. Unfortunately for him, you make it difficult for him to do so. Especially when you make him all flustered and shy, like molten butter under the sun.

Frank cleared his throat as he placed your heels back on the shoe rack. “S’nothing.” You replied with a hum.

“Tell me what hurts.”

“I think my right leg’s crampin’ babe.” He then went to sit and pulled your leg over his lap. His hands were gentle as they massaged the tender area, but you still winced at his touch. “Let me know if i’m goin’ too hard.”

“No no, it’s good. Feels really good baby.”

You lean back on your hand and chased after his face with the other. Thumb coming up to swipe over a scar that’s formed on his cheek.

His hands trailed from your calf to your thighs, straightening out and relaxing your muscles. Frank wasn’t trying to start anything and you knew that. But how can you not get aroused as he inches to your upper thigh.

“Y’wanna know something babe?” You start, mind itching to distract yourself from his touch.

“What?”

“They talked my ear off about their shitty boyfriends, aaalll night. Apparently, all of ‘em hate listening to their girls—“ You pause to curse as he pressed on a tender spot.

“But they looove to just sit on their asses and fuck—they’re selfish pricks! Especially in bed. It’s a shame to hear my girls claim that there’s just no more proper men left in the world.” You frowned. Frank loves it when you go off on your drunken chatter.

“That so?” His tone amused.

You couldn’t stop the drunken giggle that promptly escaped, “Yep, and duh of course i disagreed. I mean, look at you!” You exclaimed with a roll of your eyes, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Before you could catch Frank’s flustered reaction, “Also, do you remember Mia?”

He nodded, fingers still working their magic on your leg.

“She- fuck.” You held another laugh before continuing, “She swears the guy she’s dating has the smallest, tiniest micro dick. But- but, listen to this yeah.” You ramble as you waved your pointer finger to prove a point.

Frank smiled as he listened to you intently.

“They haven’t fucked yet. But she swears it cuz he has the skinniest nose she’s ever seen on a guy! Like isn’t that soo crazy!?”

“Wouldn’t know much about that sweetheart.” He then breathed out a small laugh.

In response, you put a hand on your chest and scoffed, face twisting in confusion, “Oh? Well well welllll Frankie, i beg to differ my love.”

Cocking a brow in amusement he threw a look your way and chuckled.

You narrowed your eyes, “Can you guess what she said next?”

He stopped moving his hands and rested them on your thigh instead, softly stroking up and down.

“Nope.” He uttered.

“How lucky i am that i have a boyfriend with a decent sized nose, that technically leans towards the bigger side.” You continue with a smug expression plastered on your face.

The both of you burst into laughter as you finished your story. Your heart ached as you watched him openly laugh, body shaking and struggling to contain himself. It’s a rare occurrence. Which is why you’re savoring every moment of it now. A small time away from the darkness that digs its claws into him often.

Bottom lip captured between your teeth, you smiled at him as your joined laughter naturally dies down. He leaned his head on the wall and threw you another look with a smile on his face. Both your eyes meeting to seemingly be stuck in a trance; silently communicating.

“Shit. All this talk about noses got me feeling horny.” You joked, body slowly shuffling to get on top of him and he welcomes it. His broad palm settled on your hips, affection fogging up his features. “I’m glad to hear my nose got you all worked up.” He shoots back with a sly smirk.

You giggled again before leaning in to lick the seam of his lips. He responds by sucking your tongue into his mouth; slowly. Equally savoring your taste. The kisses quickly deepened and the gentleness seemed to fade as soon as it started.

Your hips start to slowly move in his hold, testing the waters still. Eager to find out how far he’s willing to go. Frank’s answer was apparent as he helped you ground your pussy harder, pulling and pushing you along the length of his cock. The glide made easier by your own arousal that was starting to seep out of your panties.

“I’m so fucking horny Frank.” You mumble into his mouth. “I want you to fuck me.” Moaning softly against his mouth as you felt the head of his dick push against your clothed clit just right. He mindlessly start to massage your ass, leading your legs to wrap around his hips. He parts from you and leans back to voice out, “Hold on to me.”

He stood up and walks over to the couch, with you in his arms. You couldn’t help but suck dark marks into his neck as he’s walking. Teasing bites trace up to nibble on his lobe.

You expected him to dump you into the couch and fuck you into it. But you were pleasantly surprised to find him turning to fall backwards into it. The drop jostled your body slightly, causing you to press against his bulge. You rose up and threaded your fingers under the edge of your short dress and peeled it over your head. Leaving you bare in just your soaked panties.

Frank licked his lips and swiped a thumb over your pebbled nipple. “No bra tonight huh?” You feel his cock twitch under you.

You respond with a shake of your head, “Nuh uh. Best decision ever i think.”

“So beautiful.” He whispered and before you could say anything else. Frank cupped your breast and gave it a soft squeeze, running his thumb over a nipple, giving it a gentle pull. His lips suddenly came up to wrap around the other. You whimper when you feel him swirl his tongue around it with the occasional nibble.

Your cunt ached for more friction, so you plant your hands on his shoulders and you continue to grind back and forth on his erection.

Frank pulls off you with a pop to groan. Your teasing movements felt like torture, not fully satisfying. He could feel your wetness start to seep through his sweatpants. He tightened his grip around your hip to stop your grinding.

“Hold on sweetheart. Get up on your knees for a sec.”

You whimper and complained, “But you feel too good.”

“Do you want my dick in you or not?” He challenged, his own patience is wearing thin.

So you obliged. Struggling a bit to hover above him.

Frank got up slightly to push his sweatpants down. Not all the way, just enough to get his dick out, and you almost drooled at the sight.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

You let out a shaky breath as he thumbed your panties to the side; exposing your cunt to the cold air. Fingers slipping between your folds, feeling your wetness.

“Fuck baby. You weren’t lyin’ huh.” He then begins to push a finger into you, slowly dragging it in and out. Feeling out your walls and you bit your lip to muffle your noises as he pushed in a second finger. Leaving room for the slick noises of Frank fingering you to be heard.

“Shit.”

Frank shuffled closer and sucked your nipple into his mouth again, briefly this time; opting to lick up your neck instead. Softly nipping to leave his own set of marks.

“Frankie….” You whine, hand coming up to cradle his head.

His fingers were still thrusting rhythmically inside you, expertly causing you to arch further into his touch. But it wasn’t what you wanted.

“Frankieeee…Come on, put it in already. Please.” You attempt to pull off his fingers but his hand swiftly shot up to hold on to your waist as he jack hammered his fingers inside you.

“Fuck!” You yelp. His dick was so close, it was right there. Taunting you in all its glory.

He laid back to take your form in. “Not yet.” He growled.

“I want you to come for me once first.”

You threw your head back as you crumbled. He fucked his fingers into you harsher, palm now slapping against your swollen clit.

“Fffffuckk!” Your eyes roll back as you felt yourself cumming, giving yourself fully to the sensation. His fingers slow a bit as your muscles convulsed, giving you a semblance of a break.

“Atta girl.” He praised.

You closed your eyes and took ragged breaths as you came down from your high. Mouth still open to release soft noises of satisfaction.

Though your moment of rest was short lived. Your eyes shot open at the sound of something ripping.

“Frank!”

He threw what remained of your panties to somewhere around the room and was quick to grab hold of his dick.

“Breathe sweetheart.” He sighed out before pushing his whole girth inside of you in one swoop.

The stretch was imposing, but it was nothing you haven’t dealt with before.

With no time to waste, Frank starts to move in and out of your slick pussy and you tighten around him. Sucking him in, until his tip is lodged against your cervix. Always so deep in this position.

You collapsed into his chest weakly, body no longer strong enough to hold yourself up, and all you could do was take.

“Mmmh..Yesyesyes..fuuuuckkk..yesbaby. So fucking good.” You babble.

Frank fucked up into you just like you wanted, unforgiving and precise. Bottoming out at an angle that makes your stomach clench. His hands are suddenly on your ass to give it a few slaps. He groaned as he felt your cunt flutter around him from the act.

“Y’like that?”

You weakly nod as your drool seeps into his shirt.

He pounds into you harder now, the noises getting wetter, sloppier and stickier. With sweat running down his forehead from the exertion. So you aid him in his efforts to take you both to the peak and fucked back onto his dick to the best of your abilities. You’re sobbing, tears flowing out from the mind-melting pleasure.

You then feel his thrust start to falter. So you press into him, clawing at his shoulders, trembling.

“I’m gonna fucking cum.” He groaned into your ear and you swear the sound of him turns you on even more.

“Cum inside, fill me up. Please!”

You couldn’t tell how hard you were screaming. It felt like you lost control of your body, your voice, everything. It was all his to control, you had no say in anything.

With a final thrust of his hips, you reach your high. White sparks burst behind your lids as you came all over him. Frank kept his hand on your ass as he reached his own climax. Squeezing them roughly to make sure you don’t move a muscle as he pumped his cum inside you. Getting it as deep as it possibly could. Moaning as your cunt milked him dry.

To no surprise, his come was slipping down your thighs, your cunt already stuffed too full. Inconveniently dripping to his sweatpants as well.

“Damn. You’re getting me wet all over sweetheart.” He teased you fondly. Pushing you off his chest gently to take off his drooled-up shirt and letting you slump on his chest again now that he’s bare.

“M’sorry.” You mumble. “Can’t move.”

You felt a rumble in his chest as he chuckled deeply. “It’s okay baby. You’re good where you are.” He plants a kiss on your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you.

It took all of your strength to look up at him, “You make me so happy y’know that?” You murmured.

He looked down and his eyes soften at the sight of you. The corners of his mouth tipped upward at your statement.

“You do so much for me and i can only hope that i’m the same kind of person for you as well Frank.”

A heavy sigh flowed from him before he leaned over to kiss you.

“You’re much more than that to me sweetheart.”

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶

Pulled a goddamn all nighter to finish this one because it kept screaming and tugging at me to complete for you guys. I seriously don’t know if anything makes sense, will be checking everything again once i finish my morning run. Oh,fun fact the nose conversation was inspired by a real conversation that me and my friend had lmao, i thought it was hilarious and so on theme.

Anyway,thank you so much for reading! You guys make me so happy and remember that likes, comments, reblogs make me even more so!

[untitlzd]

rich boys don't lose

top!park jongseong x btm!male reader smut

Y/n was still recovering from the blog post. Finals were closing in, and he could barely think. Then Jay started making out in the library like he owned the school—loud, shameless, acting like no one would dare call him out. So Y/n gathered what little courage he had left—and did.

a continuation of ''rich boys don't get dirty.'' continued in "rich boys call it love."

warnings: dubcon, elitism, power dynamics, degrading, spit kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, no prep, drugs use, jay is bi, lowkey inspired by gossip girl

Y/n had nearly forgotten about the blog post—the grainy photo, the caption laced with venom, the slow, cold panic that followed. Not because it didn’t matter, but because something else—someone else—had taken up all the space in his mind.

Park Sunghoon.

The encounters started subtly. A shared glance across the quad. A brush of shoulders in narrow corridors. Then, more frequent. More precise. Always in places Y/n knew by heart—places he visited often, with enough routine to become predictable. And Sunghoon, for all his aloofness, was many things—but never careless.

The south wing reading room. The back alcove of the music building. The third-floor hallway that caught afternoon light just right, turning marble into gold. And—most haunting of all—the bathroom down the south hallway.

The same one.

The same stall.

Nothing ever happened when he showed up. Sunghoon never touched him. Never spoke. Sometimes he didn’t even look. But his presence filled the space like a ghost Y/n couldn’t outrun. He’d catch a glimpse of that posture—impossibly composed, sleeves rolled just so—and every nerve in his body would light up, remembering things he had no business remembering. Things he wasn’t sure he’d survive forgetting.

It wasn’t coincidence. It was calculated choreography. The kind that made avoidance impossible. Which might’ve bothered Y/n—if it didn’t already fascinate him.

Not that he was angry. He couldn’t even bring himself to regret what had happened. There was nothing to regret, not really. Just moments. Heat. Pressure. Teeth. The kind of memory that haunted in the quiet between tasks. And still, with everything on his plate, Sunghoon’s presence was more than just a distraction—it was a complication. One Y/n wasn’t ready to name. Not when his hands were already full with everything else.

St. Augustine’s moved on like it always did—unbothered, untouched. The uniforms stayed crisp, the secrets stayed buried, and Jake Sim remained effortlessly magnetic. He still moved through spaces like he’d designed them himself. Still touched Y/n when no one was looking. Or worse—when everyone was.

A palm resting on his knee beneath the dining hall table. Fingers trailing the inside of his wrist while they waited for class to begin. A casual brush of thigh-to-thigh in the chapel pews, held just long enough to mean something—and just short enough to deny it.

Jake never said anything about it. He didn’t need to. His attention was a performance, and he knew his lines well. But sometimes... sometimes he did more than perform. Sometimes, with just a glance or a tilt of the head, he’d make Sunghoon disappear.

Not in a dramatic way. Not like drama was ever their style. But there were moments—quiet, calculated ones—where Jake would slip beside Y/n and Sunghoon would vanish, almost as if by design. And whether that was intentional or not, Y/n couldn’t say. He didn’t dare ask.

It wasn’t that there was history between them—Jake and Sunghoon. Not that he knew of. But the air always shifted when they were near each other. Not hostile. Just… sharp. Like the static before a storm.

Jake wore charm like a second skin, polished and pristine. Every smile rehearsed. Every movement measured. Meanwhile, Sunghoon didn’t bother. His honesty was brutal, but clean. Cruel, but clear.

And Y/n? He was somewhere in the middle. Still playing both sides of a game he hadn’t agreed to join.

Y/n needed to slow down. Just breathe. Just think. But even that felt like a luxury these days.

The blog had gone quiet—not deleted, not forgotten, just… paused. Like it was holding its breath. And that silence only made things worse. Y/n didn’t know if he was a target waiting for the next blow, or if he’d simply been a pawn in someone else’s mess. Maybe he was nothing but filler content, background noise for a bigger scandal. The not-knowing gnawed at him. He hated being left in the dark. It made him feel smaller than he was.

Everyone else, meanwhile, seemed to shift gears. Slowly. Quietly. Study groups started filling faster. Even the loudest people spoke softer in the afternoons. There was an unspoken urgency hanging in the air—exams looming just ahead, like a storm everyone pretended not to see. Some students buried themselves in textbooks, hoping to impress absentee fathers or cold mothers. Others didn’t bother—they were legacy kids, already set to inherit companies or empires, tests be damned. And then there were the ones who wandered, looking just as lost as they felt.

Y/n wasn’t failing, but he wasn’t exactly trying either. He hovered comfortably in the middle—never top of the class, but never low enough to raise concern. He was sharp, capable, but too emotionally occupied to care about test scores. Studying felt like something people did when they didn’t have heavier things sitting on their chests.

Everyone had their method. Sunghoon was disciplined—quiet, focused, precise. He studied like he did everything else: with clean lines and zero room for error. Jake, on the other hand, studied people. He slipped between conversations like silk, hands always moving, eyes always scanning. He collected names and favors the way others collected grades, and somehow, it worked. Y/n didn’t mind either of them. He made conversation when necessary, nodded in the right places, offered his usual dry one-liners. He existed. And that was enough.

But there was one type of person Y/n couldn’t stand.

The entitled. The performative. The ones who acted like being born rich gave them the right to waste everyone’s time—and then dared to be proud of it.

Jay Park was that person.

In Y/n’s mind, if you wanted to live like a mess, go ahead. Get drunk. Smoke on rooftops. Hook up behind dorms. He didn’t care. But don’t do it during class. Don’t roll your eyes at professors who spent years building their reputations. Don’t lean back in your chair like the room owes you something. Don’t make a mockery of the opportunity so many others would kill for.

Jay did all of that, and more.

Just thinking about him was enough to make Y/n’s jaw clench.

It wasn’t just the eye-rolls in class, or the way he strutted into the room like time bent for him. It was the smirk he wore like it meant something. The lazy posture, the undone tie, the way his blazer always hung off one shoulder like he couldn’t be bothered to dress himself properly. He acted like he was too important to care. Like the world would adjust itself to him eventually.

But it wasn’t just Jay. Not really.

It was the name.

Jay Park, son of that Park—the one who ran an inherited Manhattan firm like it was his birthright. A firm that had been passed down like silverware, polished and untouchable. And of course, rival to Y/n’s father—who had built his empire from nothing. No legacy, no family favors. Just grit, late nights, and deals no one else was brave enough to touch.

Y/n had grown up hearing about the Parks. Hearing his father’s voice harden at the mention of them. “Inherited power is just arrogance with better tailoring.” And he knew—knew—Jay had been fed the same kind of poison from the other side. Their last names were oil and water. Their fathers saw to that.

So no, it wasn’t a coincidence that Y/n hated him.

It wasn’t personal. It was inevitable.

But God, did Jay make it easy. The way he looked at people—like they bored him. Like everything was beneath him. Like Y/n was just another nothing in a long list of things he couldn’t be bothered to care about.

And maybe that’s what made Y/n angriest of all.

Because if Jay was going to be his enemy, the least he could do was try.

But the breaking point came on a Thursday afternoon.

Y/n had only wanted a moment of silence. The second floor of the library was usually reliable—quiet, cold, steady. But when he turned the corner of the philosophy section, what he saw made his stomach twist.

Jay Park. Bent over a table like he owned it. One hand gripping someone’s thigh, the other resting beside a half-read book no one was actually reading. Their mouths were too close. Clothes disheveled. And worse—far worse—was what sat openly beside them: a small, clear bag catching the light through the window. White powder.

Nothing was hidden. Not the act. Not the drugs. Not the laugh in Jay’s throat as he leaned in, utterly unbothered by the quiet chaos of it all. A few tables away, students were hunched over notebooks, trying to survive exam season. Meanwhile, Jay was throwing away the rules like they never applied.

Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they never had.

But seeing him there, smiling like the universe owed him something—it made Y/n burn.

His fingers moved before he could think. Flash off. Angle sharp. One glance to make sure no one was watching. Click. One photo. Enough to tell a story.

And it was perfect.

Y/n stared at the screen for a second too long. The lighting was clean, natural. Jay’s face smug, high on himself and whatever else he’d taken. The bag was in frame. Clear. The composition almost felt intentional.

It reminded him of those once-a-year shots of lightning striking Christ the Redeemer. Clean. Rare. Timed down to the millisecond. The kind of photo that made headlines—respected for being both lucky and ruthless.

This was that. And he’d nailed it.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t confront anyone. Just walked out, let the image burn into the back of his mind, and didn’t stop until he was home.

It wasn’t until later, alone in his room, that the weight of the day fully landed. The photo still open on his phone. His chest still tight. His jaw locked.

The question wasn’t if he’d send it. It was to who.

For Y/n, finding the number didn’t take long. His father’s old planner sat at the bottom of the home office drawer. Leather-bound. Tidy. Sharp. Full of names that made other people flinch.

Y/n flipped through pages until he found the one he needed. He attached the photo. No message. No context. Just the image.

There were two ways this could go.

Either Jay’s father would ignore it, like his son ignored everything else. Or he’d finally see what everyone else refused to—and fix it.

Y/n set the phone down and stared out the window. The sky didn’t offer clarity. It never did.

But for the first time in weeks, he felt like he’d done something right.

Petty, maybe.

But right.

Y/n decided to take a shower.

Not the quick, functional kind—but the kind that felt like a reset. Steam curling up the walls, the kind of heat that scalded just enough to sting. He stood there longer than usual, letting the water hit the back of his neck like it could knock the weight off his spine. It didn’t. But it helped.

Dinner was already being prepared downstairs. The smell had drifted in while he toweled his hair. Something rich. Subtle. Their personal chef always did that—never asked what anyone wanted, just made what he knew would calm the house down. Tonight, it was roasted duck. Fresh vegetables. A sauce Y/n couldn’t name but finished entirely.

He ate alone in the dining room. Quiet. Slow. He didn’t even look at his phone. For a moment, the world was still—no Sunghoon, no Jake, no blog, no noise. He allowed himself to pretend it would stay that way.

Then his phone buzzed.

Just once. Soft. Dull.

He almost ignored it. But his curiosity always knew how to bite harder than his indifference.

It was a message.

Brief. Polite. Distant.

A thank-you for what he’d sent.

And an address.

He stared at it for a while, blinking slowly, jaw tightening as the meaning landed. It wasn’t just an address. It was that address.

The Park family firm.

Sleek, corporate, laced with generational arrogance. The kind of building that made people walk straighter when they passed it. It wasn’t just a place—it was a statement.

Y/n didn’t reply.

He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat on the edge, elbows on his knees, still tasting the glaze from dinner. He thought about what the message meant. What kind of father responds with an invitation after seeing that?

It was the closest thing to gratitude he’d ever get from someone like that.

Part of him was tempted to ignore it. Pretend he never saw it. Let Jay implode on his own timeline. But the idea of walking into that firm... of sitting across from a man who might actually be willing to hold his son accountable?

That curiosity itched.

And maybe—just maybe—it was the end of something. Or the start of something else entirely.

Still, he wasn’t going with hope. He wasn’t stupid.

He wasn’t expecting peace. Or grace. Or apologies wrapped in ribbon.

But he was expecting to see Jay’s face. The tightness in his jaw. The forced humility in his voice. Y/n wanted to hear the words that had been carefully typed in the message actually spoken. Wanted to see what someone like Jay looked like when cornered.

There was just one problem.

His father could never know.

Setting foot in the Park firm would be a betrayal of the highest order. A sin. His father would rather hear that Y/n had committed a federal crime than hear he’d voluntarily walked into that building. Pride, in this house, ran deeper than blood. And the Park name? That was a red line.

But some sins were worth it.

Some betrayals were too satisfying to resist.

And if it meant watching Jay Park squirm in a chair that was never built for shame? Then Y/n would gladly commit it. Y/n put on something presentable. Neat. Sharp.

He didn’t overthink it—but there was something deliberate in the way he carried himself afterward. Like he was getting ready for something final. The weight of the moment hung on his shoulders, but it didn’t feel heavy. If anything, it felt earned.

By the time he looked in the mirror, a smile had already settled on his face.

Not polite. Not rehearsed.

Wide. Satisfied. Victorious.

Like he had already won, and all that was left was to enjoy the aftermath.

As the elevator carried him down, the silence around him only made it better. He leaned back against the wall, alone with the sound of his own quiet laughter. It bubbled up without warning—light, free, almost absurd. Gratitude, maybe. Or just the thrill of knowing something was finally tipping in his favor.

The city greeted him with its usual noise.

Manhattan didn’t pause for anyone. But tonight, it felt like it was humming just for him.

He stepped out of the building, flagged the first cab he saw, and got in without hesitation.

Gave the address.

Sat back.

Smiling.

He was going. And for the first time in a long time, he felt good about it.

After some minutes, Y/n stepped out of the cab, paid the fare, and left a generous tip. Nothing could ruin this night—not even the fact that he was willingly stepping into that miserable excuse of a firm. He walked through the glass doors like the floor wasn’t even worth touching his shoes. Every step was soaked in disdain. He wanted to yell, right there in the lobby, that they’d all be jobless soon enough—once the firm came crashing down under the weight of the owner's immature son who couldn’t even subtract properly. But he didn’t. Just thinking it was enough.

Life felt too perfect to waste time gloating. He gave his name to the receptionist with a politeness that barely masked his satisfaction. She looked up, nodded once, and motioned toward the elevator. He was cleared to go up.

Of course the office was on the top floor.

Y/n kept the smile on his face the entire way. That smug, unshakable smile that had been sitting comfortably on his lips since dinner. It hadn’t moved. He didn’t expect it to.

Outside the door, he paused. Took a deep breath. Let the calm settle again. Then, he pushed it open.

