#give me headaches. this is like. not ideal

[baeshijima]

— be still, my beating heart

the world has a rather cruel way of playing its jokes. it paid you no heed amid your desperation, watching passively as your wings were clipped before you could even take flight. and yet, when you began to accept such a fate, you were given new ones to soar and see the world you once dreamed of. the world may be cruel, but it gave you a new meaning and opportunity all the same.

(despite your newfound content, you almost wish you weren't given so many headaches to deal with.)

INCLUDES : king!mydei ; knight commander!phainon ; scholar!anaxa + knight!reader

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 13.5k wc (sobbing pls give this a chance... it's just a number... haha...), royalty!au, fluff (kinda), angst (if you squint), brief mentions of blood, some lore and character exploration fitted into the au (kinda), underlying darker themes (bc royalty aus are scary at times,,,) but still very much sfw !! i think... slight spoilers for their past/backstories (mainly anaxa's if you haven't played 3.2/read his first character story + some details of phainon's alose mentioned in 3.2) with some deviations

A/N : guess who is pushing their knight!reader agenda again !! for the third time :D once again royalty aus my beloved u will always be famous to me o(TヘTo) (also can u tell who is my favourite haha...)

various!hsr ver.

Becoming a full-fledged knight was never your intention, much less the personal knight of the king himself. If life had gone the way you’d planned all those years ago, you are sure you would have laughed in the face of whoever told you this would be your fate.

After all, you? A knight? For the then-crown-prince-now-king?

You?

Ha! As if you would let yourself become something like… like that. A tool, a pawn, a weapon easily disposed of when the cracks start to become too noticeable and the once sharpened edge too blunt to be of any use.

Honour? Integrity? Justice?

What use is there for such lofty ideals in a world where deceit and poison-laced saccharines and empty promises for something greater, something far beyond the scope of your isolated bubble was the only familiarity you had.

You’ve witnessed it countless times — the noble rise and the disgraceful fall of your kin. Having watched your siblings and cousins be subjected to the almost manic control of your family elders, you swore you would do everything in your power to escape their clutches; even if you had to reject everything you knew and start with nothing once more.

And yet, when your desperate attempts to retain your autonomy began to slip through, when your efforts to diverge and leave your own traces in this world were all but thwarted without a moment’s hesitation, the doubt began to settle like morning mist.

Maybe you were never meant for something greater. Maybe you were destined to be overshadowed by your family’s bygone history, dispirited and made to be forgotten by the elders who loathed disharmony in their control. Maybe this path was always fated to be yours to follow, to trudge in the weathered footsteps moulded in the shape of your ancestry. Generation after generation, stuck in an endless cycle of ash and sweat and metal and the suffocating stench of iron. Never to be free.

In the end, you were just a puppet to be controlled, your prodigious talent for the sword an attribute for them to weaponise.

But then he came in like a raging storm, your once gloomy and hopeless world bursting into a vibrancy you never once thought possible. In a seemingly impossible feat your shackles were shattered, a fate which had never been yours to claim suddenly handed back to you by that outstretched calloused hand and kind gaze unfitting for such a battle-haggard boy. Even so, despite such outward expression being a noticeably stark contradiction to the boy’s sharp features, his smile did not waver, nor did his patience for your eventual acceptance of his hand.

Perhaps you are a hypocrite — perhaps you are a spineless fool who cannot break away from the destiny instilled by those elders. But if this decision allowed you to devote your all to something wholeheartedly, to step into a world where those so-called lofty ideals may not be so out of reach, then you would gladly be one; even if it meant walking down a path carved by the very same wretched footsteps you loathed, the imprint of your own the last to be seen from that bygone legacy.

Side step. Downward strike. Duck. Envision your opponent standing overhead, their sword raised with both hands and ready to strike down. Pivot. Parry with an undercut. When they’re off balance, lunge and strike them at their opening—

“What have I said about overworking yourself?”

At the sudden voice, you startle. Luckily, your sword did not drop, and you breathe a faint sigh of relief before turning to the source of the voice. You shouldn’t have been surprised considering you already knew who would have such a profound voice and presence, but seeing your king leaning against the wall of the training grounds still manages to catch you off guard.

With your independent training now interrupted, the adrenaline guiding you through the motions vanishes. Flexing your stiff fingers, you roll your neck while making your way to the sidelines while trying to ignore the weight behind his accusatory gaze. When reaching the benches, you come to a stop, pick up your water bottle, and give a fleeting glance towards the intruder.

“Your Majesty?” you ask, voice lighthearted in a way that tries to ignore the underlying meaning behind his presence. “What are you doing here?”

He huffs. “That’s what I should be asking you.” Mydei regards you with scrutiny, arms crossed and lips pursed as you guzzle your water. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Well, I asked you first!” Is what you would counter with if he wasn’t your king. Alas, he is. And so the very apparent status difference between you prompts a much tamer response to spill after having wiped off the excess water clinging to your lips.