The office was minimalist. Sleek. Dimly lit by the city bleeding through the tall windows. The chair behind the desk was turned away—facing the skyline. A little dramatic, but whatever. Y/n didn’t think twice.

“Good night, Mr. Park,” he said, still carrying that thread of pride in his voice as he stepped further into the room.

The chair turned.

And Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Jay.

The smile disappeared from his face like a line of coke near Jay—gone before you even realized it was there.

Fuck.

Jay stood up slowly, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His grin was all teeth and poison.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, voice sugary, mocking.

Then he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a cracked iPhone 6, and tossed it onto the floor between them. The impact echoed.

“God, Y/n… you’re so fucking dumb,” Jay laughed, shaking his head. “Seriously. Full-on airhead.”

He took a step closer, voice rising with amusement. “You sent it to my dad’s old number. You really thought he was gonna care?”

Another laugh. Cruel this time.

“Do you honestly believe he gives a shit if I’m eating pussy instead of a cafeteria sandwich? You think he gives a single fuck what I do? Come on.”

Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, realization crawling over his skin like frostbite.

And Jay?

Jay looked like he was enjoying every goddamn second of it.

Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stared, jaw tight, the inside of his cheek aching from how hard he was biting down. His hands curled slowly into fists at his sides—not to swing, but to stay still. To stay collected. Jay wanted a reaction. He could feel it in the smugness laced through every word, every slow step closer.

Y/n wasn’t going to give it to him. Not that easily.

Jay tilted his head, watching him. Studying. Like Y/n was some strange, fragile thing on display—seconds away from cracking.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured. “Where’s that smug little smile from earlier, huh? The one you wore in the elevator like you were walking into some kind of coronation.” He tilted his head, grin spreading slowly. ”You really thought I wasn’t watching? I saw you the second you stepped out of the elevator. Security cameras, Idiot. You walked in like you owned the place."

Y/n exhaled slowly, trying to keep the heat in his chest from spilling into his face. “You’re a piece of shit,” he said, voice low, controlled.

Jay’s lips curved, just slightly. “And yet… here you are.”

He took another step, slow and easy, the way someone does when they know you won’t stop them.

Y/n’s breath hitched—not because he was afraid. But because the space between them had thinned to something dangerous. Something charged. Something stupid.

“Tell me,” Jay said, voice dipping lower, “what exactly were you hoping to see tonight? Hm? My dad? A lecture? Maybe even some forced apology while I stood in the corner like a scolded prince?”

Y/n didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Jay was already closing the distance.

His tone dropped again—just enough to hum against Y/n’s skin. “Or maybe… you wanted to see me ruined. Humbled. Humiliated. Is that it?”

Y/n met his eyes, unblinking. “You deserve worse.”

Jay smiled again, but this one was different. Slower. Hungrier. “Yeah? And yet, I’m the one who has you standing here… red-faced… breath all shaky. Tell me, Y/n—are you mad?”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, but his body betrayed him. That flicker of heat. That sharp, gut-punch pulse that came with proximity and resentment and something else he didn’t want to name.

Jay stepped even closer, close enough that Y/n could smell his cologne—something clean, expensive, and utterly infuriating.

“You wanna hate me so bad,” he whispered, leaning just slightly forward. “But you’re still here.”

Y/n opened his mouth—to say something, to insult him, to regain control—but the words never came.

Because in one sudden, precise motion—Jay spat in his face.

The air snapped between them.

Y/n flinched, barely—but it was enough.

The spit clung to his cheek, warm and humiliating. His breath caught. Every muscle in his body went still, buzzing with shock and fury and something far, far more dangerous underneath.

Jay didn’t flinch. Didn’t move back. Just tilted his head, gaze fixed on Y/n’s face like he was watching art unfold.

Then, calmly—almost softly, he asked:

“Does that turn you on?”

Y/n’s chest heaved with the inhale he tried to bury. His jaw clenched tighter, lips twitching with a dozen unsaid things.

He wanted to hit him. 

He wanted to walk out. 

He wanted to fucking stay.

Jay smirked.

“Bet it does.”

Y/n’s fists stayed clenched at his sides, but his body was doing something he couldn’t control—something traitorous.

He felt it too late. That slow, aching heat settling low in his stomach, crawling under his skin and down. It was the humiliation, the power play, the way Jay’s voice wrapped around his neck like a ribbon pulled tight. His mind screamed at him to move, to react, to do something—but his body had already responded.

Jay noticed. Of course he did.

His gaze dropped, deliberately slow. Lingering. And when his eyes found what he was looking for, his smile stretched wider—lazy and victorious. He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip, not even pretending to hide the thrill of it.

“Well, well,” Jay murmured, tone syrupy with mock affection. “Looks like you really are enjoying yourself.”

Y/n said nothing, but the flush in his cheeks deepened, throat burning as he tried to shift—subtle, defensive—but it was too late. The outline in his pants was obvious now. Clear. And Jay had already seen it.

“God,” Jay breathed, almost laughing. “Is that why you sent the picture?”

He stepped forward again, toe to toe now, voice dropping into a low, dangerous hum. “Was it jealousy?”

Y/n’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“You saw me with her,” Jay continued, dragging out each word like it tasted sweet on his tongue. “Bent over the table. My mouth on her neck. My hands under her skirt. And what—suddenly you wanted to be the one moaning for me in the middle of the library?”

Y/n flinched, but he didn’t move away.

Jay leaned in, his breath ghosting over Y/n’s ear. “Did you imagine it was you?”

And then—his hand moved.

Smooth. Confident. Jay slid his palm over Y/n’s bulge, cupping him through the fabric with slow, deliberate pressure. His fingers curved slightly, like he was testing weight, testing control. Y/n’s entire body jolted—shoulders stiff, breath caught.

The contact was hot. Wrong. And it made Y/n burn.

Jay pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again—dark, gleaming, cruel. “Did you jerk off to the photo before you sent it?”

Y/n still didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hands twitched at his sides. His chest rose sharply, but the heat in his pants pulsed harder beneath Jay’s grip—shameful and alive.

Jay smiled wider. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I thought.”

Jay’s hand didn’t move at first—still pressed firm against Y/n’s cock, like he was weighing it, owning it. Then his gaze dragged down, slow and hot, eyes burning a path over Y/n’s body.

“You know,” he muttered, voice low and thick, “for someone who pretends to be so fucking composed… you’ve got the filthiest body I’ve ever seen.”

Y/n flinched, breath catching in his throat.

Jay smiled. “Bet you don’t even know what you look like right now. All flushed and hard, like you’re seconds from begging. Like you want me to bend you over this desk and ruin you.”

His voice dropped further, curling dark around the edges. “Would you cry if I fucked you here, hm? Would that pretty little mouth still talk back if I had you moaning into the wood?”

Y/n’s fists clenched tighter—but he couldn’t deny the pulse between his legs. He hated how right Jay was. How everything in his body screamed to move, to fight, to stay.

Jay’s hand moved suddenly—down, lower, grabbing Y/n’s ass with both hands, squeezing hard. Fingers digging in like he owned it, thumbs pressing deep into muscle.

“Fuck,” he breathed, half to himself. “This ass? No wonder you walk around like a tease. You’ve probably got no idea how fuckable you are.”

Y/n gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily. It wasn’t a moan, not really—but it wasn’t denial either.

Jay leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You wanna be mad at me so bad, but your body keeps fucking whining for it.”

That was it. Y/n shoved him. Hard.

Jay stumbled back a step, laughing—low and breathless, eyes shining like he’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing.

Y/n’s chest lifted and fell, fists shaking, skin burning where Jay had touched him. His cock strained hard against his pants, leaking, aching.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” he snapped—finally, voice rough, cracked open.

Jay grinned. “Oh, now you’ve got a voice?”

He licked his lips, eyes dark and hungry. “Good. You’re gonna need it when I make you scream.”

Jay moved with the cold confidence of someone who already owned Y/n —each step slow, deliberate, like he was circling something he'd already caught.

Y/n barely had time to react before Jay’s hands were on him again, gripping the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the office wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, his head thudding against the sleek surface. Jay’s body pressed flush against his, all hard muscle and searing heat, pinning him in place.

“You don’t get to push me away,” Jay growled, voice rough with something feral. “Not after this.”

His knee slid between Y/n’s thighs, forcing them apart, and Y/n’s breath hitched as the pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He bit down on his lip, refusing to give Jay the satisfaction of hearing him break.

But Jay wasn’t having it.

One hand fisted in Y/n’s hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. Jay’s mouth crashed against his skin—not a kiss, not even close. Teeth scraped over his pulse point before biting down, hard enough to bruise. Y/n gasped, hips jerking forward, his body betraying him all over again.

“Fuck—!”

Jay pulled back just enough to smirk at him, lips glistening. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice dripping with dark amusement. “Let me hear how much you hate it.”

His free hand slid down Y/n’s chest, fingers skimming over the outline of his cock through his pants, teasing. Y/n’s breath came in sharp bursts, his body trembling with the effort to stay still, to not fucking grind into Jay’s touch like some desperate slut.

But Jay knew. Of course he did.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” Jay breathed against his ear, fingers finally undoing Y/n’s belt with practiced ease. “Sending that picture like you had some kind of power over me. Like you could ruin me.”

His hand slipped past fabric, wrapping around Y/n’s cock in one smooth motion.

Y/n choked on a moan, his hips bucking forward on instinct.

Jay’s grip tightened, thumb swiping over the leaking tip, spreading the wetness in slow, torturous circles. “Look at you,” he taunted. “Already dripping this much. You really thought you could hide how desperate you are?”

Y/n’s nails dug into his own palms, his entire body coiled tight, torn between shoving Jay off and begging for more.

Then his hand moved—fast, ruthless—stroking Y/n with a punishing grip, twisting just right on the upstroke, thumb pressing into the slit with every pass.

Y/n’s knees nearly gave out. A broken sound tore from his throat, his head falling back against the wall.

Jay watched him unravel with a smirk, his own breathing ragged, his own need obvious in the way his hips pressed forward, grinding against Y/n’s thigh. “That’s it,” Jay murmured, voice rough. “Dripping for someone you swore you’d never touch.”

Y/n’s vision blurred. His body burned. And then—Jay stopped. Just like that. His hand withdrew, leaving him throbbing, desperate, cock twitching in the cold air. His eyes flew open, meeting Jay’s darkened gaze. Jay licked his lips, slow, deliberate. “Beg,” he said. His chest heaved. The smirk turned vicious. “Or do I have to make you?”

Y/n swallowed hard, pride warring with the fire in his veins. In one brutal motion, Jay spun him around, shoving him face-first against the wall. A hand pressed between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned as the other yanked his pants down just enough. His breath came in ragged bursts. Jay leaned in, lips grazing his ear.

“This,” he murmured, voice dripping with venom, “is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Then he spat into his palm.

Y/n barely had time to process before Jay’s fingers pressed against him—dry, rough, unforgiving. He tensed, a sharp gasp escaping him. Jay laughed, low and dark. “Too late to back out now.”

And then—

He pushed in.

Y/n’s entire body jerked, his fingers scrambling against the wall. It burned, it ached, it fucking tore—and yet, his cock throbbed, leaking against the cold glass behind him.

Jay didn’t give him time to adjust. His fingers curled, scissoring, stretching, relentless.

“Fuck—Jay—!”

Jay’s breath was hot against his neck. “Say it again.”

Y/n’s nails dug into the wall.

Jay’s free hand gripped his hip, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “Say my fucking name.”

Y/n’s body shook.

Jay added a third finger.

A ragged moan ripped from Y/n’s throat.

Jay’s teeth grazed his shoulder. “Good boy.”

Then his fingers were gone. Y/n barely had time to breathe before Jay’s cock pressed against him—hot, heavy, relentless. Jay didn’t ask. He didn’t wait. He shoved in—hard. Y/n’s mind blanked, vision flickering with stars. A broken cry tore from his lips as Jay buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Jay groaned above him, his grip tightening on Y/n’s hips. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Tighter than I fucking thought.”

Y/n panted, his body stretched to the limit, every nerve alight with pain and pleasure and something dangerously close to need.

Jay didn’t give him mercy

He pulled back—only to slam in again.

And again.

And again.

Each thrust was punishing, each snap of his hips driving Y/n further into the wall, further into the haze of pleasure-pain.

“This—” Jay growled, fingers digging into Y/n’s skin, “—is what you get.”

Another thrust, harder.

“You don’t—”

Another.

“Fuck with me—”

Another.

“And walk away.”

Y/n’s body burned. His cock ached, untouched, leaking against the glass. Every drag of Jay inside him sent sparks up his spine, his toes curling, his breath coming in ragged, punched-out gasps. Jay’s pace was relentless, his grip bruising, his breath hot against Y/n’s neck. “You feel that?” he panted, voice wrecked. “That’s what you fucking did to me.” Y/n couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. All he could do was take it.

Jay’s hand slid around his waist, fingers wrapping around Y/n’s cock at last.

Y/n sobbed.

Jay stroked him in time with his thrusts, rough, perfect, maddening.

“Come for me,” Jay demanded, voice raw. “Come on my cock like the fucking slut you are.”

Y/n’s body obeyed with no denial.

His orgasm ripped through him like a live wire, his back arching, his vision going white as he spilled over Jay’s fingers with a broken cry.

Jay fucked him through it, his thrusts turning heavier and rougher., his grip bruising.

Then—with a low groan—he buried himself deep and came, his hips stuttering against Y/n’s ass.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.

Then Jay pulled out.

Y/n’s legs gave out. He barely caught himself against the wall, his body trembling, his mind hazy.

Jay stepped back, adjusting his clothes with a smirk.

“Now we’re even.”

And with that, he turned and walked out—leaving Y/n wrecked, used, and utterly fucking ruined.

note: hey everyone! just sliding in here at the end to check on you — did we survive this chapter? barely? love that for us hehe. thank you so much for all the love, seriously. i wasn’t expecting any of it when i first started posting, and now here we are at the second-to-last chapter… kinda wild. you’ve made writing this such a fun ride, and i’m really excited (and a bit nervous) for you to see how it all ends. finale soon — rest up, hydrate, and maybe emotionally prepare a little. see you there :)

[alchemistc]

His eyes aren't the right shade of blue, but he opens up for Buck like a dream, lips wide and wet and -

"Fuck," Buck says, and when he digs his hand in the man's - Henry? Harry? - hair it's too fine, too straight.

Henry-Harry hums around him and Buck sort of just wants to fuck his face but that's rude, that's so fucking rude, he doesn't even remember the guys name -

Henry-Harry swallows and Buck's hips jut forward, but the lines around his eyes aren't groove-deep and heavy with warmth.

"Hank," Buck says, and the man's eyes dart up, his brow raises, his lips tip up and his tongue swirls and he never knows that Buck had only just remembered his name seconds before he came.

---

The date goes... fine. Kelsey is sweet and delicate and when her hand scratches at his stubble the tips of her fingers don't catch - soft, smooth, the hands of someone who spends eight hours a day behind a keyboard. She kisses like a dream, but the angle is all wrong.

She fucks like a dream too, but afterwards, when Buck shifts to curl around her she rolls her shoulder and gives him a confused look and Buck remembers that she's more than a foot shorter than him and her shoulders aren't really wide enough for -

Buck rolls and tucks her head under his chin and he thinks Tommy Kinard didn't really know shit about firsts and lasts.

---

The music is loud and the beat is heavy and the man with a thigh between Buck's legs is dark - twisting dreads that catch silver in the strobe light, deep brown skin, cheekbones Buck would break an ankle for.

Buck considers asking him if he wants to take this somewhere more private. Buck considers asking him if he wants to come home with him. Buck considers the heft of the thigh between his legs and remembers the first time Tommy had gotten him off, dick barely even out of his jeans because they'd been grinding like horny teenagers and -

His voice is deep and low when he tips his head to whisper in Buck's ear, the tenor all wrong.

Buck lets him tangle their fingers together as he heads towards the single stall bathrooms down the hall

---

"Ex... boyfriend?" Heather asks, and there's a wrinkle around the shape of her mouth that sets Buck's teeth on edge, because hadn't the whole point of this been that Buck needed to play the field? He likes men. He likes women. He can't pick a number on the Kinsey scale because all he can think about is -

"I'm bi," Buck says, and her expression withers. That seems to be the default - men think he's waiting for the woman who will give him a picture perfect family, women think he's - "It was right there at the top of my profile. With a flag and everything."

Her nose scrunches. She's trying to play it off. She's clearly not one of the women who think it's hot. "Sometimes men do that just to like, seem less intimidating."

Buck's already reaching for his wallet. "And sometimes men just like dick as much as -."

Her hand draws over her heart and it reminds Buck of his mom and not in the teasing way he'd always told Tommy the same thing.

He apologizes to his server and hands her a twenty in his way out the door.

---

Jack is two weeks younger than Buck to the day.

He's beautiful. Auburn hair trimmed neatly, cow-brown eyes, a sharp jawline and scruff that never seems to go past six-pm shadow. He's sweet - not a mean bone in his body, and the first time he hangs out with Buck and Eddie he shoots Eddie a shocked look when he pokes fun at Buck.

He lasts two and a half months.

But Buck knows the game now. Buck isn't looking for forever. Buck is -

Buck is Buck. That's what he'd said in the end, anyway.

"I'm really sorry, Jack," Buck says, fingers drifting from their hold between Jack's.

Jack's smile is just a little sad, but far too understanding. "Hey, I've been an in-betweener before. It was fun while it lasted."

---

Either Tommy's blocked his number or he's really fucking good at swiping out of his notification previews.

Buck thinks about leaving a really shitty, incredibly mean hearted voicemail instead.

You're a coward sits Delivered for three months

---

Ashley's a nurse, and when she admits she's only ever dated women before Buck feels the sting of it, but he smiles all the same. He's chasing a feeling he hasn't been able to find since -

She stares at the sparse decoration of his loft and doesn't say a word.

"So, like -." Buck starts, but she tangles her fingers in his shirt and presses her lips to his and Buck realizes the stupidly large box of condoms he'd bought for his sex-a-thon the first four off after he'd finally convinced Tommy to fuck him is almost out.

Buck spends half an hour with his head between her legs before the tug in his curls gets insistent, and Buck tries not to think, for a while

---

"You're a firefighter?" Travis asks, head tilted excitedly, eyes on the LAFD tee hanging half out of his laundry basket. "Have you ever worked with the guys at Harbor?"

Five and a half months - nearly as long as they'd been together - and Buck considers asking Travis to leave instead of answering. He's got a heart shaped face and Buck can't detect a wrinkle on him. No smile lines around his eyes.

"Flew into a hurricane with them once."

Buck's not sure they ever left the eye.

---

Maddie gives birth on a Thursday. Miraculously they're all off shift except Eddie.

They name his nephew John Evan Buckley-Han and Buck spends an hour watching him sleep before he remembers exactly how long it's been since he'd last heard his name.

---

you haven't though, Buck sends, while Eddie presses him into the Uber and makes Buck promise to text him when he's home.

All the messages in the thread above have a Read receipt.

The dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

Haven't what?

seen me around, Buck sends back, and it shows as Delivered long after his Uber drops him off and he shoots off a message to Eddie once he's collapsed in bed. He's gonna regret that last shot in the morning.

He should have gone home with the redhead instead of letting Eddie convince him to stay and play another round of darts.

---

Greg presses a kiss to Buck's birthmark and Buck politely peels himself off Greg's very nice mattress and tugs on his briefs. "Here for a good time, not a long time, huh?" Greg asks, and Buck remembers that this had always been unsatisfying.

He thought he'd found something he could build on. Turns out he wasn't making shit.

"Sorry kid," he says, sparing a glance at Greg's slim shoulders and the washboard abs that he'd make it his mission to look a little less dehydrated, if this were something serious. Maybe some lasagna in the freezer, the gnocchi he'd learned to make once Tommy got tired of flicking flour in Buck's hair.

"I'm like, five years younger than you."

Buck's already searching for the shirt Greg has tossed off the side of the bed half an hour ago.

---

Did you want me to?

Buck stares at the message for a full five minutes. Glares at it, really.

No, he lies, and leaves it at that.

---

He's not even at work when it happens. He's on a fucking date, and the television over the bar switches to a breaking news story about a helicopter crashing just off the 405.

Whatever Yarrow is saying to him gets lost when he sees the numbers dashed across the side of the hunk of smoldering metal that had once been an LAFD chopper.

---

Bobby meets him at the bay doors.

Eddie's already there too.

It's not good news. It's not bad news, either.

Buck only met Tommy's captain once, and he can see now that there were cracks, walls Buck hadn't realized he hadn't yet climbed, but she recognizes him and pulls him off to the side.

"Do you not answer your phone, Buckley?"

He's got six missed calls. The moment he'd texted the group chat and left Yarrow with the tab for the terrible IPA he'd gotten a taste for in those six months when the future had been clearer, he'd forgotten phones actually existed.

"I - sorry, were you trying to reach me?"

"You're listed as his ICE, Buckley."

Buck can't remember them ever even having that conversation.

"He'll survive," she says, voice firm, eyes unyielding. "You can't wring his neck about it until he's out of the woods, and he's a glutton for punishment."

---

"I have some things to say," Buck says, and Tommy eyes him warily from the bed where he's propped. They'd only pulled tubes ten minutes ago, and technically Tommy isn't allowed to speak for a bit. "We're gonna circle back around to the fact that you made me your in case of after you broke up with me once you can talk, so don't forget that."

He looks - guilty. Annoyed. Clears his throat and winces, scowls when Buck hands him the cup of ice chips but still uses two meaty fingers to grab a handful that he tosses into his mouth and chews. Loudly.

Buck leans back in his chair and stares at the cast on Tommy's leg, the bruising around his eyes, the flat mess of his curls.

"And if you call me Buck again I'm telling Angie you asked to have the morphine drip removed." It's a joke, and a lame one at that, but Tommy's eyes twinkle.

---

It's almost a year to the day when Tommy snags his wrist and reels him in for a kiss, hand palming Buck's ass as he noses at Buck's cheek and nearly trips over the last of the boxes Buck had gotten distracted from moving out of the hallway.

"You have too much shit," Tommy tells him, and Buck mostly thinks he's pissed that he still hasn't fully regained the muscle mass in his leg yet. He's lopsided and a little clumsy but every time Buck brings it up he inevitably ends up with a video of himself slipping all over an ice rink in the group chat, so he keeps it to himself.

"You love it."

Tommy's eyes soften when Buck runs a hand through his curls, the grooves of his smile just right. "I tolerate it. You, though..."

Buck isn't ashamed to admit he still feels butterflies every time Tommy says it.

"You I don't mind."

Buck scowls just to watch Tommy's face brighten mischievously. The hands around his waist are wide and strong and the finger pads catch in the worn cotton.

[nottswitch]

꒰ bassist!reader helps drummer!mattheo and lead singer!theo unwind after a show ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, drug use (weed), oral threesome, blowjob turned rough, throat bulge, gagging, some spitting, masturbation (m receiving), mutual masturbation (m x m), bi mattheodore, praise, cursing

a/n: finally writing for this au. couldn’t get this out of my head for a while now, and it’s also my first time properly writing a threesome of any kind, so hopefully you enjoy <3

⋆˚꩜｡

lorenzo went off somewhere again – probably to the tour bus to have fun with another groupie. you were just a little miffed about that, because you wanted to get some, enzo was the first to volunteer before the other two could get a word in, and now he was nowhere to be seen. you couldn’t be too mad at him, though – he’d always been a lighthead, in more ways than one.

you walked into your shared dressing room and were immediately greeted by a sight that wasn’t a surprise, yet never failed to amuse you. theo and mattheo were sprawled on the couch next to each other, passing a joint between them. mattheo was completely naked and theo only had his concert tank top on – a tight and cropped little black thing that perfectly showed off the lean muscles of his torso. their legs were spread, mattheo’s right one thrown over theo’s left thigh, and their hands were on each other’s cocks.

they lazily jerked each other off, unhurried and completely relaxed, the weed seemingly taking effect by that point. once the door behind you closed, both of them looked at you with cheeky, knowing smirks on their faces. theo blew out a small whiff of smoke and put out the joint against the table next to the couch, leaning further back into the plush surface.

"baaaaby," mattheo drawled, giving you a stupidly adorable grin and extending an arm towards you, making a grabby hand in your direction. you chuckled, shaking your head, and made a few slow steps towards the boys. they didn’t even think of stopping what they were doing, their hands still moving up and down on each other’s hard and, as you could notice under the dim lighting of the room, dripping cocks. you knew that they got especially horny under the influence, which amused you even more, but also gave you a perfect idea.

without a word, you knelt on the floor in front of them, and they perked up a bit, though their poses were still as relaxed as ever. they exchanged a look and simultaneously dropped their hands from their cocks. mattheo put his by his sides on the couch, and theo rested one on his stomach, the other one ending up on mattheo’s thigh. both of them gazed at you with as much hunger as their glassy eyes and widened pupils allowed; theo’s lips were parted, and mattheo was wetting his, taking shallow breaths through his mouth.

"cazzo, principessa… come sei dolce," theo murmured, a content smile quirking up his lips as your hands started kneading their thighs, approaching their aching cocks inch by inch. mattheo hummed in agreement, all of you having gotten used to theo’s italian by now and even starting to understand some stuff.

"you’re dolce," you answered, a teasing lilt to your voice, and theo chuckled in response, undoubtedly at your accent. his chuckle stuttered, turning into a low moan as your hands finally wrapped around their lengths, mattheo’s grunt joining him with more volume.

you didn’t spend too much time jerking them off since they did a pretty good job on that themselves – by the amount of precum leaking from their tips you could tell it wouldn’t take them too long to cum, and you wanted a taste before that happened. you scooted a bit to the right, mattheo being the first whose cock ended up in your mouth. your tongue swirled around, gathering his slickness, and you pulled away enough to spit it back, your fingers spreading the liquid along his entire length before diving back in.

"fuck," he breathed out, his hand loosely clutching the edge of the couch as his half-lidded eyes roamed over your face, fixated on your lips wrapped around him in the most enticing way. slowly, you started sucking, hollowing out your cheeks to provide more friction, while stroking theo’s dick at the same time. both of them were moaning above you, their hips twitching up every other second, and theo still had some sense in his hazy mind to caress mattheo’s thigh, which only made the latter’s pleasure more intense.

a couple of minutes later, when you started feeling theo getting restless, the movements of his hips growing a bit more sloppy, you pulled away from mattheo. he barely noticed, too lost in the world of bliss, especially since the stimulation never stopped, your hand coming in to take the place of your lips. you switched to the other side, finally taking theo’s cock into your mouth, which made him groan and impatiently grab your hair. you giggled but decided not to tease, since it was painfully obvious just how eager he was. you head started bobbing up and down as you sucked theo off, the sounds getting wetter and wetter from the amount of drool you produced due to theo being deliciously big. you choked a bit when his tip slipped into your throat, but you quickly adjusted – you were pretty used to his size already.

when you felt his cock starting to throb, you took it as a sign of him getting close, which prompted you to switch to mattheo again. a low, needy growl rumbled in his chest as he caught the sight of your pretty lips wrapped around him, his hips instantly rutting up, pushing his entire length right down your throat. you gagged again as you felt his thick cock stretching out your walls, and you were pretty sure that if you placed a hand on your throat, you’d feel his tip grinding against it from the inside. mattheo was very clearly impatient, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair as he started shoving you up and down. he had always had a thing for throatfucking, and you didn’t mind at all, eagerly allowing him to use you as a means to get off.

theo was watching the scene through his thick eyelashes, moaning louder from time to time when your hand squeezed him just a bit tighter. when mattheo started getting close, he immediately caught that. without a word, his head turned to the side, and his hand made its way up mattheo’s body to the back of his head. theo pulled him into a messy kiss, his fingers getting tangled in mattheo’s curls, both of them groaning against each other’s lips. when you looked up, met by the sight of your boys passionately making out, you felt the heat that had been building up in your stomach increase tenfold, and you knew right that moment that you had to make them finish as soon as possible to take care of your needs too. you picked up the pace under mattheo’s insistent hand, and soon, he was loudly panting against theo, string after string of his cum releasing into your mouth.

you quickly lapped up the remnants and switched to theo, who was already on the very edge. as your lips closed around him, his hips pushed up, and you knew you’d be hoarse as hell the next day when his tip roughly hit the back of your throat. theo desperately licked into mattheo’s mouth, the latter’s jaw still hanging slack as he came down from his high, and in a matter of seconds, his cum was also dripping down your throat, hot and slightly bitter from his constant smoking.

you were breathless when you pulled away, and your throat was already starting to hurt, but a smile spread on your face at the sight of the guys on the couch. they were now lazily and sloppily making out, catching their own breaths after their intense orgasms. theo’s hand was carding through mattheo’s hair, making him let out quiet little moans into theo’s mouth, while mattheo’s hand cradled the other boy’s cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the flushed skin. they were adorable like that, and truthfully, you could watch them for hours. but you still had your arousal unattended to. both of them shifted their attention when you cleared your throat, identical smirks appearing on their lips when they saw your raised eyebrow. you definitely weren’t leaving the dressing room any time soon.

au. more.

[kainuhsblog]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ where were you ?

prompt it's well into the day/evening and you/piwon haven't responded to an invite to hang out

pairing various!piwon x fem!reader

genre bf!piwon, husband!piwon, whatever you want them to be!piwon

warnings light mode, some sort of worrying from both ends, ignored messages, mentions of food, sho's own is shorter but i feel like he'd get to the point quicker so i'm sorry sho stans, i head cannon'd the tropes for them but they can be whatever you want fr

a/n hi! my promised p1harmony content is here ! one of two actually. the other one is a secret.😉 i had fun writing these, and idk they might seem a bit ooc but let me know. as always, requests are open! hope you enjoy🩷

want more piwon from me ? click my other post ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ i should scold you ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ right here !

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Yoon Keeho

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Choi Taeyang

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Choi Jiung

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Hwang Intak

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Haku Shota

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Kim Jongseob

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Bonus: My Head cannons

Yoon Keeho ⤷Best Friends; bi-weekly shopping trips, always getting takeout, and loves teasing you. you're the younger sister he never had basically. keeho's the friend you can go to for literally anything, and you try to be that person for him as well. especially since you both find shopping to be therapeutic.

Choi Taeyang ⤷Childhood Friends; Met each other in 2nd grade, and you've been inseparable ever since. you know his entire family and he knows yours. your moms became besties because you guys are. they always ship you guys as well. such silly moms, hahaha

Choi Jiung ⤷Friends ... to lovers? you and jiung have been tiptoeing around each other since the sun hung up in the sky two years ago. one day you decided to just start pursuing him, so your advances are laid on really thick. i don't think he knows you're serious though ... you've always been a flirt

Hwang Intak ⤷Mutual Pining; it's no secret to the two of you that you're both helplessly in love with each other. you had asked him to hang out with intentions of it being a date ... thankfully he thought the same thing.

Haku Shota ⤷Best Friends; you two are the friends who love to go on random adventures together. shota's always down to travel with you, and you're always willing to follow him anywhere. he's always a joy to be around, so you tend to spoil him a bit too much.

Kim Jongseob ⤷Strangers to Friends to ?? you and jongseob met at a cafe about a year ago, and as a self proclaimed food critic, you both agreed on the fact that the pastries at that cafe were straight dog water. after talking for a bit, you exchanged contact info with him so you guys can hang out and criticize more cafes. somewhere along the way, he started to fall for you ... but you don't notice any advances from the guy. poor seobie

[hedwig221b]

hiiii, do you know of any sterek fics where the pack is super close (or become super close) like the found family trope?

thank you so much <333

Hi, check out this post! Also found these

(Sacred) In the Ordinary by idyll

The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time. Based on a kink meme prompt that grew legs and got serious. Note: This is a whole lot of pack!fic with a very slow build Derek/Stiles.

Sunday Breakfast by Jerakeen

Somewhere along the line, Sunday breakfast becomes a thing.

You're an A+ Alpha, Derek Hale by yodasyoyo

"Is that a dick?” Stiles cranes his neck, eyes narrowing as he squints up at the whiteboard that’s center stage in Derek’s loft. “Because it looks like a dick.” “It is not a dick.” Derek glares at him. “Are you sure?”

I am the Lorax, I speak for the Trees by seaweedly

It’s not like Stiles had intended to keep his non-human-ness from the pack. Truely he thought they knew. It’s not like he had been particularly good at hiding the fact that he was the literal guardian of the Beacon Hills forests. — or — The five times Stiles blatantly shows his true power around the pack without them realising it. And the one time they actually talk about the fact Stiles is not exactly human.

A Family of Mine by crappybowlsoframen

And once—just once—Stiles caught him dozing off on his couch after a long patrol, the softest snore escaping him. And that was when Stiles knew. Derek was his. Theirs. He wasn't just the alpha. He was family.

Everything has changed by Kimmy

Over the course of one night, everything has changed. or 5 times Stiles used magic to protect the pack (and not just) and 1 time Derek protected Stiles from… something.

For the Best by insertnextline

After being rejected by the pack that never needed him, Stiles Stilinski is determined to make himself useful. That is before he is subsequently kidnapped and beaten within an inch of his life. How will he get himself out of this one? And what new allies will he make along the way

Family Unit by AsagiStilinski

So werewolf symposiums are a thing That's a thing that exists, it's happening, it's in the world now And Stiles doesn't know what in the name of hell he did to deserve this ("It's a mixed supernatural convention Stiles, not a 'werewolf symposium'!"")

Scent marking for dummies by TuliaNayeli

Stiles doesn't understand why Derek keeps glaring at him whenever he shows up to the loft lately. It could have something to do with the fact that the pack is secretly pissing off Derek by making Stiles smell like them rather than him. But hey, why don't they just get their heads out of their asses?

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Merely

Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but they're playing along, and- Gods, he's really going to be forced to do this, isn't he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family he'd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if it's forced, it'll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them. Loving them. He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that. And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled. [Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]

[masterlist link]

[leighsartworks216]

Aches And Pains

Sylus x gn!Reader

Wrote this while in a depressive slump exacerbated by period cramp + chronic pain. Also realizing how much I love the idea of being carried by Sylus like a koala rn

Warnings: hurt/comfort, comfort, established relationship, literal sleeping together, no dialogue, headaches & migraines, pain mention

Word Count: 611

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You're so tired. Your whole body aches. A persistent headache pounds at your skull at all hours, for days on end. You don't remember the last time you were able to sleep without your neck and upper back being all tense, leaving you with a crick that never fades.

When you get home, you feel like sludge. A great big mass of goop, trudging through the penthouse. All your things are dropped off to the side. Shoes kicked away somewhere. Uncomfortable clothes tossed somewhere else.

You couldn't make it as far as the bedroom. The best you manage is to the living room, where you flop onto the couch, finally giving into the exhaustion and aches. You don't change positions, even though this one hurts. Can't be bothered to. You just let out a long sigh, sink into the soft leather cushions, and fall into an uncomfortable sleep.

That's exactly where Sylus finds you hours later. He's tired, too, but that can be chalked up to the sun rising outside the giant floor-to-ceiling windows lining the penthouse wall.

He follows the mess of clothes from the door to the perpetrator. Your cheek is squished into your arm, lips pressed to the side. Your hair is mussed, too; the telltale sign of your distress lately. He wishes he could take it all away. Truly. The pain he would endure for you is unfathomable, and utterly unconditional.

He comes around to the front of the couch, leaning down, even crouching a bit, to gently rub a hand against your back. You take in a deeper breath, your mind barely coming back to semi-consciousness. It's not enough to have a conversation, but it allows him the chance to lift you by your armpits and hug you close. Just awake enough for your mind to register the need to wrap your arms around his neck. He holds your thighs up on his hips, safe and secure, your quiet breaths beside his ear and your cheek on his shoulder, dripping drool onto his nice shirt, as he carries you to the bedroom, away from the coming light.

Your weight in his arms is a soothing balm to his night. The heat of your skin pressed against his torso, the soft glide of your arms brushing his neck. His own personal plushie, to hold and kiss and adore. All the chaos of his life is worth it for the peace you bring.

He pulls down the blankets on your side of the bed - always furthest from the door, in case someone manages to break in - and leans down to lay you in your place, hand cradling your neck to rest your head gently on your pillow. He gently pries your arms from around his neck, and draws the blankets over you.

He tries to hurry through his routine, counting the seconds it takes to get back to your side. His shower is shorter tonight than usual. He throws on his sleep clothes quickly. Brushes his teeth without fanfare.

When at last he can pull back the blankets on his side and crawl into bed, sleep pulls on his body like added tons of weight on his muscles and eyes. He slides from his side to the middle, arms seeking you out. They draw you in, wrap around you to pull you into his chest. His face tucks itself in your shoulder, where he can breathe you in deeply, eager to enjoy your presence for as long as you'll stay here.

Tension slowly melts off of him like snow in the sun. He sinks into the mattress. Lets out a low sigh. And falls into a peaceful slumber.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @moon-inthe-sea @perla-drg @leiakitty

[thisonehere]

Hey! Idk if you still take request, but I have one for you. I love your posts sm. Anyway, may I request some headcanons with the Lin kuei trio and Liu kang and how they would react to you kissing them on a mission to not get caught (like that scene in captain America: the winter soldier) while they actually have a crush on them? Thank you!

A/n: Okay, I'm back, and I'd love to! It's nice to do another Lin Kuei bros head canon. I swear to God these men are gonna put me in a mental asylum with how obsessed I am with them.

Tags: Request, Mortal Kombat, Mk1, Lin Kuai bros x readerp, GN reader, fluff

C/w: Allusions to murder, sloppy kissing, tsundere, PDA

Bi-Han

You've never been far from the Grandmaster's thoughts. He has always viewed in a favorable light, though he hardly ever showed it.

As far as you were concerned, you thought he hated you.

So it is a surprise when he chose you to come with him on this mission.

To pursue your target meant you had dawn normal clothes and go undercover.

Which causes you to end up at a mall while following them. It wasn't a problem for you, frankly you were excited at the chance to shop and enjoy the food court.

You follow your target the mall, dipping in and out of clothing departments and hiding in the electronics department.

You had to get them into a private place to get them.

It's tedious and annoying with how long it takes...for Bi-Han. You on the other hand take great joy looking around, admiring how clothes look on mannequins, staring at the endless rows of books, staring in awe of the endless option of the food court.

Much to Bi-Han's annoyance.

Bi-Han takes this mission much more seriously than you do, his stay on the target like a hawk, against your advice not to or else he'd risk looking suspicious.

But finally Bi-Han's constant staring pays off when he notices the target leaving to somewhere more private, a perfect place to get them.

Bi-Han grabs your arm and snatches you away from the food court, pulling you away from an unfinished cinnamon roll and drags to follow the target, on the escaladder.

You are just a few feet away from them, far enough to not look suspicious, but close enough to get a clear view of them.

And they you, something both quickly learn when they begin to turn their head to look back in your direction.

Knowing Bi-Han, you knew your Grandmaster would look the target dead in the eyes, basically telling the target that they were being followed. This would compromise the mission, so you act quickly.

Just as the target turned around and saw you, you turned to Bi-Han, grabbed him, and snatch him forward and kiss him.

Bi-Han doesn't respond at first as your lips crash against each other. But a moment later his arms snake their way around your waist and pulls you closer. He hungrily kissed you, making himself acquainted with your lips as well as your tongue.

Bi-Han's mind went silent as you kissed him and he you. Elder Gods knew he would fantasize about this, not exactly while on a mission, but he would be a fool if he didn't advantage of this.

You are so distracted with each other that you lose sight of your target.

"Keep moving, we can't lose them." He coldly grumbles as he jumps off the escaladder and angrily marches away, but saying another thing to you.

When things were all said and done, when the mission was finished, you felt an uneasy tension between you and the grandmaster.

"Grandmaster, about the...about the thing, I-" but Bi-Han interrupts you, yelling at you to be silent, making you feel even worse.

Later, you are in your room, replaying all the events that passed today. Bi-Han hasn't said a single thing to you since you returned from your, mission.

You felt your face flush as you think of the fact that you keep kissing your Grandmaster, you can't stop thinking about it.

Did he like it? Are you in trouble? Is he going to punish you?

Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door. You hastily open the door and find no one there. But at your feet you find a cinnamon roll just like the one you were eating at the mall, and a beg next to it filled with clothes and books you were looking at in the mall.

Surprised, you stare at it for a few moments before bringing it into your room.

You stare at it in surprise as you drop the things onto your desk.

Perhaps the Grandmaster was much more fond of you than you thought.

Kuai Liang

From the moment he saw you, Kuai Liang knew he was in love with you.

It's subtle, but you can tell with the way he would fall silent when you were in the room, or would

So it was quite the surprise when he insisted that you join him in this mission.

Kuai Liang notices your eyes light up when you say that the mission requires you to go to a mall. He thinks it's so cute, he feels his smile trying to find its way onto his face.

He forces a stern look on his face as he reminds you that you both need to stay focused, that the target was your main concern.

He is similar to Bi-Han in the way he stays in a constant state of vigilance. Following the target around, being sure to always have them in his sight.

But unlike his brother he lets loose a little.

He tries on hats and glasses, admiring himself in the mirror, admiring you as you flip through the clothes on the racks.

He grabs a book from the shelf of the bookstore and curiously flips through it.

He even buys both of you lunch at the food court as you wait for the target to be in a vulnerable position to strike.

While you enjoy your meal, Kuai notices that the target is getting away, down the escaladder.

Of course, the Ninja immediately springs to action, quietly excusing himself with an excuse that he had to use the bathroom. He saw you were having a good time and his didn't want ruin it.

He is light on his feet and as he pursues the target, purposefully waiting for a few more more to get on the escaladder before getting on to avoid suspicion.

The escaladder carries them closer and closer to the lower floor and Kuai's eyes never leave the target for a second.

He doesn't realize just how intense his gaze is, if the target turned around and saw him, it would be.

It's unfortunate then that the target almost immediately turned around. By the time they would turn around they would see Luai looking at them with intensity and they would quickly realize that they were being followed, ruining the mission.

Thankfully, you happened. You immediately knew what Kuai was doing and followed after him. He didn't notice that you were right behind him.

Acting quickly, you shift past Kuai onto the extra step of the escaladder in front of him, and you kiss him.

Kuai took a surprise at first. He froze. Just standing there as you kissed him. He felt your soft lips press up against him and he felt his brain melt.

Body responded for him, pressing himself closer to you as he hands grab you and pull you close.

You quickly get to the end of the escaladder and jump off, Kuai still looks at you in a state of shock.

"Come on, they're getting away!" You say as you quickly pursue the inspecting target.

Kyai Liang touched his lips as he processed what just happened. "I'm right behind you." A smirk spreads onto his face as he races after you.

Afterwards, when the deed is done. You and Kuai Liang have no choice but to go back to the Artika now that your mission is finished.

Your sadness about having to leave isn't lost on Kuai. He himself enjoyed his time with you.

After a brief moment of silence on the way back, you awkwardly apologize for kissing him to abruptly.

Kuai only smiles. "Don't be...ever." he says placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

"We should do it again some time." Your eyes widen at this. "The mall, I mean." It was obvious that Luai didn't mean just the mall.

With an innocent smile on his face, Kuai walks ahead of you. Leaving you behind with a stunned look on your face.

Tomas

Tomas has tried to get your attention for the longest, trying his best to impress you. Unfortunately, everything either came off as him just being nice to you are him.

Other than that though, you two were close.

So it was no surprise that he asked you to come with him.

You thought it was just another mission. A mission where you'd go to the mall your target was located at and 'get 'em'. Meanwhile Tonas saw this as a chance to have a good time with you like this was a date, maybe even confess how he feels.

He was so happy to see how excited you were at going to the mall, he himself was excited. He was as serious about this mission as Kuai, or Bi-Han, or any member of the Lin Kuei would. But even he liked a moment to relax and enjoy an experience.

Tomas especially loved the bookstore. He was practically glued to the comic book and manga sections. You two were so distracted that the target slipped out of your sight once in a while.

But Tomas wasn't worried, he was always good at hunting something or someone down. He found the target again and again, then you'd carry on with your shenanigans.

You were surprised with how lenient Tomas was with you. He let you try on clothes, look at the computer, he even bought things for you. You told him he didn't have to but he insisted.

Things were going quite well for you two. Until I finally felt the courage to express himself to you.

"So, Um, Y/n." You were at the food court, your target sat themselves down here to eat lunch, so you both say a few tables away. His eyes stayed glued to the table, too embarrassed. "There's a reason why I wanted you to come with me." You eagerly leaned in close to hear. He waits a few moments, unsure what to say next.

"Well, you see..." Suddenly, Tomas's eyes widen in horror as he looks at the target. The problem? This isn't your target, you've been following the wrong person. "We need to go. Now!" He races out of the food court. His eyes immediately spotting the target getting on the escaladder.

He races to the escaladder, you not being far behind. You both try to act casual as you step onto the moving stairs, but Tomas's sure you both accidentally got the target attention.

His fear is confirmed when the target turns their head to look behind them.

In seconds they'd see you two behind them and panic.

So you act quickly, grabbing Tomas and kissing him.

Tomas's mind goes numb as fireworks go off in his thoughts. His hands, unsure at first, travel across your body until one finds their way to the small of your back and other cradling the back of your head.

Once again, you both got distracted and the target got away.

You break away from the kiss and jump off the escaladder. "Come on, they're getting away." You say, trying not to scream.

Tomas merely dumbly nodded as he followed after you. "U-um, okay." He hopes there isn't too much blushing on his face.

Eventually, you get back on track and aquire your target and "deal with them".

"Listen, about the kiss...." You awkwardly start to say. You both had completed the mission and were back at the food court, resting before the long journey back to the Artika.

Tomas also avoided eye contact with, rather than paying attention to his tea than you. "Yeah...about that."

You apologize, hoping he wasn't too upset about kissing him without his consent. "No, no, it was fine, I enjoyed it." He quickly blurts out, finally looking at you.

You both now sit in silence afterwards. "W-We should go."

Both of you left the mall in an air of uncomfortable silence.

"I...liked it too." You awkwardly say, shortly interrupting the silence. Tomas gives you a surprised look as you quickly race ahead in embarrassment.

[salemrph]

"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 3: Prove to me that you're stronger

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | AO3

A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

Chapter 3 summary: Something is wrong. You feel it. A weight settling deep in your bones, a fog clouding your thoughts. Despite your injuries, you need to escape. If you can’t trust your own strength, then at least trust him. Somewhere in the facility, the twins are closing in—but will they reach you in time?

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Zayne, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 6,909 | Reading Time: 28 min | AO3

RECOMENDATION: There is a part with a hint to BGM, I highly recommend you to hear it while you read.

Tag list: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi @atinymekanie @bruisedchickensoup @thatonegenderfluidwhore @certainduckanchor @the-girl-who-used-to @reika-desu @f41k47 @beezabuzz @mentaltrouble2201 @bl00dsuccker @blorbohunter @gianchan-de @fortunekookie07

You wake up again, disoriented, the dim light above flickering weakly. Your entire body aches, but the sharp, searing pain in your chest is what pulls you fully into consciousness. You clutch at it instinctively, your breath coming in shallow gasps. What have they done to you? The memory of the lab floods back—hands gripping you, cold voices, the violent sound of the cardiogram. The pain from before was unbearable, and now it holds on you so tightly, a cruel reminder of whatever experiment they’ve subjected you to. Did they mess with your Protocore Syndrome? The thought churns in your mind.

The cold of the concrete floor seeps into your bones, making every movement feel heavier, but you force yourself to move. Your fingers scrape against the rough surface as you try to push up onto your hands and knees. The effort is agonizing, your muscles trembling with the strain. Your head spins accompanied by a stabbing pain.

You focus on your breathing, forcing the pain to the edges of your mind. The room around you is nearly empty, stripped of anything that could be useful. A prison bed sits in one corner, its sheets rumpled and stained. A table and chair are pushed against the far wall. It seems that it is not the same room as before.

You’re lying in the middle of it all, sprawled on the floor like discarded trash. The realization sends a wave of anger through you. Grimacing, you plant your feet firmly against the ground and push yourself upright. The world tilts dangerously, your vision swimming as your body protests, but you grit your teeth and stay standing. Weak or not, you’re leaving this place.

You steady yourself against the table, taking a moment as your breath, every inhale a reminder of the soreness radiating from your chest. You scan the room, looking for anything, a vent, a weapon, a weak point in the door.

The walls are concrete, unyielding and blank, but the faint hum of machinery vibrates through them. The only exit appears to be the heavy steel door across the room, but there’s no handle on your side, just a small window. Maybe you could break it with the chair. Your instincts kick in, years of training fighting against the fog clouding your thoughts. Think. Act. Survive.

Your gaze lands on the chair. Breaking the window would attract a lot of attention. The legs are thin if you can get enough leverage, maybe you can break one off. You limp toward it, every step a battle, and crouch low. Then you turn the chair around, you place one foot on the base, wrapping your hands around the thin leg, muscles trembling as you pull and push. The bolt resists at first, but you dig your heels into the floor, using your weight to force it. Your hands sweat and shake, in that state, they slip on the metal.

“Come on…” you say with effort. You end up slipping and hitting your hand. “Fuck!” 

Your body trembles as you curl into yourself on the cold ground. You have no strength left to fight. Tears build up in your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away. What’s the point? Can you really escape? Or is this it? A broken laugh escapes your lips, more like a sob strangled before it could fully form. Maybe it would have been easier if you had died in that explosion. Maybe it would have been kinder if Caleb had buried you instead… All this shit you've been putting through. Half-truths, dangerous missions, and yes, yes, of course you wanted to be a Hunter. Save the world, protect the people… But who protects you? Occupational hazards, you tell yourself. Good equipment, high-tech weapons, sharp instincts and grueling training. That’s what keeps you alive, day in and day out... And yet, everything can still go wrong. Like now. Especially now. 

Your head pounds, a brutal, unrelenting pain that drowns out everything else. Your body is numb, the torment pressing down so heavily on you that it’s hard to even tell where the pain ends and your own thoughts begin. 

Trapped in a godforsaken hole where they treat your body like an experiment, pushing you past the edge, over and over. Needles pierce your veins, flooding you with something that makes your heart race too fast, too erratic—teetering on the edge of failure. You’ve worked for this. Fought for it. With all the effort you've put in with Zayne. Training, check-ups, medication… everything to keep your heart strong enough to survive the impossible. To take on the toughest missions. To win. Your body trembles, muscles locking up as the foreign substance tears through you. You gasp, fighting to stay present. Cold sweat clings to your skin, accumulating lightly on your forehead. 

How much longer can you take this? You know perfectly well that this was just the beginning. They’ll come back. A second round. Maybe a third. Your fingers twitch against the cold floor, useless, trembling. You try to move, but even breathing feels like a battle. You force your lips to move, a weak whisper.

“Sylus…” His name escapes, slipping past cracked lips like a plea. Fuck… Shouldn't he be here already? Always stalking you, having Mephisto eyes on you basically 24/7. Or even Luke and Kieran… and now he's taking his fucking time to find you. What a shitty boy— Wait. The call. Rudy was walking to him before. He knows. Just as quickly as you felt some relief, the concern for him comes at the same instant. You close your eyes for a moment, imagining Sylus' face.

The familiar sound of gloves hitting the heavy bag, the rhythmic thud and pull of the rope, that brings you back to the gym. Sweat dripping down your face, the sting of a punch still fresh in your knuckles. Sylus standing next to the pushing bag. Eyes locked on you, always serious when it comes to your workouts.

“Again.” he commands, pushing you through limits you didn’t know you had. “You can do better. You’re not here to just survive, you’re here to win. So act like it.”

You feel the burn in your muscles, the exhaustion accumulating, but his words echo in your mind, cutting through the fatigue. You’re stronger than this. You glance at him, sweat running down your body, your heart racing. His eyes don’t waver from yours. There’s no doubt in them. It’s the way he always looked at you, like you were capable of more than you ever gave yourself credit for. He holds the punching bag and gives you a sign.

“Don’t stop, prove to me that you can be stronger.” 

In that moment, you let go of all of the doubts. You throw another punch, this time with purpose, with power. You do more reps, hitting the bag harder. You hear him nod, approving. “Use your whole body”. You adjust your stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent—stable. You exhale sharply as you throw the next punch, twisting from your core, driving the movement from your hips. Power doesn’t come from just your arms; it flows through your entire body, from the pivot of your foot to the snap of your wrist. The bag shudders with impact.

“Now kick!” Every muscle is screaming for rest, but you don’t stop. Not with him beside you. Not when he believes in you more than you believe in yourself. You grit your teeth and throw a solid kick at the bag, feeling the impact vibrate up your leg. “Harder. Come on, Kitten!” Determined, you shift your weight, pivoting on your foot. With a sharp breath, you twist your hips and launch into a spinning kick. The force sends the bag swinging, and Sylus instinctively takes a step back, his eyes gleaming with pride. He smiles. “Good job.” 

With that, your training is over. You sit down on the bench, gulping down water as you struggle to catch your breath. Sylus approaches, offering you a towel.

"Your training is getting harder" you say tiredly, wiping the sweat from your face. 

“Or maybe you're finally reaching my level. Took you long enough, kitten." You smile at him. Even though it is tougher than the Hunter Association training, every extra mile you take will make you stronger. You take a sip of water, smirking over the bottle. 

"If this is you pushing me to the limit, I expected more. Don’t tell me you’re holding back?" Sylus smirks at your comment. You stand up stretching your sore muscles before turning away. “I will take a shower… Are you—” Before you can finish, Sylus sweeps you into his arms effortlessly, making you gasp as your feet leave the ground. You drop the water bottle and the towel around your neck finds their way to the floor. “We talked about this, Sy” you pout, swatting his chest. He only chuckles, leaning in, resting his temple against yours.

“We did. I… just love to have you in my arms.” Will you ever get used to those sweet words he always drops without warning? The way he looks at you with the purest sweetness you've ever tasted? You avoid his gaze, because you know you're turning red, and even though you wanted his attention, now you want to run away from it. He loves seeing you like that. “So, you were saying?”

“Nothing, put me down” you start to squirm but his hold tightens playfully.

“But kitten, weren't you about to invite me to take a shower with you? I’m not going to let that offer slip away.” 

You groan, pushing against his shoulder. “Don't you have anything more important to do?” 

“My schedule just became free” he murmurs, and before you can argue, he captures your lips in a kiss. 

The sound of running water fills the bathroom, steam curling in the air. He helps you take off your sweat-soaked clothes always with overwhelming care, then after he guides you into the shower. Sylus watches you, his gaze burning even hotter than the water cascading down his skin. You stand with your back pressed against the cool tiles. 

“You look tense” he muses, stepping closer and leaning casually in, one arm extended over your head. Droplets slide down his toned chest, glistening under the dim light. He reaches out, fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Maybe I should help you relax.” His gaze moves slowly across your face, down over your shoulders, chest to where he's touching right now. You swallow, feeling your pulse stutter as he trails lower. Your skin prickles beneath his touch, heat blooming in its wake. 

“Is this your way to cool down?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. His lips brush against your temple, then your cheek, trailing down until they hover just above the corner of your mouth. The water drips down his jaw, onto your skin, and the sensation sends a shiver through you. The heat building up in your core accompanies the throbbing of your clit, a mix of pleasure and the sweet ache of being so desperately horney. You could throw yourself into his arms but you enjoy the push and pull you have. The game of who falls first.  

Sylus chuckles, low and deep. “No.” His hands find your waist, thumbs stroking lazy circles against your damp skin. “You put in a lot of effort… I think you deserve a reward.”

The heat from the shower is nothing compared to the way his lips find your shoulder. He takes his time, savoring the way you gasp under his touch. He grabs one of the shower gels and pours a generous amount into his hand. The cold gel makes you whimper when he expands it over your skin. 

“You enjoy spoiling me too much” you murmur, trying to sound annoyed, but the way your body leans into him betrays you. His hand is already cupping your breast, creating slight friction on your nipple. His breath ghosts against your neck before he nips at your skin, making you whimper again. Your hands press against his chest as if to push him away, but instead, you tilt your head, granting him more access. Wishing he'd bite down like he always does. His fingers slide up, tilting your chin, leaving you with no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Tell me to stop" he challenges softly. His glowing eyes are piercing you. You don't answer. Instead, your fingers curl against his skin. You want more. Sylus smirks. “That’s what I thought.” His mouth finally claims yours, slow but searing, like fire melting through every last thought you had. “Don’t worry I will give you a proper massage after.”

The steam fogs up all the glasses and the sound of your moans are drowned out by the splashing of the water. Everything else fades—until there’s only him.

You get up, slowly, painfully, but you get up. Sylus’s voice is still with you, urging you forward. And this time, you listen. You try to breathe, focus on anything but the pressure in your chest. If you don't fight, you die. And if you have to die, may it be fighting. You can hear a door closing and footsteps in the distance. They're coming back.

You need to get a weapon, and the leg of that stupid chair is the best thing you could get. So you try again. Planting your bare feet firmly on the ground, trying with all the strength you have left in your body to break the rusted metal. The first creak is faint, but it sends a rush of hope through you. You keep pulling and forcing the metal, ignoring the strain in your arms and the screaming protests of your chest.

Finally, with a sharp crack, one of the legs snaps free. You stumble backward, clutching your makeshift weapon. It’s short, blunt, and uneven, but it’s something. The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes you freeze. A shadow passes the small window in the door. Panic threatens to take over, but you force it down. This is your chance.

You drag yourself to the side of the door, pressing against the wall just as it swings open with a mechanical hiss. Someone steps in, his gaze scanning the room. He doesn’t see you at first, his attention on the empty bed. You don’t hesitate. Using every ounce of strength you have left, you lunge forward, the broken chair leg swinging with all the force you can muster. It connects with a sickening thud, and the guard crumples to the ground, unconscious.

You collapse against the wall, gasping for air. The pain in your chest flares again, but you shove it aside. You kneel and search frantically through the guard’s gear. A keycard hangs from his belt, and a small comm device is clipped to his collar. Your fingers brush over it and what follows is a sharp sting pierces the side of your neck.

A prickling sensation spreads through your veins. Your breath hitches and your vision blurs at the edges. The room tilting and spinning as your body sways. No. No, no, no—this can’t be happening. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to move, but your limbs grow heavy, sluggish, like you’re wading through thick tar.

“…routine check in the lower levels. Lab secure…”

A shadow looms over you. A voice muffled seeps into your consciousness. The headache hits you like a sledgehammer, pounding at your skull. Everything feels wrong. The air, your own movements, even the memories clawing their way to the surface—they crash into you all at once.

“Did you really think it’d be that easy?”

Your fingers tighten around the keycard, but your grip weakens. The strength you just fought so hard to reclaim is slipping through your fingers like sand. You try to push yourself up, to resist, but your body betrays you, your limbs refusing to respond. The floor rushes up to meet you, and the last thing you register before darkness takes you is the sound of footsteps approaching and a cruel chuckle echoing through the room.

A voice echoes in your mind, high-pitched, trembling. “Gran? Granny, where are you?” It’s your voice, but younger, frightened. The sound reverberates in your mind, pulling you back to a different time, a different place.

It’s 2034, and the sky is bleeding. Rusty red rain falls in thick, viscous drops, staining the earth as the air hums with an unnatural energy. You could only see the shadow of it then—a Wanderer, towering and formless, its presence bending the very fabric of reality. Its scream pierced through you, splitting your world in two. The memory fades into another, sharper and closer.

"You must press on." His voice, calm and commanding, had echoed through your very soul. 

“There is so much blood” Your chest heaves as more images flood in. A sea of blood glistens before your eyes. It coats your hands, warm and sticky, dripping from your fingers. The sight is suffocating, and the grief hits you like a wave. You don’t even know whose blood it is, but the weight of it feels unbearable. A field of red flowers stretches endlessly, glowing under the amber light of a setting sun.

"Why not? You're also mine now."

It’s familiar, tugging at something deep within, but the name, the face, the connection—it all slips away, maddeningly out of reach. A melody creeps into the back of your mind, you begin to hum along. The echo of an organ resonates far away in a cathedral. 

"Our souls are bound. We will never betray each other."

The words pierce through you, the field darkening as the voice grows louder, more commanding. Who is it? The pain in your chest, the memories tearing through your mind, the disorientation, it all builds to a breaking point.

"After all, you and I—we are the same. True kindred spirits."

You want to scream. A harsh, burning sensation courses through your veins as you slowly come back, your head lolling to the side. The world around you is a blur of cold metal and dim, flickering lights. Your body sways—not of your own accord. You’re being dragged. The sound of footsteps scuffing against the floor echoes in your ears. Your sluggish mind struggles to catch up, but as the grogginess lifts, reality slams into you like a freight train.

You’re barely conscious, yet instinct takes over. You thrash, your legs kicking out wildly, hands clawing at the air. A deep, familiar chuckle rumbles above you.

Background music

“I knew you’d try to escape” the voice sneers, and the sound of it—gravelly, amused—makes your stomach turn. It’s him. The same bastard who beat you bloody in the cell. The one who took pleasure in every hit, every drop of your blood staining his knuckles. A new wave of adrenaline surges through you. You twist violently in his grasp, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Little fighter, aren’t you?" he sneers, barely flinching. He hoists you up, slamming you onto the operating table with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. The cold surface bites into your skin. One of his hands clamps down on your wrist, shoving it toward the leather strap. You thrash, clawing at his face with your free hand. Your nails rake across his cheek, drawing blood.

“Fuck!” He jerks back, his grip faltering for a second. A second is all you need.

Using what little leverage you have, you kick out, aiming for his knee. He stumbles, just enough for you to yank yourself free. But your balance is shot. Your foot catches on the leg of the table, and before you can stop it, you’re falling.

The edge of the operating table slams into your ribs as you crash onto the floor. Dragging the tray that was nearby. The loud sound of metal hitting the ground makes you cringe. Pain explodes through your side, but you grit your teeth and push past it. You scramble to get up, but he’s already recovered, already reaching for you with murder in his eyes. And you are not going back onto that table. The room erupts into chaos.

Movement flickers at the edge of your vision—something metallic skidding across the floor. Scissors. You lunge, fingers closing around the cold steel just as heavy footsteps close in behind you. A sharp yank—your hair is wrenched back, exposing your throat. Making you stand up. The big bastard snarls, his breath hot against your ear. 

“You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” He has you in his grasp, his arm around your neck, his big body pressed against your back. You drive the scissors backward. You sink the blade into his forearm, hot blood spilling between your fingers with that you tear from him a guttural scream from his throat. 

He recoils with a snarl, clutching the wound, his grip on you lost. You don’t hesitate—you twist onto your feet, muscles coiled, ready to tear him apart—

Then, out of nowhere, a blur of white lunges at you. Was there anyone else in the room? You barely register the scientist before he’s on you, his face twisted in wild panic, a syringe clutched in his trembling fist. He lunges. You try to twist away, but it’s too late. The needle slams into your shoulder. Fire floods your veins. You gasp, your vision pulsing at the edges. No. No, no, no, I can’t go under, not now. 

The scientist is still there, scrambling to retreat, but your rage surges past the spinning and racing feeling in your body. Snarling, you grab him by the collar and slam him into the nearest counter. Vials and instruments clatter to the floor. Glass breaks. You pull the syringe out, the vial is half empty. You throw it to the ground as far away as possible.

But the real threat is still behind you. The big man is back on his feet, blood dripping from his forearm, pure fury contorting his face. Your limbs feel sluggish, like you're fighting through quicksand. But you don’t stop. You quickly search for something to finish the bastard off. Where are the scissors you had before? No time. Your eyes dart to the floor—broken glass. You look around, and you grab a stool and throw it at him. Then you run towards the broken cupboard. You grip the glass firmly even if it makes you bleed. 

“What? Are you going to scratch me again, bitch?” The guy cracks his fingers. He launches into the attack. “Come here!”

With a sharp inhale, you swing the glass, aiming straight for his throat. Just as the blade slices through the air, a deafening alarm erupts, drowning out everything. You failed. Red lights flash, painting the chaos in eerie bursts. The whole fucking facility just woke the hell up.

"You're really starting to piss me off." he growled, a fist slams into your ribs, you hear a crack while you scream. Footsteps thunder outside the lab. Reinforcements. Shit. The scientist had pressed the emergency button near the computer. Now emboldened by the incoming backup, staggers toward the console, fingers flying over the keys. The speakers crackle, a robotic voice echoing over the alarm:

"Subject breach detected. All security personnel to Lab 2."

You barely have time to process before the big guy is on you again, grabbing you by the wrist, twisting it hard until the glass clatter to the floor.

“End of the line” he sneers, shoving you back against the table.

Your heart pounds, your vision sways, but your mind screams at you—MOVE. You don’t have a damn choice. With the last burst of strength, you swing your head forward—smashing it right into the bastard’s nose. Pain explodes in your skull, but it’s nothing compared to his. The big guy stumbles back with a strangled curse, blood gushing from his broken nose. 

Adrenaline drowns out everything else as you pick up the glass from the floor, finally driving the glass into his thigh. He roars, dropping to one knee. With a brutal kick to his chest, you send him sprawling to the floor. The scientist yelps, making a break for the exit, but you’re faster. You grab the metal tray from the floor and hurl it across the room. It collides with the back of his head, sending him crashing into the ground.

You don’t wait. You stagger toward the nearest workstation, grabbing whatever the hell looks useful—a scalpel, any weapon, anything that might get you out of here. The big guy groans, trying to push himself up, but you don’t give him the chance. You grab a chair and slam it down over his head. He goes limp. Wasting no time, you drop to your knees, rifling through his pockets. Your hands shake, slick with sweat and blood, but you find what you need—a keycard. Bingo! And a gun. Then you run.

The dim corridors flash in rhythmic pulses of red light, sirens blaring a relentless warning. Shouts echo from every direction, boots pounding against the floor. You run as fast as you can, trying to escape from guards crossing your way. Your breath comes in quick, panicked gasps. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline pushing you forward despite the pain. A guard rounds the corner ahead. You don't hesitate—you raise the gun and fire. A sharp cry. He drops.

The guards’ voices echo behind you. You don’t know where the exit is. You need to hide. Your eyes dart wildly, searching for anything—any way out. Then, a door. A card reader.

Please, please work.

Your hand trembles as you slide the card through the reader. The door clicks open, and you rush inside, slamming it behind you. Silence, except for your ragged breaths. You press your back against the cold metal, straining to listen. The pounding footsteps outside slow. Voices murmur, searching. You hold your breath. You might be able to get rid of a few more but it doesn't look good if you don't have any more ammo.

“I don’t plan on dying here” you remind yourself.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. You crouch behind a table, the shadows hiding you as best as you can. You load the gun, the sharp click of the bullet locking into place echoing softly in the silence. Inhaling deeply, you steady yourself. Your finger hovers over the trigger. Just a little longer. The door creaks open and a figure steps inside. You count down, ready to come out of your hiding place.

3..

2..

1..

____

Kieran moves quickly through the arsenal, his sharp gaze scanning the rows of weapons and supplies stacked in metal racks. The room is an arms dealer’s dream—a vault packed with everything from high-powered rifles to explosives, enough firepower to arm a small army. Rudy wasn’t just using this warehouse as a hideout; they were stockpiling for something big. He lets out a low whistle. Kieran isn’t the type to leave good weapons behind, especially when he’s in enemy territory. He takes a moment to scan the arsenal, eyes narrowing as he spots a row of high-end firearms. 

“Would be a shame to let these go to waste.” Kieran moves down the aisles, grabbing a few throwing knives and extra flashbangs. Then he spots something even better—a sleek, custom-made sniper rifle with a silencer already attached.

“Yes, baby. You’re coming with me” he murmurs, slinging it over his shoulder.

Then he gets to work.

Pulling out the small detonators from his backpack, Kieran starts placing them in key locations—near fuel canisters, along structural support beams. He kneels beside a stack of crates, pulling out some other compact explosives from his vest. His hands move quickly, attaching them in strategic points—where the blast will cause the most destruction. 

The comms crackle in his ear. "Luke? You’re there?" No answer. Kieran focused on syncing up with Luke's vision. Seems to be busy in the basement. 

A sound near the doorway makes him freeze. The connection snapped. Footsteps. Kieran presses himself against the crates, fingers hovering over his knife. He doesn't breathe as the guard steps inside, scanning the room. One second. Two. Three. The guard turns away. That’s his chance. In a flash, Kieran moves. His arm hooks around the man's throat, cutting off his air before he can make a sound. The struggle is short. A final twitch followed by a crack, then stillness. Kieran lowers the body quietly, checking the hall before continuing. No need to kill the other two. Sneaking out sounds like a better option right now.

Kieran exhales sharply, already picking up the pace. The detonators are set, now he just has to make sure they don’t all die before they get to enjoy the fireworks. He is halfway to the exit when the sharp wail of an alarm slices through the air. Red emergency lights flood the hall outside the arsenal, flashing in rhythmic pulses that make his surroundings feel even more claustrophobic.

“Shit!” he breathes, pressing a hand to his earpiece. “Luke?”

He flattens against a crate just as a squad of armed guards storms past. Their voices are clipped, urgent. He’s sure he didn’t trip the alarm. He was careful. There’s no way they noticed him.

Static crackles in his ear before Luke’s voice cuts through, tight with agitation. “Did you mess up?”

Kieran exhales sharply, keeping his voice low. “No…” His eyes flick toward the exit, calculating his next move. “Was it you?”

Luke scoffs, followed by the distant sound of a scuffle—grunts, a body hitting the floor. “It’s not always my fault.”

“Sweep the lower levels! Secure the perimeter!” one of them barks. Kieran’s grip tightens around his stolen rifle. 

Kieran clenches his jaw, peeking over the crate as the guards disappear around the corner. “Well, then who set off the damn alarm?”.

A loud crack comes through the earpiece, followed by Luke’s irritated grunt. “Not me, genius—I’m kinda busy.” Another muffled oof. The unmistakable sound of a punch landing.

Kieran huffs. “Oh, yeah, sounds like you’ve got it under control.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Luke deadpans, followed by another thud—presumably someone hitting the floor.

Kieran scans the area, heart pounding. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

Luke scoffs. “Right. And I’m the damn Pope.”

Kieran rolls his eyes, moving swiftly between cover. “I know how to stay hidden.”

“Uh-huh.” A grunt. A sharp snap. Someone groans in pain.

Luke exhales. “That’s debatable.”

Kieran bristles. “You got caught last time!”

“That was one time—”

“You shot a guy mid-sentence—”

“He was monologuing, Kieran! Who does that in the middle of a fight?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

Another silence. Then it hits them both at once. Neither of them tripped the alarm. Their bickering stops cold.

Kieran’s stomach twists. “Wait.”

Luke exhales sharply. “Oh, shit.”

Their eyes widen in sync. It must’ve been you. Which could only mean one thing. You got out. You’re alive. For now.

Kieran moves fast. Knifing one guard in the side before he can react. Stealing his keycard as his body crumples. By the time the others notice, Kieran’s already gunning them down. The hallway clears, but he knows more are coming. He swipes the stolen keycard at the nearest panel, overriding a security door, and sprints inside. 

“I’m en route to your position,” he says into his earpiece, breath controlled despite the chaos.

Luke’s voice crackles through. “Hurry the hell up—things are getting real fun down here.”

A guard rounds the corner—too slow. Kieran’s knife is already in his ribs, slicing upward. The man chokes on a wet gasp, his body shuddering before going limp. Kieran barely spares him a glance and lets the corpse drop. The moment stretches—then another guard spots him.

"Intruder—!"

Kieran fires before the man can finish, a precise shot between the eyes. The other guards react instantly, raising their weapons. He fires as he moves, two shots to the kneecaps of the nearest enemy. The man collapses with a scream, but Kieran is already springing up, slamming the butt of his gun into another’s jaw. Bone crunches. A third guard rushes him. Kieran twists, using the momentum to drive his knife deep into the man’s throat. Blood sprays, warm against his arm. He shoves the body aside and turns just as the last remaining guard raises his rifle.

Kieran doesn’t hesitate.

He fires twice—chest, head. The guard slams back against the wall and slides down, leaving a smear of red in his wake. Kieran exhales sharply, rolls his shoulders, and keeps running.

___

You freeze, the gun still raised, your eyes wide with disbelief. Fuck... For a long moment, neither of you moves. Your grip tightens on the gun, your mind racing, muscles locked in a desperate fight-or-flight response. Then the light shifts, illuminating his face. Your breath catches. Then recognition dawns. You lower the gun, your heart still racing. 

“Thank god, is you” your voice hoarse from exhaustion. The weight of your injuries catches up with you as the adrenaline fades, and your legs give out. You sink back onto the cold floor, leaning against the table, clutching your side where pain flares white-hot. 

"Miss, you’re good at hide and seek, but boss is worried" Luke says, stepping closer, his tone teasing but with a hint of concern. His eyes flick around the room, scanning for threats before finally kneeling close. You look like hell—worse than he expected to find you. 

“How have you found me?” 

“Following a trail of blood on the wall” you nod. Right, your hand is still bleeding. 

“Sylus? Is he here?” Your voice cracks slightly, a mix of fear and hope lacing your words.

"Of course.” Luke responde. “Let me see.” His hands hover near you, waiting for permission. You hesitate, then exhale shakily, letting him peel your fingers away from your side. The world tilts slightly as fresh pain ignites, but you grit your teeth.

“I think I have a broken rib” you say while you wince in pain. You reach out, showing him the cut on your hand as well. 

“You look like shit.” Luke growls. You glance down at yourself, the thin hospital gown that barely covers you, is stained with blood. You begin to notice the cold, your bare and dirty feet point out the reality of your situation even more. “I’ll patch you up." His voice is firm but not unkind. You don’t argue—not like you have the strength to, anyway. Instead, you simply nod, swallowing down the mess of emotions bubbling inside you. Luke shrugs off the small backpack, rifling through its contents. He has the basics, but when they packed, they weren’t expecting broken bones. He also takes a pen out of a case and inserts a cartridge filled with liquid. Luke notices how your body tenses at the sight of the needle. 

“Don’t worry, it's for the pain” With all the things you’ve already in your system, another dose won't hurt, at least if it helps relieve your aching body. He places the pen against your arm and presses the needle into your skin. You let Luke take care of everything, you didn't expect him to treat you so tactfully. 

“It seems like you have a lot of practice,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the upcoming pain that the alcohol will inflict on your skin. “Argh” you yelped. The pain stinge your hand, and you feel the wound pullsing. His hands move with practiced efficiency, cleaning the cut and wrapping the bandages with just the right amount of pressure.

“Sorry...” Luke whispers as he secures the quick bandage. "I have enough knowledge for moments like these" he adds. He exhales sharply, eyes flicking back to you. "Pull up the gown. I need to see how bad it is.”

You hesitate only for a second before obeying, lifting the fabric slowly up. Every shift sends a fresh wave of pain through your ribs, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath. This is no time to be embarrassed. The moment the bruise is exposed, Luke's expression hardens under his mask. A deep, blue-purple blotch spreads across your side, angry and swollen. He reaches out, fingertips ghosting over the bruised skin before applying the lightest pressure. Even that makes you wince. Tender. Definitely bad.

His brows furrow slightly. "I’ll need more bandages."

He searches the small room you're in, lighting a small lantern he's carrying. Aside from a lot of dust, empty boxes and bottles, an old cupboard, there's not much else. On the top shelf there are expired medications, bottles with weird stuff inside, and an old first aid kit. 

Without wasting time, he grabs the remaining bandages from the battered first aid kit. His hands work quickly, wrapping the fabric around your ribs. The pressure is uncomfortable, but it keeps the pain from worsening. 

“You need a doctor, so we need to move.” You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to stay still as he secures the bandage in place. At least there’s no sign of internal bleeding. For now. But the bruising is severe, you need to get proper treatment soon.

Luke sits back on his heels, scanning your face before saying, “I’ll inform Boss.” 

“Wait!" You tug at Luke's sleeve, your grip tight despite the weakness in your limbs. His body stiffens for a moment before he looks down at you. You know perfectly well that if you escape now, you might not be able to access the data. You know Sylus, he'll blow up the building the moment you step foot outside. It wouldn't be the first time he's done that.

He was already rising to his feet, ready to move. "We can’t stay here."

You shake your head, panic curling in your chest like a tightening vice. "No. I need to know what they’ve done with me.”

“No way! We are leaving.” His jaw clenches. 

“Luke please…” Your fingers tremble as they clutch at his sleeve again, your breath uneven.   “I… have the protocore syndrome.” you confess. Luke freezes. The boss never mentioned this. Never. “I need the data” you plead.

Luke sighs, and his voice softens, though his words are as blunt as ever. He can empathize with what you feel. "Fuck! Boss will kill if…” he mutters.

“I’ll talk to him after, this is on me.” The boy continues to hesitate, trying to find some way to persuade the idea. "Stick to the plan" were the instructions, clear and precise. Deviating from it could lead to multiple scenarios where no one comes out alive. Luke growls. After a long silence, the boy sighs.

“We find the data and get the hell out of here. Okay?” you nod quickly. “But first, we need clothes for you. Stay and be quiet." He approaches the door, the sirens continue howling, through a small opening, he checks if it is safe. Then, without a word, he slips through the gap and disappears into the shadows. Leaving you in the silence. 

You close your eyes for a moment, what a crazy night. You feel relieved that at least they found you. You know it's risky to go get the data, but leaving without it could be a death sentence. You need to show the files to Zayne. Fuck, he’ll probably get mad at you again when you show up in the ER like that. Honestly, you'd rather he scolds you about how careless you are and get hell out of that damn lab or whatever they are keeping you in. You smile bitterly. Thinking about your favorite doctor, you're already feeling bad to drag him into this. Whatever they have done, it feels wrong.

The pounding in your head hasn’t stopped. The images you saw earlier are still a blur, impossible to fully make sense. The voices, the deep pain in your soul and that feeling that escapes from your mind. Your face contorts as you struggle to contain the pain surging through your veins. You put your hand over your mouth, stifling the scream threatening to escape. In the center of your chest, your heart slams against your ribs, each beat more violent than the last.

When Luke returns, he’s holding a guard uniform, it's dark fabric hanging loosely in his hands. He probably knocked out some random guy. 

"Maybe too big, but better than being half-naked—" Luke stops mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Are you alright, Miss?” You take the uniform from his hands, gripping the fabric tightly, your fingers trembling slightly. You shift to stand, and the moment you straighten, fire shoots through your side, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just the pain.” you lie smoothly, forcing a weak smirk before quickly slipping into the oversized clothes. Even with the mask you know that Luke doesn’t look convinced. You force yourself to move normally, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound. “You know,” you murmur, adjusting the sleeves, “I’ve told you and Kieran plenty of times to call me by my name.”

Luke exhales through his nose, amused but noncommittal. “I’ll try next time.”

He moves to the door, his stance shifting into alertness as he scans the dim hallway beyond. The distant wail of sirens still echoes through the facility.

“We don’t have much time. Let’s go.”

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | AO3

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this part. I'm still working on the next one, therefore it will take me some time since it’s a section I hadn’t originally planned. I'll appreciate your patience. And a big thank you to all who wants to keep reading and or have reached out to me. Is amazing!

Released date: ~2 weeks. Chapter 4: Extraction Point

[fryingpan1234567]

aaaaaanyways. pride month at Camp Half Blood?

if you remember that one post from a while ago (general hc’s about chb), I did say I would do a fully pride post eventually

so without further ado, I present to all my lovely gay demigods:

PRIDE MONTH AT CHB🗣️🗣️

SO we’ve already discussed the decorations of some of the cabins, like Percy putting rainbow hippocampi scales all over the walls, the Demeter and Persephone cabins growing colorful flowers all over their roofs, the Hecate cabin and its Sentient Gay Door

I like to think the Iris cabin is just fully blasting rainbows all the time it looks like a Minecraft beacon

they play capture the flag every June with a pride flag that has the CHB logo on it

limited edition CHB pride merch😭

Mr. D defending trans campers by driving bigots slightly insane long enough to slap themselves and then go back to normal

Y’ALL KNOW ABOUT THE PRONOUN CORRECTION AIR HORNS? THAT’S THE ENTIRE APOLLO CABIN + LEO AND PERCY

Some ignorant prick about a transmasc camper: “Oh yeah she—“

Percy: *AIR HORN* “IT’S HE, BITCH”

Ignorant prick: “Okay Jesus I’m sorry”

A different ignorant prick: *makes some dumb joke about “always being able to tell” and receives at least seven different air horns from all the Apollo campers in the vicinity*

Leo’s been following this one really irritating chick around all day because she can’t figure out one of his sibling’s genders and blasting her in the face every time she fucks up their pronouns😭😭😭

anyways yeah I like to imagine there’s a demigod pride festival somewhere, maybe in New York

or no there’s demigods everywhere I bet they have parade floats all the time in lots of cities and the Mist conceals the “fireworks” which are actually just godly light shows

Apollo rocks up to camp in a rainbow crop top and a pink drink from Starbucks just to sing Born This Way in the middle of the day and then dip again

Aphrodite blessing random queer couples with finding perfect date setups “conveniently” in their paths

all the gods physically restraining Hera when she tries to go fuck with Jason while he’s on a date w Leo

Percy and Annabeth in matching shirts that say ✨BEST BI✨ with the Best Buy price tag logo in the middle

Nico got glitterbombed on June 1st the second he stepped out of his cabin by the entire Apollo cabin (and Jason) and is still finding sparkles in his hair a week later

Aphrodite kids are walking dictionaries of all the rainbow terms, somehow, and they also all know which days in June are for which awareness or pride or whatever flag

campers who transitioned over the school year and coming back to camp a different gender and their godly parent re-claims them as their true self

Percy “I can’t believe I used to think I was straight” Jackson educating some of the younger campers on bisexuality and how, no, you don’t always know right away

Annabeth “I had a crush on Thalia and Luke at the same time and it was horrible” Chase always reassuring the nervous kids that there’s nothing wrong with being queer (and that she’ll fight any homophobic family members they may have)

actually they kind of all do that

Some little kid: “Well……. I don’t wanna tell my stepdad, he might kick me out”

Percy, remembering that his dad kept Medusa’s head after it got sent to Olympus: “Give me your address, I have an idea”

Piper will verbally eviscerate anybody she catches being even remotely homophobic. I mean she will swipe phones out of her siblings’ hands to tell off some ignorant grandmother

Jason does NOT get into physical altercations outside of sparring and literal war, but the closest he ever got was after hearing someone call Nico a slur (Percy and Leo had to physically drag him away from the other guy)

William Solace has white cowboy boots. I Will Start Sobbing On The Spot

Percy and Jason wore matching skirts for the pride festival and it was great— these 6-foot-plus brick shithouses of heroes who have single-handedly won wars aggressively waving tiny pride flags at each other and dancing to IT GIRL on the quad

Cecil and Lou Ellen made these magic rainbow smoke bombs, crawled up on the roof of the Hermes cabin, and slingshotted them into the masses Just Because™️

(Will’s hair was blue and pink for weeks)

RAINBOW WAR PAINT FOR CAPTURE THE FLAG.

Clarisse fucking kicked someone into the lake because they made fun of one of her siblings’ dyed hair

Connor thought it would be funny to leave a mini pan flag on top of Mr. D’s Diet Coke stash, mostly as a harmless joke, but the next day he noticed Mr. D had tucked it into his horrible Hawaiian shirt pocket like a handkerchief😭

watching Love, Simon in the amphitheater for movie night and half the campers had to excuse themselves early for sobbing too hard

Malcolm and Annabeth reread Red White and Royal Blue every summer. They say they’re Henry and June, Connor is Alex, and Percy is Nora

(this is confirmed when the two of them start a foot fight in the dining pavilion with a Chipotle burrito)

Leo IMing Jo and Emmie to wish them a happy pride (and tell Georgina and Waystation I said hello)

Piper and Leo getting into a HEATED debate about whether Velma Dinkley is a lesbian or not

”YOU CANNOT LOOK AT HER OVERSIZED-SWEATER-OVER-MY-PROM-DRESS ASS AND TELL ME YOU THINK SHE’S TOTALLY STRAIGHT—“

”WHAT SHE AND SHAGGY HAD WAS REAL, BEAUTY QUEEN! HOT DOG WATER AIN’T GOT NOTHIN ON NORVILLE ROGERS—“

”LEO! HER NAME IS MARCIE! AND THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S W A L L P A P E R S .”

Jason, sitting in the middle of them, now deaf in both ears: Lupa give me strength

GUYS PLEASE SEND ME SPECIFIC SHIPS OR CHARACTERS TO WRITE PRIDE HC’S FOR I WOULD LOVE TO🙏🙏🙏🙏

[thehatboxwitch]

fem!reader, uni au

There's a stranger in your bed, and he's fucking you better than any of your boyfriends have before.

Veritas Ratio pistons into your abused cunt, puffy and raw from his tongue, fingers, and cock. It's slender but long, almost elegant in shape, reaching so deep into you that you're nearly satisfied by him bottoming out alone.

But you're not so easily filled. And it's part of the reason why you're out on town, having finally freed yourself of your previous boyfriend, looking for a good dick to get fucked by.

But no one told you a stranger's dick would be this insane.

"Giving up already?" Everything Veritas says manages to sound judgemental and disappointed. You squeeze tighter around him, whimpering as your pussy protests, but he doesn't even crack an inch. "Slut."

He has you crumpled, exhausted, every muscle twitching from your past orgasms, and still he shows no sign of stopping.

"Can't even cum for me." Those long, deft fingers release their grip on your hair. You lurch forward with a whine of relief - at least until his hand creeps down to your cunt.

"Don't- please- ah, ah, ah~"

He rubs harsh circles into your clit. Sparks rush up into your belly, slamming you shut on his hard, hard dick, the knot ready to snap.

He groans, one of a limited range of sounds you've heard from him this night, and if it was even possible, his strokes get even faster. "Don't, my ass. Make me cum, you little bi- hrrrrrrph."

The knot unravels. "Veri, Veri, please, ah, please-"

A syrupy warmth spills out over your back, and his scent fills your nose again. You whimper, legs trembling, flashing hot and cold as your pussy spasms emptily from your orgasm.

Finally, he lets go. You collapse shakily, turning over.

He's hunched over you, purple strands concealing his expression as he ducks his head to catch his breath. There's a full moon high in the sky, and even the streets have gone quiet on this Friday evening. Or Saturday morning.

Veritas lowers himself slowly onto the mattress next to you, the only indication that he'd ever exerted himself the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His amber eyes pass impersonally over you, roving over your room as if it were his.

That was how he typically was, you'd learnt. Veritas Ratio was indifferent, coldly analytical towards the softer parts of humanity. Even in the club, he hadn't had much to say about anything except "It's too loud in here."

He was an architecture major something-or-other, handsome in the same way his blueprints were - all flat planes and sharp angles. Veritas had been eyed by a number of girls all over campus (and professors too, so it was rumoured), but his chilling attitude toward each and every one of them had spoken its own message.

Then you'd gone out with some course friends to a club. His liquid amber eyes flashed blue, green, pink under the club lights, digging into the flesh visible just above your thigh-high boots, and you'd decided, hey, why not?

His phone buzzes insistently somewhere in the room. Veritas sighs impatiently, climbing over you to rummage for his possessions. You're too sore to move much and the sudden loss of warmth stirs up an unwelcome hint of disappointment.

You listen to him move around your room for a moment. Warm breath on your ear gives you reason to turn over.

"I have to go now," he says, face inches from yours. You jump in surprise, clutching your blankets to your chest.

"Already?" Maybe you should have expected it. "Do you need a shower first?"

He hesitates. "...That would be nice, thank you."

You wave a hand lazily in the direction of the bathroom, watching him go. "And raise the door up before you latch it!" you call after him.

You hear the brief sounds of struggle, then Veritas manages. The sound of running water starts shortly after.

You let yourself lie for a moment longer, then groan and get up. The sheets and laundry would need to be washed, the house cleaned, and your work for school still needed to be tackled.

You're in the kitchen, doing the dishes, when you hear the front door open and shut.

[scapinoz]

MY MAD DOG (all mine).

yandere mob boss x right-hand male reader

— chapter two.

me when im actually productive. wrote this in two days. finished this last week itself, but was dreading to post this cause im just a pussy. but alas, the spirits kept whispering in my ear to post this unedited chapter. a little short. decided to up the pace a lil, cause otherwise s’just boring. im sure no one wants to read about two idiots committing crime.

also, kinda experimented with a new writing style. idk what to think ‘bout it now actually. it’s kinda nice, i suppose.

warnings: brothels, not very spicy (idk how to write smut 🧍🏽‍♀️). y/n is bi. illarion. illarion’s dad (he still doesn’t have a name). idk what else is there, really. maybe smoking and drinking. no crime or blood yet.

previous chapter - chapter one

master list - my mad dog (all mine).

Ilarion Lucero had inherited an empire built on blood and silence, an inheritance as cursed as the house of Atreus.

By day, he was the portrait of discipline—polished and unshaken, the perfect heir to a dynasty that had never known ruin. He moved through gleaming boardrooms and smoke-laced parlors with the ease of a man accustomed to power, his name spoken in hushed reverence, his hands never once appearing unclean. He shook hands with ministers and monsters alike, his lips curved in a polite, unreadable smile as he signed deals in ink while others signed theirs in blood.

But by night, the truth of him unraveled. The empire he ruled was not one of gleaming glass towers and pristine ledgers. It thrived in the hush of darkened corridors, in the weight of unmarked bills exchanged beneath flickering streetlamps, in the fear that tightened spines and bent knees at the mere mention of his name. It pulsed in the shipments that arrived under false pretenses, in the bodies that disappeared without a trace, in the quiet deaths that whispered his name like a prayer.

And at the heart of it all—his Patroclus, his ruin, his curse.

Y/N.

The name itself was a mark of finality, a requiem sung in the language of violence. A man who did not flinch, who did not falter. The blade in Ilarion’s hand, the shadow at his back. His executioner, his tether, his curse.

And like all things destined for tragedy, Y/N did not belong to him. Not truly. Not in any way that mattered.

But Ilarion was Achilles, and Achilles had never known how to let go.

He found him where he always did.

Acheron. A sanctuary for men who did not wish to be known. He found him where he always did.

The room was draped in gold and shadow, its air thick with the scent of perfume and spilled whiskey, the soft murmur of laughter dissolving into the velvet hush of the night. A place where designations ceased to matter, where power bent to pleasure, where no name was sacred enough to be protected.

Y/N was sprawled across a chaise, skin painted in half-light, his shirt undone, his collarbones blooming with bruises that did not belong to Ilarion. A woman draped herself over him, whispering something against his throat, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his chest. He did not seem to hear her, his gaze distant, unfocused, as if already somewhere else.

A wasted thing.

A waste that belonged to him.

“Enough.”

Ilarion’s voice was not loud, but it was enough.

The woman startled, turning to face him, her painted lips parting around a breath she did not dare exhale. She knew who he was. Everyone in Acheron did. With a murmured apology, she slid off Y/N, disappearing into the haze of perfume and candlelight.

Y/N exhaled, tilting his head back against the chaise, whiskey glass dangling between his fingers. “You always ruin the fun.”

Ilarion stepped closer, pouring himself a drink. “I wasn’t aware you were having any.”

Y/N’s lips curled, lazy and sharp. “Fair.”

There was something devastating about the way he looked at him—like a wolf who had long since grown accustomed to its cage, like a man who had made peace with being owned. And yet, for all the weight of Ilarion’s claim, there was always something defiant in the way Y/N carried himself. A blade that refused to be dulled.

“You drink too much,” Ilarion murmured.

Y/N chuckled, low and humorless. “You think I’d be more useful sober?”

“I think you’d be more tolerable.”

Y/N stretched, languid and indifferent, his shirt slipping further down his shoulder. “And yet, you keep me.”

Ilarion’s fingers curled around his glass. “Of course I do.”

Because Y/N was his. Because he had carved his place in the empire Ilarion ruled, because for all his ruin, for all his self-destruction, he still came when called. Because Ilarion had spent a lifetime bending men to his will, and Y/N was the only one who had never bent.

And perhaps that was why Ilarion could never let him go.

Perhaps Achilles had never been meant to survive without Patroclus.

The night had unraveled into morning, the velvet darkness giving way to the creeping light of dawn, pale and indifferent. It slithered through the blinds of Ilarion’s office, casting silvered shadows across the mahogany desk, the sheen of polished floors, the sharp angles of his chair where he sat like a king on an iron throne. Across from him, Y/N lounged as if he had no weight to carry, no blood on his hands, no ghosts at his heels—cigarette balanced between his fingers, the slow curl of smoke slithering toward the ceiling like an offering to forgotten gods.

Ilarion did not look up when he spoke.

“You should stop sleeping around.”

A pause. Then the quietest drag, the ember flaring like a dying star.

“Why?”

Ilarion turned a page in his ledger, the paper whispering like the turning of fate’s loom. “It’s reckless.”

Y/N exhaled a ribbon of smoke, his laugh slow, indifferent, edged with something like mockery. “Didn’t know you cared about my virtue.”

“I don’t.”

The words were steady, unhurried, carved from marble. Only then did Ilarion lift his gaze, dark and unreadable, a god surveying the mortal before him.

“But you don’t belong to them.”

A smirk. Slow, wolfish, touched with danger.

“No?”

Ilarion did not answer.

The silence stretched between them, thick as honey, heavy as prophecy, the kind that lingered at Delphi’s temple before the gods whispered their doom.

Then, soft, almost amused, Y/N murmured—“You’re afraid I’ll bite someone else’s hand, aren’t you?”

Ilarion’s gaze darkened, something shifting in the depths of his expression—a storm on the horizon, a beast woken from its slumber.

Y/N had always been reckless, a creature unbridled, untamed, the kind that would never bow without a fight. He was not a flower to be plucked, not some Hyacinthus doomed to be adored and broken in the same breath. No, he was something far crueler, something sharp-edged, something that could draw blood even as he smiled.

But even wild things could be claimed.

Ilarion leaned back, fingers steepled, voice quiet as the pull of an undertow.

“You are mine.”

There was no hesitation, no room for debate.

“And I don’t share.”

Y/N flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers die, the ghost of fire lingering in the air between them. His smirk remained, but his eyes—cold, distant, untouched by the weight of Ilarion’s words—spoke of something else entirely.

“You don’t own me, Ilarion.”

A lie, but a beautiful one.

Ilarion smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

The kind of smile that preceded ruin, the kind that kings and conquerors wore before they razed empires to the ground.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

The decree fell like a guillotine.

“You’re getting married.”

The words settled into the study, quiet and suffocating, waiting to be disturbed.

Ilarion sat across from his father, the glow of the fireplace casting long shadows across his sharp features. The older man regarded him with the air of a king delivering a verdict, his silvering hair swept back, his presence as unshakable as the empire he had built.

A slow blink. Then silence.

Ilarion tipped his head slightly, watching the flames curl in the hearth. “Am I?”

His father’s lips curved, barely there. “Don’t play stupid, synok.” Son. A word spoken with the weight of obligation, nothing more. “You knew this was coming.”

A name followed. Alexandra Volkov.

The Volkovs were a dynasty of old money and sharpened knives, their empire built on steel and fire. A logical match. A marriage of kingdoms.

“And if I refuse?”

His father chuckled. “You don’t have that option.”

Of course not.

A slow, aching pause.

Then, his father tilted his head, studying him like a man peeling back flesh, searching for something hidden beneath the bone. “Is it him?”

A heartbeat.

Ilarion stilled.

His father exhaled, almost amused. “Y/N.”

He had never needed obvious tells to see through his son.

“You look at him as if you want to carve your name into his ribs. As if you want to break him down to his bones and keep what remains locked away.” His father chuckled, shaking his head. “It is not love, Ilarion. It is possession.”

Something dark twisted in his chest.

Love.

It was not love.

It had never been love.

His father’s gaze was sharp, knowing. “Marry the girl. Make the alliance.” He set his glass down with a quiet clink. “And keep your dog where he belongs.”

Dog.

The word curled between them like a leash snapping taut.

His father sighed, rubbing his temple. “You are too sentimental, synok.” A pause. Then, with something sharper: “Dogs are loyal until they realize the leash can break.”

Ilarion exhaled slowly, smoothing the cuff of his sleeve. He rose from his chair, movements elegant, composed.

“I’ll think about it.”

His father’s lips curled. “No, you won’t.”

Ilarion turned toward the door, the weight of the conversation settling into his chest like an iron brand.

His father’s voice followed him, quiet but heavy with warning.

“Do be careful, son.” A pause. “It is an ugly thing to want something you cannot own.”

Ilarion did not look back.

His father was wrong.

Y/N was not a dog.

He was something else entirely.

And ownership had never been in question.

The scent of lavender clung to his mother’s parlor like the ghost of a dying summer—soft, lingering, a whisper of something fleeting. It was the perfume of her world, a world spun from silk and steel, from quiet discipline and tempered grace. A world where beauty was a weapon, where elegance masked the sharpness of survival. Yet beneath it all, there was something colder, something older—something that smelled of the sea, of brine and storm-torn waves, of the place she had once called home before she had been reshaped into something fit for a throne.

Thetis had bathed her son in the Styx to make him untouchable. His mother had done the same, though no river had been there to receive him—only blood, only duty, only the sharp reminder that love, in this family, had never been more than a gilded cage.

Ilarion stood by the window, the city stretched before him, its lights flickering like dying stars. Twilight bled across the horizon, gold and rust and bruised violet, the color of old wounds. He thought of Achilles standing at the edge of Troy, watching the sun sink into the ocean, knowing that the night would bring only ruin.

Behind him, his mother sat upon her velvet throne, the porcelain teacup poised between her fingers, delicate yet unshaken. She was the portrait of restraint, of something carved from marble—beautiful, immovable, untouched by time.

“You saw him,” she said at last, her voice breaking the hush like a wave against stone. It was not a question.

Ilarion did not turn. “Of course.”

A pause, long and deliberate, the kind that settled between gods before they spoke fate into being.

“And?”

He exhaled slowly, the dying light casting sharp angles across his face. “And what?”

Her teacup met the saucer with the softest clink. “Did you agree to it?”

Ilarion’s hands clasped behind his back, the silk of his cuffs smooth beneath his fingers. “Not yet.”

A faint smile curved at her lips, humorless, knowing. “You never had much of a choice.”

“No.”

Another sigh, this one heavier, as if she had always known the answer and had simply wished, for once, that it might be different.

“Your father is a practical man. He does what is necessary.”

“So do I.”

A silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring before the arrow was loosed.

Her head tilted, her dark gaze sharp, searching. “Do you?”

He did not answer.

Instead, her eyes flickered toward the untouched tea, the pale liquid cooling in its porcelain prison. And then, softly—carefully—

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

His fingers twitched at his sides.

She did not need to say the name.

She knew.

Y/N.

Another exhale, this one edged with something closer to resignation. “I wish you would let him go.”

Ilarion’s lips barely parted before she continued, voice quiet but resolute.

“You never liked him,” he murmured.

Her jaw tightened, just slightly. “I dislike what he represents.”

His brows lifted, amusement glinting in the sharp lines of his face. “And what is that?”

A flicker of hesitation—just a breath, just a moment. And then, deliberate, measured, the words that fell between them like a prophecy spoken too late:

“A mistake.”

The word settled in the air, quiet as a dagger slipping between ribs.

Ilarion’s gaze darkened. “Whose?”

She did not answer at first. But then—soft, unyielding—

“Your father’s.”

The weight of unspoken history pressed between them, heavy as the tide, as the pull of something neither of them could escape.

Ilarion’s fingers curled into his palm. “I see.”

His mother exhaled, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress, though they both knew it was not fabric she was trying to tame but the years themselves. “You are young, Ilarion. You do not yet understand the weight of your name. Of your duty.” She hesitated, then pressed forward, as though treading on ice already beginning to crack. “Your father… made certain choices in his youth. Choices that nearly cost him everything.”

Ilarion’s gaze sharpened. “You mean Rylan.”

Her expression remained unchanged, but he did not miss the tightness at the corners of her mouth.

“Rylan is nothing but a ghost of my husband’s foolishness,” she said, voice crisp as winter air. “And his son is a reminder of it.”

Something twisted deep within him—slow, insidious.

His mother leaned forward, her gaze colder now, stripped of tenderness. No longer a mother’s eyes, but something sterner, something forged in iron. “I do not want you to repeat his mistakes.”

Silence.

Then, voice smooth, but edged with something unreadable, Ilarion asked, “You think Y/N is a mistake?”

She exhaled, tired now. “I think he is a dead end.”

Ilarion’s jaw tightened.

Her stare did not waver. “You are not your father,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “You are not a man bound by sentiment.”

Ilarion’s lips curled, cold and amused. “Aren’t I?”

She shook her head. “You don’t love him, Ilarion.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, unreadable.

She reached for her tea once more, her fingers delicate around the porcelain rim. And then, in a whisper that was more certainty than doubt—

“You only want to keep him.”

Ilarion said nothing.

Not because she was wrong.

But because she was right.

And so they stared at each other, mother and son, as the gods once did.

She, like Thetis, who had fought to shape her son into something untouchable, something greater than mortal men. And he—Achilles, standing at the edge of fate, knowing the price of his own desire, knowing that to reach for it was to step closer to ruin.

Thetis had tried to make Achilles immortal, had dipped him in the Styx, but had left his heel untouched.

Ilarion had been bathed not in river water, but in expectation.

And yet, like Achilles, he had found something he was unwilling to let go of.

His mother had seen it the moment Y/N entered his life.

And she knew—

It would be his undoing.

The air in the study was thick with the weight of old sins, of ghosts that refused to be buried. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, weaving through the dim light like the whispers of men who had long since learned that their words were weapons, that silence was a blade honed sharper than steel. The scent of burning tobacco, of aged whiskey left to breathe in cut crystal, of leather softened by time—all of it clung to the room, an oppressive warmth that did nothing to dull the chill of the conversation that had yet to unfold.

Ilarion’s father sat behind his great mahogany desk, the very image of a king upon his throne, his presence stretched across the room like the last light of dusk—golden, but fading. Behind him, the window framed the city in its twilight hush, a world waiting in patient submission.

Rylan stood near the edge of the light, half-swallowed by shadow, a specter carved from night itself. One hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a cigarette, its ember pulsing with quiet life between his fingers. He was as he had always been—unmoved, untouched, a man who had learned long ago that sentiment was a luxury afforded only to those who did not have to survive.

Between them, silence stretched, taut as the string of a lyre before it broke.

Then, at last, the voice of the king:

“They’re going to end up just like us.”

Not a question. A prophecy. A certainty as inevitable as the sun falling into the arms of the horizon.

Rylan took a slow drag of his cigarette. Exhaled. The smoke drifted between them, the softest echo of a sigh.

“You don’t care?”

The words could have been an accusation. A taunt. But Rylan did not rise to them, did not even flinch. Instead, he tilted his head just slightly, amusement flickering at the corner of his lips like the remnants of a dying star.

“Should I?”

A chuckle, low and humorless, like the sound of dying embers. “You never did.”

Rylan’s gaze flickered toward him, dark as oil, unreadable. And then—soft, measured, something near bored:

“Not about things that don’t matter.”

Ilarion’s father hummed, swirling the amber in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “And does he?”

The name did not need to be spoken.

The cigarette burned low between Rylan’s fingers, the ashes gathering like dust at his feet.

“He survives.”

It was not an answer. But it was the only one that mattered.

A long pause. A moment held in the quiet weight of things left unsaid.

And then, a knowing smile, sharp as a blade:

“He reminds me of you.”

The words landed softly, like the first drop of rain before a storm. Rylan did not move, did not react, but something in the air shifted, imperceptible, a thread pulled too tight.

The king leaned forward, the smirk never fading. “The way he carries himself. The way he fights. The way he doesn’t give a damn about anything but one person.” A pause. A deliberate weight. “He even looks like you did when we were young.”

A flicker of something—too fast, too subtle to name—passed through Rylan’s expression.

He took another drag, exhaling the smoke slowly, deliberately, as if it might fill the space between them.

“And you think that’s enough?”

Ilarion’s father’s smirk deepened. “It was for you.”

Rylan’s fingers curled slightly around his cigarette. The ember glowed bright, then dimmed.

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

A pause. The barest flicker of amusement, as if the question itself was entertaining. “Isn’t it the truth?”

A beat of silence.

And then—“You always talk too much.”

A quiet chuckle. “And you always had a weakness for strays.” His father tilted his head, watching him with the eyes of a man who had already seen the end of this story. “First her. Now him.”

At last, Rylan turned to look at him fully. The weight of his gaze settled, heavy and deliberate, like a hand pressed against an old wound.

“She wasn’t a stray.”

“Oh, she was.” Ilarion’s father’s voice was soft, a mockery of kindness. “And so is he.” A pause. A smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “A mistake.”

The word landed between them like a blade driven into the earth, drawing an unseen line.

Rylan did not react, did not flinch, did not tense. His grip on the cigarette remained loose, his posture as effortless as ever.

But his voice, when it came, was quiet. Steady. Final.

“Not a mistake.”

A brow arched in amusement. “Then what?”

Another pause.

Then, slow, deliberate, like the shifting of constellations:

“A consequence.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the smoke curling between them.

The king let the word settle, turning it over in his mind, tasting the weight of it. Then, a slow exhale. A smirk curling his lips.

“You know…” He swirled the whiskey in his glass, voice dropping into something cruel, something almost pitying. “If he were mine, I’d keep him.”

Rylan exhaled a breath of smoke, his eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sure you would.”

A sip. A smirk. A flick of cigarette ash.

And then, as all things between them had always been, the conversation faded into the quiet understanding of men who had already lost too much.

And so they sat, these two gods of a fading age.

Apollo and Hyacinthus, once bound by youth and devotion, now left only with the echo of what had been. Ilarion’s father—the sun, burning, consuming, leaving nothing untouched. And Rylan—the flower that had once flourished beneath him, now withered in the shadow of the past.

Hyacinthus had died in the arms of his god, his blood spilled upon the earth, blooming into the petals of mourning.

But Rylan had not died.

He had walked away.

And that, perhaps, was the crueler fate.

so, yeah, that’s chapter two. maybe i was on something while writing this, idk. wrote it bit by bit, that’s why the writing style isn’t very consistent. im still trying to find a pace that works for me.

and i know some might start to hate y/n because of his extracurricular activities 🧍🏽‍♀️ it’s fine, hate him all you want. he’s just a manwhore— illarion’s manwhore. im trying to develop his character and give him some depth and miserably failing.

also, yeah, i did once mention that this will be kind of like a Achilles and Patroclus retelling thingy, so there’s that. and then there’s rylan and illarion’s father (toxic old men yaoi 😋)

do comment, be wild as you want, I get motivated when I read comments, actually. like i love interacting with ppl who read my work.

[baekhyunsbestie]

──★ ALL MINE ˙🌷͙֒ ̟ !!

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 sum: it's been months since you cut ties with your bff-turned-fwb. now, you’re stuck with a new guy who’s a total fucking letdown in the bedroom. but there’s no way you’re telling your bestie baekhyun that embarrassing detail, right? WRONG. you guys share everything. and of course, baekhyun won't stop teasing you about it—especially after another disastrous date. just when you've hit your limit, you come home to find him rummaging through the pantry, snacking like he runs the place. but don't worry, he's here to make it up to you!!!!! and by "make it up to you," i mean help release all of your pent-up sexual frustration, because that's what besties do, right? …right?!

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content: 18+/MDNI. 8.5k+ words. baekhyun x f!reader. no specified age, but i'd say they're somewhere in their early-to-mid 20’s cus i can only imagine people w/o fully developed frontal lobes behaving this way, respectfully 😭🙂‍↕️ bff's to fwb's to bff's again to strangers to lovers. fluff, angst, and it ain’t a baekhyunsbestie fic if it don’t got some good ol��� nasty smuuuttttt. pet names, praise kink, cheating, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie after creampie after creampie (baekhyun deffo has breeder balls, don’t @ me), overstimulation (both f + m). you both are just two big meanie idiots who are in love with each other.

your phone lights up with a ping, the glow illuminating your face as baekhyun’s text pops up on the screen: 

✶bestie baekhyun!!!✶

aaawwww, is that your little boyfriend who can’t make you cum??? you guys are so cute together!

attached is a screenshot of your recent instagram story— you and your latest fling cozied up at a movie date earlier this evening. a date that ended with you unsatisfied, yet again. 

your gaze drifts across the room. baekhyun, lounging on the couch, meets your eyes with that signature, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. the one that makes your eye twitch in instant irritation. he’s enjoying this way too much and you want to pummel him into the ground. 

it’s been a week since you let your embarrassing little secret slip—your boyfriend can’t make you cum. and now, for seven agonizing days, your infuriating best friend has been toying with that knowledge like it’s his new favorite game. poking at your frustration with every sly comment, every teasing smirk.

you’re seething, and sexually frustrated, wound tight and ready to fucking snap. baekhyun knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing your buttons like only he can, and you’re not sure if you want to punch him or let him finish what your boyfriend never could.

it’s your bi-weekly hangout with your friend group—same old routine: catching up over movies, playing drinking games, maybe getting high, with mindless banter and a sea of snacks. the aroma of freshly baked cookies mingles with the air as you wait for takeout to arrive. you're surrounded by your closest friends, laughing, relaxed. but beneath the surface, you’re a storm waiting to break. every fiber of your being wants to blow up at him, but you can’t. no one knows about the “friends-with-benefits” situation that crashed and burned a few months ago, and you'd be damned if they found out. it would wreck the entire dynamic, fill the room with awkward tension, and you're not about to let that happen.

it lasted as long as it could before you realized you were starting to catch feelings— which definitely wasn’t part of the deal. you couldn’t admit that to him, though. no way, it’d be too embarrassing. you’d wreck the years of friendship that you have between you. so instead, you lied. you told him you were interested in seeing someone and wanted to give it a real shot.

one of your coworkers had been persistent about taking you out, and eventually, you gave in. he was great—amazing, even. a real charmer, with looks that could stop traffic, a sharp sense of humor, and a surprising attentiveness that made him seem like the total package. except for one small detail: he couldn’t take you to that edge, couldn’t push you past the brink where pleasure turns into toe-curling bliss. you tried to tell yourself that, with time and patience, he could learn. maybe, with a few more pointers, he’d figure out how to unravel you, bit by bit. 

but the truth is, you don’t want to have to teach someone all over again. not when there’s someone who already knows every inch of your body, someone whose touch leaves you trembling without needing a single word. baekhyun. he’s the one who knows exactly where to touch, where to linger, how to make you drip with nothing but a glance or the graze of his fingers.

but, of course, it’s never that simple. because baekhyun is your best friend, and as much as you wish he could see you in the same way, he doesn’t—or at least, not in the way you need him to. and even though your boyfriend has been nothing but sweet and patient these past few months, the connection just isn’t there. the attraction feels muted, like a faded echo of what it should be.

it leaves you simmering with a frustration you can’t admit out loud, the kind that gnaws at you from the inside, bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest crack to spill over and consume you. you’ve been holding it together for so long, but every time you’re near baekhyun, every casual brush of his skin against yours, it pushes you closer to the edge. and you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending. how much longer you can keep this act going, knowing that the one person you truly want is right there, just out of reach.

suddenly overwhelmed and no longer in the mood for the night’s festivities, thanks to baekhyun, you decided to slip away quietly. feigning a tired smile, you excused yourself, blaming it on the onset of a cold you claimed was creeping up on you.

as you got up and gathered your things, slipping on your sweater to shield yourself from the chilly october evening, baekhyun let out an exaggerated yawn and announced he was heading out as well, drawing boos and groans from your friends that both of you were leaving. 

feeling the walls close in, you rush to the door, needing to escape and breathe. your hands fumble to slip on your shoes, heart racing, fingers already gripping the cool metal of the doorknob. just as you’re about to turn it, baekhyun’s voice stops you, smooth but firm. "hey, let me take you home." his presence lingers behind you, his words almost a plea, warm and insistent.

without meeting his gaze, you replied coldly, “no, i’m fine. i’d rather walk,” waving him off dismissively. “goodnight, baekhyun.”

“w-wait!” he called out, but you were already closing the door in his face. you pulled your bag over your shoulder and tugged your sweater tighter around your neck, bracing against the crisp fall air.

your apartment was only a few blocks away, an easy ten-minute walk on most nights, but tonight, you lingered. every step was slower, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you wandered the quiet streets. you needed the extra time, the space to think about the growing weight of your situation. 

your thoughts drifted to your boyfriend—should you break up with him? the idea gnawed at you. you even reached for your phone, fingers hovering over his name, but the words refused to come. how could you explain that nothing he did ever truly satisfied you? that every time, you had to guide him, instruct him, tell him how to touch you, how to kiss you. his attempts never stirred anything deep inside, and when he fucked you, it was mechanical—passionless, almost empty.

he wasn’t like baekhyun.

with baekhyun, you never had to say a word. he knew your body instinctively, knew how to make you unravel without asking. he never needed guidance to make you cum; it was as natural as breathing for him.

you approached your apartment complex, the weight of your unresolved dilemma still pressing heavily on your mind—caught between trying to make things work with your boyfriend and the tangled, confusing feelings you had for baekhyun. your shoulders slumped as your head hung low, chin brushing against your chest, your eyes tracing the cracks in the pavement. the world around you felt muted, distant, like you were moving through a fog, everything blurred and out of focus.

with a swift punch of the door code, the lock beeped softly, and the door groaned open. but before you could step inside, your breath caught in your throat. there, by the entrance, sat a pair of men’s shoes—worn but familiar, ones you couldn’t possibly mistake. they rested neatly by the door, as if they had been waiting for you, like he had been waiting for you.

a tired sigh slipped from your lips, recognition sinking into your chest. you didn’t need to look any further to know who was already inside.

you were hoping for a moment of solitude to finish gathering your thoughts, but there he was—baekhyun, rummaging through your pantry, helping himself to your snacks.

“baekhyun, what are you doing here?” you ask, voice laced with surprise and slight irritation. 

it’s not like his presence is unusual—he’s your best friend after all. he used to drop by unannounced all the time, making himself at home as if your space was his own. he’d lounge on your couch, rummage through your fridge, and sometimes, without a word, he'd settle next to you for hours. but since you both called off your little "arrangement," those random visits had stopped completely. maybe it was because there was no longer that unspoken pull drawing him to your bed, or maybe—for once—he was trying to give you some space.

but let’s be real—baekhyun doesn’t know the meaning of personal space, especially when it comes to you. and little did you know, it’s not respect for your privacy that keeps him away. no, it’s because he can’t bear the thought of walking in and potentially finding you with someone else. the idea of seeing you with your new boyfriend—his hands where baekhyun’s used to be—would kill him. he’s already imagined it a hundred times, and each time, the image is enough to make him want to gouge his eyes out.

he peeks out from behind the pantry door, a bag of chips in his grip, he grinned. “oh, hey! you’re finally here.” he stuffed a few chips into his mouth, his voice muffled. “y’seemed a bit out of it, so i wanted to make sure you were okay.” with a playful poke to your cheek, causing you to grimace. “shoulda just let me drive ya home, cupcake. i’ve been here for like ten minutes already.”

"cupcake." the nickname pulls you into a warm memory from childhood. you and baekhyun, determined to bake cupcakes for a school event, laughed as flour flew everywhere, turning the kitchen into a playful disaster. your moms watched in horror as you two struggled with the instructions, but when the cupcakes came out, you both beamed with pride—baekhyun mostly for the fun. at the event, you eagerly awaited your friends' reactions to your creations, excitement bubbling inside you. but when they announced their preference for another girl’s cupcakes—sparkling with glittery frosting—your heart sank. yours and baekhyun’s looked so plain in comparison. heartbroken, you ran off, only for him to find you, comforting you with a gentle pat on the head, "you’re my favorite, cupcake." he gently wiped away your tears as you choked out a trembling, "promise?" between your sobs. “mhm! promise,” and in that moment, he wrapped his pinky with yours, and with a playful press of your thumbs, you stamped it with sincerity. fifteen years later, the nickname still clings to you like the sweetest frosting.

"'m fine, really," you lied, your voice barely steady as your eyes darted away from his. you leaned against the kitchen island, elbows digging into the cool surface, pressing your forehead into your palms. no matter how you tried to mask it, the stiffness in your frame exposed the truth, even as you tried to keep your tone light. "’m just... not feeling well, that's all."

you’re stuck in the middle, torn between what feels safe and what feels right. you keep telling yourself that making it work with your boyfriend is the better option—after all, you’re terrified of losing baekhyun as your best friend. but a part of you knows, deep down, that things between you and baekhyun aren’t the same anymore. ever since you became friends with benefits, something shifted, something fragile that you’re afraid to acknowledge. 

you can’t let yourself believe baekhyun could feel something deeper for you. it’s easier to stay in denial than face the possibility that the guy you’ve been so close to, the one who knows you inside out, might actually want more. maybe it’s because you’re scared—scared of ruining the friendship that’s been your constant, the one thing you can always rely on. so, you push down the thoughts, shove aside the feelings, and try to make things work with your boyfriend. but you know you’re unsatisfied. emotionally, physically—it’s not enough. yet, you cling to it, because you think it’s better to have a relationship that’s functional rather than risk something that might fall apart. 

but baekhyun… with him, it’s different. you never have to try. things just fall into place with him, naturally, effortlessly. it feels so right—too right—and maybe that’s what terrifies you. being with him feels easy, like slipping into something that was always meant to be, and that scares you more than anything. what if you let yourself fall for him and everything changes? what if you lose him completely, not just as a lover but as your best friend? 

you don’t know what you want. you can’t figure out if you should stay with your boyfriend just to avoid the risk of losing baekhyun, or if you should give in to the way you feel toward him. deep down, you know what you want, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it. it’s the fear that stops you—the fear of losing control, of opening up to something real, of being vulnerable with someone who’s already seen all your cracks.

but how long can you pretend? how long can you stay in a relationship that leaves you empty, just because it’s safer than taking a chance? maybe what you’re really scared of isn’t losing baekhyun. maybe it’s the idea that being with him feels too perfect, too right, and that kind of happiness is something you don’t know how to handle. but sooner or later, you’ll have to make a choice—stay in a relationship that drains you, or risk everything for something that makes you feel alive.

but you’d deal with that headache another day.

his fingers curl around your arm, firm but not forceful, spinning you to face him. the movement is swift, catching you off guard, and you stumble slightly before his gaze locks with yours. “is this about my text earlier?” his voice is playful, but there’s an edge beneath the tease. “i’m sooooo sorry for teasing about your loser boyfriend, the one ya clearly don’t have any romantic feelings for,” he says, each word dripping with mockery.

“you’re such an ass, y’know that?” you want to yell at him, to snap back with something cutting, to defend your relationship like it actually means something. you want to push him out the door and slam it behind him, pretend that this tension between you doesn’t exist.

but you can’t. because baekhyun’s right. and even now, with him standing just inches away, you feel more electricity between you than you ever have with your boyfriend. the way he looks at you, the way the air between you thickens—it’s undeniable. infuriatingly so.

the atmosphere shifts, charged with something far more dangerous. his voice softens, but the playful glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. “finefinefine. ’m sorry, f’real, cupcake. hate seeing ya upset cus of me. how ‘bout i make it up to you, hmm?” his words are smooth, each one laced with a promise. “i can help ya forget all about your little boyfriend.”

the word lingers between you, thick with implication. you shift on your feet, heart racing. “well…i—i don’t know,” you stammer, your gaze falling to the floor. you can’t look at him. if you do, he’ll see it—the flicker of hope, the unspoken longing. you’ve tried so hard to bury it, to keep it hidden, but in moments like this, it threatens to spill out.

his fingers loosen slightly on your arm, but he doesn’t let go. instead, his thumb is rubbing circles, the gentle caress making it harder for you to keep it together. “i don’t know what i want,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. you’re not even sure if you’re convincing yourself or him. all you know is that if you meet his eyes, he’ll likely see everything you’ve been trying to deny: the truth that maybe you don’t want your boyfriend at all. maybe you’ve wanted baekhyun all along.

your eyes are glued to the floor and your trying your hardest to suppress the rising heat in your chest. his fingers slide from your arm up to your chin, gently tilting your face toward him. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, a gesture that sends a rush of heat through your body, making it impossible to think straight.

“look at me,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. slowly, your gaze lifts to meet his. “i don’t believe you,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. his eyes drop briefly to your mouth before returning to yours, darker now. “i think you do know what you want.”

suddenly his body is pressing into yours, the warmth radiating from him almost overwhelming. his hand slides up, cradling your neck, fingers gentle yet possessive, his thumb brushing along your jawline. your breath hitches as he leans in, lips hovering so close to yours you can feel his breath.

“baekhyun….w-we really shouldn’t…” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a weak attempt to stop what you know is inevitable. but your body doesn’t qute get the memo with the way you’re leaning into him, craving his touch.

“tell me to stop, then,” he whispers, lips brushing yours, his voice coarse with challenge. his eyes are locked onto yours, daring you to say it. to push him away.

but you can’t. every nerve in your body is screaming for more—for him. all the frustration from your boyfriend, the disappointment in every failed touch, every unsatisfying kiss—it all crashes over you at once. and baekhyun… baekhyun is standing right here, so close, so familiar. you miss him. you miss the way his lips felt on yours, the way his hands knew exactly where to touch you, the way he could unravel you in seconds.

you can’t tell him to stop. not when you want him this badly.

your lips part in a breath, and that’s all the invitation he needs. his mouth crashes onto yours, the kiss full of urgency and raw, unrestrained need. his lips move against yours in perfect sync, fierce yet deliberate, like he’s pouring everything into this one moment. his tongue brushes against yours, coaxing a soft whimper from your throat, and his hand tightens slightly around your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and it’s like all the pent-up frustration you’ve been harboring melts away in an instant. all you can feel is baekhyun, his lips claiming yours, his body pressing you back against the wall with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

“i’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses, his lips barely leaving yours. “missed you.”

your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like never before. it’s not just the kiss—it’s everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve denied yourself. and now, here he is, reminding you of exactly what you’ve been craving.

when he finally pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours, you’re both panting, chests heaving. “see, cupcake?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “you know exactly what you want.”

before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, fiercer this time, as if the mere thought of stopping is unthinkable. the kiss deepens, every inch of him pressing closer, until he’s got you in your room and on your bed, pinned beneath him. his body moves instinctively, shifting behind you, and within seconds, you feel him slide into you from behind, achingly slow at first. but the second he bottoms out, something shifts. a low groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin. he doesn’t even wait for you to adjust, he loses all control, thrusting with raw, feral intensity. his chest is flush against your back, the heat of his body overwhelming as your face presses into the pillow, muffling the broken moans spilling from your lips as you bite into the fabric, trying to hold on for dear life.

each relentless thrust from baekhyun feels like it’s stealing the very breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping for air. his movements are unyielding, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to reclaim every second of the time you’ve spent apart, making up for the last few months he couldn’t have you like this. 

the sheets twist tightly in your fists, but no matter how hard you cling to them, it’s impossible to ground yourself—he’s pulling you deeper into the intoxicating blur of sensation. his pace is feral, his hips slamming into yours with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. 

baekhyun moans, the sound rough and guttural, fueling the fire building inside you. his hands grip your thighs, possessive and firm, as he drives into you with a force that makes your entire body quake. the heady mix of sensation has you floating, completely consumed by him, by the way he moves, as if he’s trying to burn this moment into your skin, into your memory. each thrust pushes you closer to that edge, where all you can feel, all you can think about, is him.

his voice cuts through the haze—deep, raspy. "look at my pretty little angel... i’ve missed watching you fall apart for me." his words, tainted with hunger, ignite something in you. but you can’t find it in you to respond, not with the way he’s driving you to the edge. 

his fingers sink into your hips, firm and punishing, and you know for certain that bruises will manifest if he keeps this up. each grip imprints on your skin, marking you as if he’s claiming you as his own. and you revel in it—every deliciously painful second. there’s something intoxicating about witnessing him completely lost, consumed by his need for you, making you feel more desired than ever before. 

his breath is hot against your ear as he growls, "you're all mine, aren’t ya, cupcake?"

you can barely find your voice, breathless and overwhelmed, but somehow you manage to gasp out, "y-yes... all yours." how could you ever belong to anyone else when he's driving into you with such raw intensity, each thrust relentless, pushing you deeper into the mattress?

"yours," you repeat, the truth sinking in. you always have been. you never stopped. 

baekhyun’s grip tightens at your affirmation, his pace quickening in response—he liked your answer. it’s clear in the way he devours you, body and soul. he’s using you like his personal plaything, his touch both possessive and unrelenting. but it’s the sounds spilling from his lips that keep you tethered to reality—reminding you that it’s still him. baekhyun. your baekhyun.

"baek," you whimper, voice shaky, barely audible over the sounds of your bodies moving in sync. he doesn’t respond right away, too lost in the pleasure rippling through him, but you see it—the way his eyes flicker open, wild and dark, his gaze locking onto yours. a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s not his usual playful grin. this one is predatory, dangerous.

“what’s wrong, cupcake?” he rasps, his voice dripping with amusement, though there's something almost menacing in the way he says it. "can’t—nnngghhh—handle it?"

your breath hitches, and the words you want to say cling to your tongue, refusing to come free. all you can manage is a faint nod, a fragile acknowledgment of the moment. he leans in closer, his lips grazing the delicate curve of your ear. his voice, a low whisper, dancing across your skin.

"good," he purrs, his voice now a deep, velvety growl. "cus i don’t think i can stop fucking this pretty pussy. fuck—i think she missed me." 

what feels like hours later, after countless orgasms brought forth by his mouth and the myriad of ways he’s taken you, the sight before you is nothing short of devastating. baekhyun has already came inside you twice, and now, poised on the brink of losing himself again in a mean mating press, he looks utterly wrecked. strands of damp hair cling to his forehead, dark and slick with sweat, framing a face flushed with feverish desire. a deep crimson blooms across his cheeks, spilling down the bridge of his nose like a painting. his bottom lip is pinched between his teeth, the skin pale from the pressure, while his gaze—dark, ravenous, and locked on the intimate connection of your bodies.

the way his eyes feast on you sends a shiver racing down your spine, igniting a deep ache that only he can soothe. he trembles with barely contained desire, his body quaking with the need to claim you all over again, while you teeter on the edge, overwhelmed and craving more. before you know it, he’s flipping you back onto your stomach, pulling your hips up to meet his as your face and the upper half of your body sink into the mattress, the sheets slick with your sweat and juices.

his tip glides teasingly over your entrance, and you instinctively flinch away from the sensitivity, heart racing. 

"nonono, cupcake, don’t do that," baekhyun’s voice rumbles, low and commanding, sending another jolt through you. his hands are firm as they guide your hips back against his waist, grip tightening, muscles flexing as he holds you in place. "run away from me again, and i’ll make it so ya can’t walk." 

"p-please, baekhyun," you whine.

a deep chuckle vibrates through his chest, sending a shiver rippling down your spine. goosebumps rise, and baekhyun notices—he always notices—his hands roaming, possessive, over every inch of your trembling body. "uh-uh," his voice rough with lust, "you’re gonna take every last drop.”

his hips surge forward, harder, deeper, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. there's a flicker of something wild in them, raw. 

“fuck, you’re s-so perfect. so perfect for me,” he growls, voice low and ragged, and it shoots straight through you, making your insides coil in response. “y’feel that, cupcake? how close i am?” his tone is a little desperate now, his restraint slipping as he fights to keep control. but you can see it—the need, the hunger that threatens to consume him.

another thrust, brutal, claiming, sends you spiraling, and you feel him everywhere. your breath hitches, and you know he can feel it too, how tightly you’re holding him inside, the way your body swallows him tells him just how much you want him—more than words ever could.

a hiss escapes him, sharp and guttural, his teeth gritting as he barely holds on. “you’re so tight—fuck—i’m gonna–ngh–fill you up again. you’re gonna take it all, aren’t ya? isn’t that right, my girl?” his voice is almost pleading now, the desperation to spill into you driving him mad. and when his thrusts grow erratic, each one landing deeper than the last, you know he’s close to breaking, just as you are. 

it’s intoxicating, watching him unravel before you, the way his chest rises and falls erratically, every ragged breath he takes feeding into your own desire. at the sound of his name slipping from your lips—soft, and pleading—he finally tears his gaze from the mess he's made of you.

his eyes, dark and glazed over, meet yours, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, but it’s strained, barely there. he doesn’t slow. if anything, he pushes harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless. sweat drips from his temple, tracing down his cheek, but he doesn’t even notice. his focus is singular, entirely consumed by you—by the way your body trembles, how your fingers grip onto the sheets, like a lifeline.

"say it again," he breathes, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you hear the urgency in it. "say my name."

you bite your lip, trying to hold back, but the intensity of his gaze—it undoes you. your eyes meet his, tear-filled and hazy, and you see the way his own eyes flicker, like he’s losing whatever control he had left.

and it’s the way your soft, pouty lips quiver as they whisper his name that gets him there, how your brows are knit together in an innocent plea while your eyes gaze up at him, brimming with love and vulnerability.

his jaw clenches, and he lets out a deep, guttural sound, so raw it sends shivers through you. he lowers his forehead to your back, his breath hot against your skin.

"holy–fuck—," he hisses through gritted teeth, his hand tightening on your waist, like he’s afraid to let go. his hips stutter before slamming forward, burying himself deep inside you one final time. his orgasm crashes over him like a violent wave, dragging him under. the guttural moan that escapes his lips is raw, primal, and he knows he’ll be embarrassed about it later, but in this moment, it’s beyond his control.

you feel the tremor in his body as he shudders against you, his skin flushed, slick with sweat, while his cock pulses inside you. his balls tighten and twitch, spilling hot and thick, the sensation drawing a gasping whimper from your own throat. his breath is erratic, each inhale a desperate gulp.

baekhyun lowers himself until his chest is pressed against your back, the weight of his body sinking into you, his lips brushing your ear as he pants, "you... you feel too fucking good. how do you... how do ya do this to me?" his voice is shaky, barely a whisper as his hands continue to clutch you, desperate, possessive.

you murmur something incoherent in response, your own mind foggy with aftershocks, but all you can focus on is the way he trembles against you. his forehead presses against back, and you feel him trying to steady his breath, his heart racing like he’s just run a marathon.

“goddamn,” he breathes, the words more for himself than for you, voice thick with awe. "i’m never… getting enough of this. never gonna get enough of you."

his body lingers against yours, the air still heavy with the remnants of pleasure. even as the sharp edge of your climax begins to dull, you can feel the way his hands stay locked on your skin, like he’s afraid to let go, fingers tracing invisible patterns over your waist as if committing every inch of you to memory. there's a yearning in his touch, a silent desperation that clings to the moment, stretching it out.

you pretend not to notice. you can’t let yourself notice. feeding into that fantasy, that he could want more than this—more than just the heat between your bodies—would be a mistake. he’s your best friend, and that’s all this is. two best friends tangled in each other, using one another to satisfy a need. nothing more, nothing deeper.

it couldn’t be.

the air in the room feels heavy, thick with something unspoken. at least that’s what it feels like to baekhyun, like a weight pressing down on his chest. as he’s silently pulling his clothes back on, he’s stuck in his head, running over the same thought again and again: how badly he wants to ask you to leave your boyfriend. he wants to beg you to give him a real chance. because you and him? you just fit. 

it makes so much sense in his mind—you should know it too, right? i mean, the synergy between you two is undeniable—the way you connect, how effortlessly you bounce off each other, both physically and emotionally. no one gets his humor the way you do, no one reads him so instinctively, and no one fits him quite like you. you’re each other’s perfect match, and he feels it in every fiber of his being. what could be better than being in a committed relationship with your best friend, someone who already knows you inside and out?

he hesitates, throwing his shirt on as you rummage through your closet, probably looking for something more comfortable now that you’re home. his voice breaks the silence, casual but laced with a tinge of hope. “soooo... are you gonna break up with, uh, what’s-his-name?”

you pause, turning around with a look of genuine confusion on your face. “huh? oh—hmm, no. at least, not just yet... maybe i should give it another shot? he actually texted me not too long ago if i could meet him for drinks in a bit.”

the way his expression drops is almost comical, if it weren’t for the fact that you see it—the disbelief, the frustration flickering across his face before he can mask it. baekhyun has never been skilled at concealing his emotions, despite his insistence that he can. right now, it feels like he isn’t even attempting to hide the disappointment that hangs between you like a heavy fog.

if you could hear his thoughts, it’d be something like, ‘you’re going out with him? i literally just emptied my entire fucking ballsack into you, and you’re going out with him?’

his frown deepens, brows knitting together as if he’s trying to hold back a storm. before you can fully process what’s happening, he scoffs, shaking his head as if he could simply dismiss it all. “hah. right. okay, well, thanks for the nut, i guess. i’ll be seeing you around.”

each word drips with sarcasm, but beneath it, you can sense the hurt—an ache that tugs at the edges of your heart.

and with that, he turns on his heel and storms out of your bedroom, heading straight for your front door.

“baekhyun, wait!” you call after him, scrambling to catch up, grabbing his arm just before he can leave. he stops, but he doesn’t turn around, his body rigid with frustration. “what’s going on?”

he finally looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes catches you off guard. “what’s going on?” he repeats, voice low, almost a growl. “i’m sitting here, watching you play house with some guy who doesn’t get you—not like i do—and i’m supposed to just... what? be okay with it?”

you’re taken aback by the intensity in his tone, the way his words come out in a rush, like he’s been holding them in for way too long. “baekhyun, what the hell are you talking about?”

he lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “you really don’t get it, do you? we,” his hand gesturing between the two of you, “make sense, you and me. we’ve always made sense. and yet, here you are, wasting your time with someone who doesn’t even appreciate you like i do—who you don’t even like!”

you blink, a wave of dizziness washing over you as a flood of questions races through your mind, each one slipping away before you can grasp it. the weight of his words hangs between you, thick and suffocating.

“s-since when?” you stammer, doubt trembling in your voice. the ground beneath you feels unsteady, as if it might shift and swallow you whole. 

“are you kidding me?” he scoffs, disbelief etching deeper lines into his face. “i was a fucking wreck when you called it off.” the intensity of his emotions surges, filling the quiet of your apartment with an echo that seems to reverberate off the walls. “when you told me you wanted to ‘try dating some other guy’—do you even realize how that felt? why do you think i haven’t been around much since then??? it’s because i literally cannot stand the thought of you with someone else. just the idea makes me sick to my fucking stomach. i can’t breathe knowing he’s with you when it should be me.”

oh.

ohhhh.

his confession hits you like a tidal wave, the unbearable guilt gnawing at your insides. but it’s the way his voice trembles, softening as it cracks beneath the weight of vulnerability, that makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. “but i wanted you to be happy,” he admits, each word wrapped in a bittersweet sincerity that tugs at your heart. “even if it meant not being with me… i knew what this was. i understood our arrangement. and i tried so hard, so fucking hard, to push these feelings down. deep down, i always felt it was something more. call it delusion, but it just felt so good pretending you were mine... even if you didn’t feel the same.”

every word is laced with desperation, like a raw, exposed nerve. the truth hangs heavy in the air, and you can see the storm brewing in his eyes—agitation just beneath the surface, threatening to overflow. 

you can barely meet his gaze, heart racing as the reality of his feelings sinks in, pulling you under. “how come you’ve never said anything before?”

he takes a moment to steady himself, visibly wrestling with the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. his gaze drops to the floor, fingers still tangled in his hair as he collects his thoughts. when he finally looks back up, his expression is a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

“because i thought you’d be happier without me,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t want to be the reason you felt trapped or guilty. i thought if you wanted to explore something new, then i should just... step back. but every day these last few months have felt fucking suffocating. i can’t shake the feeling that we belong together, even if it’s terrifying to say out loud.”

he takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, eyes searching yours for understanding. “i’ve been a coward, honestly. i know that. i kept telling myself i should let you go, but every time i see you smile or hear your laugh, it just reminds me of what i’m missing. i wanted to tell you so many times, but i was afraid of ruining whatever friendship we had left.” 

his voice thickens, eyes glistening with unshed emotion. “but i can’t keep pretending anymore. i want to be the one who makes you happy. i need to be that person, even if it means risking everything. even if it means putting everything on the line.” 

he stands there, eyes searching yours, you can see the desperation in his gaze, but the weight of his words feels too heavy to bear, and you take a step back, creating space between you.

“baekhyun, i just—i don’t know if i can—” you start, but he interrupts, the hurt flashing across his face.

“don’t know if you can what? feel the same way? i’m here, laying it all out for you!” his voice rises again, tinged with anguish. “you’re with someone else, and i get that! but you’re standing here like it doesn’t even matter, like you’re just going to pretend whatever we have between us doesn’t exist!”

the sharpness in his words cuts deep, and your heart aches. “it’s not that simple. you know it’s not,” you reply, your voice trembling with the weight of your own emotions. “you think i haven’t thought about what this means? about how complicated it is? i can’t just flip a switch and make everything okay!”

he runs a hand over his face, frustration boiling just below the surface. “you don’t have to make it okay! just... just acknowledge it! acknowledge us. you can’t deny that there’s something more here.” 

the heat of the moment grows unbearable, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. “i-i can’t! i can’t do this right now! i don’t even know what i want!” 

“then maybe it’s better if you stay with him,” he snaps, hurt flooding his voice. “at least then you can pretend you’re happy. you won’t have to deal with the mess we’ve created. you can have your perfect little life, while i’m over here trying to pick up the fucking pieces.” 

his words cut deep, each syllable laced with disappointment that settles heavily in your chest. “baek… c’mon, that’s not fair—” you reach out to him, but this time, for the first time ever, he pushes you away, the sudden force of it leaving you reeling.

“just please…let me go, okay?” his voice is low, but it trembles with emotion. “there’s nothing here for me anymore. you’ve made it clear that there never was.” 

you swallow hard, the weight of unshed tears threatening to spill over as you gaze into his eyes for what feels like the last time. the raw pain reflected back at you cuts deep, shattering something fragile inside you. he turns on his heel, his silhouette fading into the distance, the door clicking shut behind him like a final punctuation mark.

now, in the suffocating stillness, the tears flow freely, your chest tightening under the weight of your own heartbreak. each beat of your heart an ugly reminder of how deeply fucked this entire situation is.

this is it. 

you’ve hit rock bottom.

the days that follow blur into a haze of heartache and regret. each moment apart stretches into an eternity, every thought of baekhyun sending sharp pangs of longing twisting painfully through your chest. you try to distract yourself, immersing yourself in the whirlwind of work while surrounding yourself with friends—friends who have always sensed the unspoken tension between you and baekhyun. apparently, you two were never as subtle as you thought you were. the longing glances, the lingering touches, constantly matching each other’s energy, him effortlessly meeting you on every wavelength—everybody saw it, each tiny detail. 

‘you’d have to be deaf and blind to not pick up on the chemistry,’ one of them commented. ‘yeah, we were all calling you and baekhyun the next hellen kellers,’ another added.  ‘more like tweedle dee and tweedle dum,’ someone else chuckled. you couldn’t help but wince at the truth of it all.

you come to find out that they all secretly rooted for your “not-so-secret” connection to flourish, yet holding back from intervening, respecting the boundaries of your privacy. you feel nothing but gratitude for that unspoken understanding; after all, the very reason you both kept your fwb arrangement hidden was because of the fear of anyone else complicating the already complicated.

oh, and your boyfriend—the poor guy. he really didn’t deserve the turmoil you put him through. the conversation with him still echoes in your mind, haunting you like a ghost. you told him the truth, your voice trembling as you confessed to your betrayal. “i cheated,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “i’m so sorry. it was wrong, and i take full responsibility for everything.” you could see the disappointment wash over his face, the trust he had for you shattering before your eyes. he deserved more than what you gave him, yet you’d been stringing him along, all because you felt like you didn’t have a chance with baekhyun—the one who made your heart race in a way your boyfriend never could.

now, you’re left with nothing but the empty echoes of those moments, each heartbeat a reminder of the love you lost and the love you crave. baekhyun's laughter still dances in your memory, his touch lingers on your skin, and the connection you shared feels like an ache that refuses to fade. despite the distractions, you can’t escape the truth that looms over you: he’s the one you truly want. it was always baekhyun who held your heart, and the thought of losing him makes your heart ache all over again.

then, one evening, after an especially difficult day, you find yourself in a familiar spot—a coffee shop you and baekhyun used to frequent together. you sit there, cradling your drink, as a wave of sweet memories washes over you, each one tied to your past visits here with him.

just as you’re gathering your things to leave, the bell above the door jingles, and your heart races when you see who's walking in, a hesitant expression etched across his face.

“hey,” he says softly, eyes locking onto yours with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

“baekhyun…” his name falls from your lips in a quiet whisper, the weight of unspoken emotions heavy between you as you step closer. “can we talk?”

he nods, motioning toward a nearby table. your legs feel leaden as you walk over, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else. each beat is a reminder of how much this moment means, of how much you stand to lose. you can’t mess this up. not again. you have to make this work—you can’t lose him.

“i know things have been… difficult since everything happened,” you begin, your voice trembling as you lower yourself into the chair. his eyes are on you, but they seem distant, almost guarded. “but i can’t keep pretending i don’t care. i can’t just walk away from us.”

baekhyun looks down, his fingers brushing the edge of the table, searching for the right words. his heart feels like it’s about to burst. “i didn’t think you felt the same,” he murmurs, his voice soft and vulnerable.

“i was scared,” you admit, your voice breaking slightly. “scared of losing you for good. but i realized that it’s worse to lose you without even trying to fight for what we had.” 

you feel the tears prick at your eyes again, but this time they’re not from sadness; they’re from the overwhelming relief of seeing him here, in front of you. 

“i don’t want to lose you either,” he confesses, his voice laced with quiet desperation. his hand reaches across the table, the warmth of his touch wrapping around yours as he gently grasps it. “i can’t stand the thought of seeing you with someone else. i never did. i want to be with you, and i’m willing to do anything to make it work.”

your chest tightens as you take a deep breath, nodding slowly while a shaky exhale slips from your lips. “i want to be with you, too. for real this time.”

his eyes widen, hope flickering like sparks catching flame. “do you mean it?” he asks, his voice filled with cautious anticipation.

you nod again, a soft hum of agreement escaping you, and in that moment, his smile breaks free, one of pure, unguarded relief. without a word, his hand reaches out, and your pinkies intertwine, just as they did all those years ago. a silent promise passes between you, and with a soft press of your thumbs, the vow is sealed—an echo of the past and a delicate mark of something entirely new.

“so… can i be your boyfriend?” he asks, his nervous grin tugging at the corners of his lips, his voice dipping into a shy but hopeful tone.

“yes,” you reply, unable to suppress the giggle that bubbles up, “i would love it if you were.”

his grin widens, turning his brown eyes into soft crescent moons, as if the tension in the room has melted away. you hadn’t realized how tense he was until you see him relax into his chair. “ugh, thank goddddd. i’m so glad we agreed not to be stupid anymore,” he jokes with a smile, and your heart swells at the familiar spark in his voice. and it hits you again—just how much you’ve missed him. that toothy smile, his voice, his laugh and the way he can always bring light into even the darkest moments. just him.

your best friend.

your boyfriend.

“i missed you, y’know?” you confess, the words tumbling out with sincerity.

“i missed you, too, cupcake.” he replies, his expression softening, thumb tracing little planets on the back of your hand.

he lets out a relieved sigh before continuing, “so what does my GIRLFRIEND want to do now?” excitement bubbles in his tone. “should we take a walk on the beach? the sun is about to set, and it would be nice. or does my GIRLFRIEND want to watch a movie? maybe my GIRLFRIEND wants to grab some dessert?”

you can’t help but blush, a giggle escaping your lips at the way he emphasizes your new title, drawing curious glances from the cafe patrons. embarrassment flares in your cheeks as you swiftly rise, tugging him by the arm to guide him out of the bustling cafe.

as soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he whirls you around, his hands tenderly cradling your face. twarmth of his palms feels like home as he leans in, kissing you with such devotion and tenderness that sends you soaring straight to cloud nine. everything outside melts away, and in that electric moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped snug in each other’s arms.

he pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours, and you catch a glimpse of that playful spark in his eyes. he sends a thrill racing through you as he ghosts his lips over yours, the soft brush igniting a flutter deep in your stomach. “or how about i take my girlfriend back to my place,” his voice low and sultry, “and we consummate our new relationship?” 

you laugh, your heart racing at the implication. “i think my boyfriend read my mind,” you tease, interlocking your fingers with his as you both giggle, making your way to his car. ‘finally,’ baekhyun thinks to himself as he swings open the passenger door, a grin spreading across his face. before you hop in, he leans in for one last kiss, savoring the sweetness of the moment. and as he shuts the door, a wave of relief washes over him. ‘finally, you’re all mine.’

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 a/n: the song linked in the title (and a text post on here that i cannot find for the life of me) inspired me to write a fwb!baekhyun fic 🙂‍↕️ i was going to end it with angst but then i realized......i literally can't do that!!!! lmfao i need my disney ending or else i'm gonna combust!!!!!!! sigh but anyways, i hope u enjoyed it!!!! as always, lmk your thots unless you hate it then pls keep it to yourself omg cus i am sensitive and will cry <3 (not joking)

⤷ prequel <3

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* masterlist ° ᡣ𐭩 . 

[youmistme]

Just for today, can I say I love you? HTS

pairing: friends elder cousin!Han Taesan x Y/N Pinewood. A bit of Cigar. Vinyls. Turntables. The ring. The smile. The eyes. Him.  “Look at you, Y/N still listening to The Beatles and following me into the record store.”  warnings: a bit of swearing a bit of crying 'das itttttt words: 4k

This is for my onedoor friend who is so dear to me💕 hbd!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧

Spring. 2025

The shabby record store in the quiet neighbourhood of Gwangju is somewhere you find myself reverting to whenever the wind of life takes turns too strong. Your hands trace the doorknob as you push the door open, letting yourself in.

The first thing you  notice is the first thing you  always notice here. Pinewood. Mixed with a subtle drag of a cigar coming from Mr. Choi’s chapped lips. The walls were covered with all sorts of records, rock, hip-hop, ballads, indie: you name it, he had it. The colourful walls bring you back to the summer of last year. 

 Your eyes habitually train back to the turn table on the corner to the right. You see a shadow casting near the shelves, the back of a figure switching a vinyl. Before your curiosity escalates, Mr. Choi huffs with a huge grin, setting his cigar down. 

“Y/N! Ah, you finally came to visit eh? How’s college been treating ya?”His old frame wobbled out from the front desk and towards you. 

“Mr. Choi! I missed you…college is well, you know, college,” you thrust a bag filled with the fruits my mother packed for him. “Mom and Dad say ‘Hi’ too!” 

“Young-ins these days, enjoy your college time, yeah? Already complaining about it tsk tsk.”

I roll my eyes playfully as I settle down near the front desk. He gives me a light side hug and the pinewood cologne from his shirt deepens. You let out a sigh. 

“This was my favorite place throughout high school… I could listen to whatever music I wanted and feel the music with whoever I wanted…” Mr. Choi chuckles, already peeling the tangerines I got for him.

 “No customers today, look through whatever song ya want, kiddo. It’s on the house.” 

He pats my head before tossing a slice of the tangerine into his mouth, and walking out of the door- probably to smoke again. 

You start looking around the shop, it has been here all my childhood but I only gravitated towards it when You turned freshly fourteen. You remember following Woonhak’s cousin into the store. Your mind drifts back to the hazy yet fresh memories of the previous summer. You wander near the shelves picking up a vinyl when your eyes catch the figure from earlier, it is a man with black hair. 

The vinyl drops from my hand, and you yelp. As you go to grab it, another hand picks it up first. A hand with a thin silver ring with the shape of two cat ears. A ring you can recognize anywhere in the world. Your eyes slowly flicker up to the man's face. He blinks before chuckling.   

Pinewood. A bit of Cigar. Vinyls. Turntables. The ring. The smile. The eyes. Him. 

“Look at you, Y/N still listening to The Beatles and following me into the record store.” 

Dongmin. Han Dongmin. The boy who leaves your heart dangling at the edge of a cliff with curiosity. 

A boy who was neither my friend nor a foe. Someone who treaded on the line of ‘what if’.

A boy you always noticed, even when the world didn’t care to. 

Summer. 2024

“Can you pass the freaking controller to me already, Y/N! You’re losing…” I swiftly kicked Woonhak on the shin. This boy's nagging did not stop. A plate with half eaten pizza sits a little stale from your never-ending gaming. 

“Ahhhhh it’s my controller dude, can I just play this round and-” another kick, this time a little above. “You bi-” 

“Ya! Are you calling your Noona a bitch? Where did you learn these bad words from?” 

“You are NOT older than me Y/N I’m ‘06!” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me.”

“My ass. I’m March and you’re December. Pipe down, child.”

“I’m not a childddddddddd!” You sigh once again, why were you friends with this absolute fool again? All he has done in your ten-year-long friendship is eat sand, eat your hair, eat his homework, and now progressively eat your snacks. And, maybe sometimes be a little kind and ward off other annoying kids. 

As you frantically fiddle with the controller buttons with deep focus, finally you are victorious in your 20th attempt at Mario Kart. “Yes!” You yell in giddiness, Woonhak joining in in the celebration. 

“So… you been doing music lately, Woonagi?” You pick up the acoustic guitar from the couch while Woonhak begins playing his round. The guitar looks used up and slightly familiar, the wood having slight scratches that you trace around with your finger. 

“Hm? Oh yeah, Hyung is back in town so I asked for some music lessons. He gave me his old guitar too!” 

“Hyung who?”  You stare blankly for a second before your brain rewires and your eyes widen. You flip the guitar around and see the all-too-familiar letters on the bottom. Scratched unprofessionally onto the wood: HTS. 

“Dong-” 

“DONGMIN IS BACK?” you shriek a little too loudly for what you’d like to be considered nonchalant. Woonhak raised a brow and eyed you for a solid second. 

“Yes. He is. Since when do you care? You know actually, I always found it weird you followed Hyung to Mr. Choi’s store whenever he was back in t-”

“I just really like listening to vinyl, you know?” you defend yourself without looking him in the eye. 

“Sure, dude.” 

Without sparing your friend another word, you take your jacket off and put your shoes on. You huff contently, glad you wore a nice T-shirt that day instead of your usual rags. Woonhak does not bother looking back, he already knows you are out of breath, running to the record store. Eagerly, he takes a bite out of your neglected pizza slice with a knowing smile. 

You were nine years old when you first met Dongmin, it was purely by fate, you like to think. Among all your neighbourhood friends, this slightly taller and shy-er boy always seemed to be around yet never actually play with you and your friends. While playing tag, as everybody ran around, the boy would be found under the slide or near the seesaw, quietly looking at them yet never joining- never. He came and went with Woonhak and soon little you learned that this was his cousin. 

As the years flew by you saw less and less of Dongmin until he started visiting in the summers again. The air was warmer and the days were longer. Your naive eyes that perched into the pool of adolescence could not wait for summer to arrive. 

Every day at 5 pm, like clock-work you walked to the record store. Hair up in a pony tail, a few strands down, some stolen lipgloss from your sister smeared on your lips. A heart that beat so fast and cheeks that flushed so dearly- all for the boy in the record store. You convinced yourself that it was simply a physical admiration and nothing more. 

Once again you’re here, entering your sanctuary called the record store. You spotted a mop

of black hair peeking from above the shelves. He was holding a guitar, it seemed new- you remember Woonhak’s words. He was wearing a pair of black baggy jeans and a band T-shirt, headphones secured around his neck. You stare a little too long at his hair, an oreo mixture with white and black streaks. 

“So how many more years is it going to take for you actually to tell me you’re back for the summer?” 

He doesn’t look up but you can see his lips perk up into a smile. 

“You always seem to find me though.” He replies with a lightness to his voice. His legs are jittery and if you knew any better, you’d say he’s excited to see you too. 

Before you can say anything else, he drags another chair and places it beside his. You look at it for a moment and he stares at you expectantly. You sit down. 

He hands you an album, “Wanna listen to this? I remember you love Nirvana, don’t you?”

“Not really. I just like it because you do.” His eyes avert, his cheeks and ears get slightly pink. His hand trembles a little, fidgeting with the vinyl. “Oh…I-”

“Let’s listen to beatles instead.” you pick on his stead, he smiles and nods. “You and your beatles obsession.”

“Hey! They’re really good.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I only like ‘em ‘cuz you do.” 

Your face crunches into a light scowl, but internally, your heart thumps the fastest it ever has. “Real smart, using my words on me, Dongmin!” You playfully nudge his side. “The hair colour is a look,” you add after a moment of silence. Dongmin bites his lip, flustered. “You like it?” 

“Sure. Black suits you best, though.”  

There are many reasons you come here annually, and you cannot help but feel a little grateful that you get to see this side of him. The shy smiles, little head scratches and all the things he likes. The four walls of this store just transform you two into a different world. 

To everyone else, Dongmin might seem aloof but you could see a whole new side of him- a side only he ever showed to you. A little world with just the two of you. A world where you can notice him with all your might. 

You lean into his neck a little, sniffing. “You smell different…?” 

“Ah, it’s a new cologne…”

Your eyes narrow, sniffing even closer to his neck. You feel his body stiffening up, but he doesn’t pry you off of him either. “It smells familiar. Where have I smelled that before?”

He sighs a little dramatically. “Fine. It’s Mr. Choi’s.”

“He let you use his cologne?” 

“No… I sorta didn’t ask…”

You try not to laugh, “So what I’m hearing is you stole his?”

He bites his lips and looks away, “Ugh, didn’t you say last time you liked the smell of  Pinewood? Why’re ya complaining?”

“Why? You put this on ‘cuz I like it?” you say, fluttering your eyes at him and his face turns into a gradient of pink and red. “Well, if you hate it so much-”

“Who said I hate it? Next time just buy one on your own, silly!” 

You both burst into fits of laughter, Dongmin smiling widely as he looks at you and back at his guitar. He looks at your smiling figure and his heart tugs, his body gets warm. “Also…I think I’m gonna be a musician, Y/N… I want to be one so badly.”

You stop laughing, a gentle smile replacing your lips. Dongmin who didn’t dare let anyone crack his firm walls, was opening up to you. Slowly shedding his fear and letting you in. 

“I- I’m glad you told me this. Did you tell anyone else?”

“No”, he sighs deeply with down cast eyes. “I don’t know how dad will react to it. B-but music, Y/N- I-I i feel so alive when I do it.” His eyes widen and his hands move around, emphasizing. 

“I wanna write songs and sing and produce! I wanna do it all, you know?” He continues before you speak. “I even have a stage name all planned out, Han Taesan! My friend Donghyuk and I decided on it a-

 You gingerly place your hand over his and look into his eyes. They're round and wobbly, a sheen of moisture over them. You can see his sincerity and passion. You pull him a little closer, fingers intertwining with his. 

“I think you should go for it. And I know that you’ll do well, too, Dongmin. I just know it. Or should I say Mr. Han Taesan?” 

“Oh stop…do you really mean it though?” you nod again. 

The scent of the stolen cologne fills your senses, his breath drawing closer and closer to your face. Now he’s just an inch apart, his long nose almost touching yours. His eyes droop down, looking at your lips. Instinctively, you lick them. Taking a deep breath in, he holds both of your clasped hands up. 

It was him who pushed himself onto your frame further, sealing your lips with a haste kiss. The sensation burning you down, from your lips to your toes. You both look at eachother with hushed smiles, your lips touching again- this time more tender and soft. Like, he was trying to savour the moment of your sensation. The rising temperature of your body as his cold hands slipped behind your neck, pushing you close.

The rush of blood propells you two, stumbling down the chairs and ontot the floor. A thin beem of sunlight peeking through the blinds, recohetting over Dongmin's face. He had not looked anymore handsome than he had then, sharp eyes with a softness of a tear strand tirckling down, lips trembling ever so slightly. His gaze stuck on you, fingers gripping your T-shirt, he doesn’t want to let go. 

This haven that he found between your arms and within your words, its a blanket as soft as a cloud. 

“I-” you start. 

“Sor-” he continues. 

“That was my first kiss!” you both yell together, faces like two cherries with embarrassment. 

“Glad to know I was your first…” you smirk a little as a response and pat his shoulder. 

“Thank you for confiding in me, you know? I’m so glad that you trust me.”

He smiles, lips curving to the right a little more- another quirk you have habitually noticed. 

The phone in his jean pocket rings thunderously, breaking the serene moment. His smile drops. “It’s dad.” He goes to cut the call. 

“It’s okay, just pick it up and tell him where you are. It’s okay, Dongmin…”

He contemplates before swiping to the green button. You can hear all sorts of yelling from the other side of the line. Dongmin doesnt say a word, no, he looks down at his shoes and then to his guitar and then at you. You stay puzzled with his ambiguous expression, trying to touch his hand and mouthing “It’s okay” 

He still stares and he stares. The call keeps going without him muttering much. 

He slowly retreats his hand away, standing up. He doesn’t look at you anymore. The blanket of clouds that shrouded him now suffocates his very respiration. 

“I’ll be back” he half-whispers half-shouts from over his shoulder. You nod eagerly. 

You pity with time by watching the hands of the clock tick by, one by one. The sun’s rays have stopped intruding through the blinds, last glimmer of light getting tucked away as the sun sets away for the day. Yet, you keep waiting and waiting. Clinging on to the ambiguous phrase that is, “I’ll be back.” 

By 8pm, Mr.Choi comes back, gasping at the sight of you sloutched over, not moving. It takes another hour for your mother to pick you up, a concerned plead over her face to know why her daughter’s eyes were bloodshot red, an apathetic mask. 

You want to whine. You want to wait. But, for whom should you stay waiting for? The boy who already left the town? Summer’s endless breeze washed over your sweat ridden body, you carelessly wiped it away hoping it would wipe the memories of this day with it. 

Spring 2025

You walking haparzardly in your dorm room, nearly tripping over your own undone laundry. 

“I’m telling you, this is NOT a drill! I’m gonna jump out this window.” You want to rip your own scalp out. 

Harin stares unfazed, “It’s only three stories, you’ll hardly break a few bones.” You glare but solemnly nod in agreement. “So, what’s this guy’s deal again?”

“I SAW HIM!” you roar out. 

“Okay. Like we haven’t established that in the past two hours, girl. Whom did you see? An ex?”

That strikes another nerve, “NO! He’s not an ex. Infact he never dated me! HE.JUST.KISSED.AND.DASHED. UGH!” Your hands move, emphasizing. 

“Sounds like an asshole, should I ki-”

“No.Harin. We talked about this. No killing boys.” your friend sulks down on her bed. 

“What’s his name and where did you see him?”

“As I said, Han Dongmin and the record stoe near my childhood home.”

“There is no Han Dongmin that I know of. I doubt he goes to our college!” 

“Hm…”

“Infact, just forget about him.”

“Not after I threw a vinyl on his face and rushed out the store this morning!”

Harin whinses in return, “Poor guy.” You side eye her. “Not so poor guy!” 

You can only pray to the almighty that you don’t see him around again. You spent a good year not seeing him, you like to say to yourself. Feelings of distress and grief replace themselves as time goes on. Hurt turns to remorse and anger turns into melancholy. With the changing seasons and entering college, you decided to put your big-girl pants on and move on. 

Near the campus court yard, you and your friends chat on about recent drama as one does. You try to pay attention but the events of this morning weaver your thoughts away. 

“Are you even listening, Y/N?” one of your friends nudge your knee. 

“I am!”

“What did she say then?” You stare blankly before giving a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry… just have a lot going on in my mind right now.”

“Yeah, Harin told me about your kiss n’ dash boo.” You laugh at the nickname. 

“As i was saying, some new kids from Gwanju National University are transferring here. Mostly theatre, music and art kids.”

“Yeah! Ohemgee, did you see the ones in the band? I think they’re Junior years. So hot.”

Band? Since when did your school start caring about bands. 

“Y/N weren’t you super into bands in highschool?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Grew out of it. Not my thing anymore.” 

“Well it looks like it’s going to be again.” she wiggles her brows suggestively. 

You scowl confused. 

“Don’t look back but one of the guys from the band is standing there with his guitar and all and he’s been staring you down for the past 10 minutes. He just won’t stop looking!” 

“What?” You are ready to turn back but your other friend stops you. “Shush no!” 

“Isn’t that the Taesan guy?”

“Yeah I think so too, he’s the one the freshmen girls have been oogling over!” 

“WHAT!?” you stand up abruptly, your drink spilling down. You can feel other groups of people pause to stare at you. Your friends look at you with sheer confusion too. 

“Girl sit the fuck down, what’s up with you today.” Harin drags your arm down with her. 

“Did you just say… Taesan?” 

“Yeah… Han Taesan from GNU? Many music majors transferred here, including him. I’m surprised you don’t know this guy since he’s all everyone's talking about- him being so handsome and all.” 

You can’t believe your ears. 

With a shiver down your spine and a simple prayer to God that you hope it isn’t who you think it is, you turn down- craning your neck uncomfortably. There he is. 

Han Taesan. As everyone calls him here. Girls flocked near him, not daring to go too close but still close enough to ogle at him. He was only a few days here and already had a “fan club” established, much unbeknownst to him. 

He still wears those baggy clothes and that headphone swung around his neck. 

His hair is black again. You frown. He takes a step back when he notices you looking back at him. Sighing for the nth time that day, you drop your bags- not caring about your spilled drink or your surrounding peers. You don’t want to see him- just the mere thought of him brings you back to that day. The warmth, the kiss, the songs and how he just didn’t come back. 

You spent all these months mending the wound only for his presence to rip the bandaid open! You turn back, rushing down the stairs at the same speed you used to run to the

record store. 

“Y/N- W-where’ya going?”

“Just- I don’t wanna be here.”

“Is it because of Taesan?” 

You cringe. “That’s not even his name!”

Behind you, you feel foot steps approaching in a quick pace, slight huffing, and then a thud of something heavy falling. You eye the body of the guitar from your peripheral that was on the ground now. 

“Will you please stop ignoring me, Y/N?” a voice pleads from behind you. A voice you know all too well. Your eyes scattered, seeing a crowd form around you. You can hear the freshmen whisper, and the seniors look worried. A snap from a phone shakes you back as you face him angrily. Someone took a picture. 

“Listen, seeing you today morning was enough. Can you leave me alone? I don’t like this, okay? Not after what you did.” this part hits him deep. 

“Y/N- no-please- I- just hear me out once. Let me confide in you one last time.”

“...”

“Then I’ll go. I won’t bother you!” You feel foreign moisture swell up in your eyes, looking at Dongmin’s state. The same Dongmin who didn’t ever bother correcting people about him or what others thought about him. The same man now stood like a boy with desperate round eyes pleaded before you. 

“She played him… didn’t she?” a whisper emerges from the crowd around you two. 

“Yeah she always thought she’s better than everyone else anyway!” another anonymous voice spoke. You couldn’t tell who it was, the cluster of people hiding them away. The voices continued to rise, many voicing their opinions on a matter that did not even concern them. 

You could almost feel the teardrop fall down, you wanted to hold it in. 

“Fuck- Dongmin? See what you’ve done? Now I’m the next rumour…!” you yell at him. He looks even more dejected. 

“Dongmin? Who’s Dongmin…? 

“Y/N’s probably got a nickname for the new guy or something..”

“Was she always such a slut, though?” 

“Enough! You guys are crazy. I will not stand for someone treating Y/N like that.” His eyes grew darker. “Who do you even think you are?” he stares down at a particular girl in the crowd that you don’t know. 

Without wasting another second, he grabs your hand, pitifully dragging you away. Gasps emerge, yet you only look down, right where both hands meet. His fingers interlock with yours. 

He comes to an abrupt stop, cornering you in the area under a flight of stairs. 

“I was scared. Please. I was so scared. I had never been so vulnerable a-and when I kissed you back then, Y/N I swear I felt so crazy. My hands were going to burst- you made me feel so special. Then my dad called and he found out I wanted to pursue music- it was a mess… I couldn’t handle you breaking my heart too I just left and I’m so so sorry I left you I-”

You crash your lips onto his, whincing when it lands on his teeth instead, but you don't budge- you still press on. He deepens the kiss and closes his eyes. A teardrop falls and melts onto your cheek. You get deja vu. After a few seconds, he gently angles out of it, chest heaving. You look at him puzzled. “Just one sec” 

He reaches into his pocket to take out a cassette tape, it looked like it was straight out of the 90’s, a thin wired headphone attached to it. “Pfft. Where did you even get that thing?” 

You take the cassette in your hands, the date March 31st, 2024 scribbled on it with a sharpie. 

“I was gonna give it to you that day.”

He places the vintage-looking headphones over your head. You listen curiously as the tape starts playing. The lyrics have you smiling from ear to ear. 

 How pathetic

Yeah, I've got it bad

It's not like tomorrow I'll wake up as a brand new person

And to use my memories

To write another song

I just hate it more than dying

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧

a/n: UNEDITED BECAUSE I LIVE LIFE ON THE EDGE

okay im not a onedoor so this might be ass I'm sorry LMAO hope the taesan lovers like it

#oneurmaniloveyouaisheiterusaranghae