“Training, Your Majesty.”

…Perhaps you should have gone with your initial response. Had you done that, maybe the ominous clinks of jewellery would not be steadily growing in volume, nor would the brooding aura of an upset king (your king, you must remind yourself, for you alone put yourself in this predicament) be slowly encroaching on your back amidst a suffocating silence. Eventually he comes to a stop behind you, his presence heavy and lying in wait like a predator watching its prey.

You gulp. Is it too late to run? Most definitely. Will you at least try? You’re not an idiot. (You learned from your first attempt that it was useless to try. It was also very embarrassing. Never again.)

With almost robotic-like stutters, your head turns towards your right — towards the shadow currently looming behind you. When your eyes meet, your mind draws a blank. What were you doing? Where are you? Who are you? Why must you suffer like this instead of some other knight?

But then he parts his lips, narrowed gaze and deep-set frown still etched into his features, and suddenly you’re reminded how tough love is your king’s speciality.

“Are you aware how late it is?” he asks, tone firm.

“Um, I wasn’t exactly keeping track.” Had his glare not darkened, you would have thought that answer to be sufficient enough. Clearly it was not, and you scramble to conjure a more sufficient answer. “If I were to guess, however… quite late?”

“Very. Past dinner, no less.”

Oh. You knew time flew while you were training (the gradual darkening of the sky said enough), but to think you missed dinner? Maybe you’ll be able to snag some leftovers if you’re lucky enough. If not, then you will simply pretend hunger is nonexistent and your problem is solved.

Even so, if your king is known for his horrendously stubborn and competitive whims, then two can play that game!

“That’s too bad,” you sigh. “And here I was hoping I could spar with you, Your Majesty.”

At that, he brings a clawed hand to his head before releasing an exasperated breath. “Don’t be foolish, [Name]. It is late. You should get some food, too.”

“What?” you drawl, a grin slowly appearing on your lips. Raising a gloved hand, you try your best to hide your smile from Mydei’s suspicious expression. “Don’t tell me you’re… scared to lose, are you?”

You don’t even get the chance to blink before he is standing before you, eyes closed and a strained, twitching smile stretching his lips.

"A spar, you say? Sure. Let’s spar."

Well, that was easy. Hurting a man’s ego sometimes really is the way to go.

Making your way to the centre of the training ground with your sword in hand, you begin to think maybe this wasn’t the best method. Sure, you got what you wanted and managed to train a little longer, but having a murderous king standing opposite you and cracking his clawed gauntlets isn’t the most pleasant of visuals.

Well, whatever! You asked for this, so you must see it through; even if you won’t hear the end of it from him afterwards.

Taking a slow breath, you adjust your feet’s positioning and shift to find your centre of balance. Raising your sword at eye-level, you exchange a single nod. With a precise step, you close the distance, and—

Clang!

Within a second, your training sword flies out of your grasp and out of sight. A dull thud is heard, but all you are focused on is the glint shining off the clawed, gold-plated gauntlet as it withdraws from the position your sword once occupied.

Silence.

“...Your Majesty,” you start, voice hesitant as you try to process what just transpired. “Is it just me, or do you seem more agitated than usual?”

Mydei is relatively expressionless as he stands upright and cracks his neck, as though it were just a regular Tuesday.

“Hmph. There is no such word in the Kremoan dictionary. It’s because you skipped dinner to train. Again,” he stresses with absolute certainty you’re almost inclined to believe his words. Almost.

Despite how long you have been Mydei’s personal guard, you are yet to see a single dictionary in Kremnos. With how often he uses that phrase, you would think there would be at least ten of them in the royal library, not the figment of his imagination and temperament of an agitated cat to be his source.

But you don’t tell your king that. Instead, you opt to stare at your sword lying pitifully in a cloud of dust on the opposite end of the training grounds. “I see.” 

“Do you now?” he asks, an undertone of scepticism woven within his tone. “Because the last I recall you saying that, you continued to skip dinner for your personal training. It is fine to train, but over-doing it and neglecting your health will only harm you.”

“Yes, yes,” you sigh, peeling off your gloves as you bypass him, heading straight towards the outer ring where your water bottle was previously left. “My king’s natural instinct to take care of his subordinates has triumphed once more. I concede.”

“If you know, then start listening to me.” His head shakes at your theatrics, joining you at the sidelines with your once flying sword now securely in his hand. You retrieve it with gratitude before stowing it away securely and taking another sip from your bottle. He lingers behind you, quietly helping pack away the equipment. You’re not sure what exactly is going through his mind, but you are enlightened soon enough.

“Come drink with me.”

You pause, the hand towel pressing against your neck also pausing in its ministrations as you process your king’s words. “You mean your pomegranate juice with goat’s milk?”

He gives you a strange look — all scrunched brows, narrowed eyes, and a downward curled lip. You’re almost inclined to poke the midpoint of his brows and tell him to loosen up lest he wants to get wrinkles early, but, alas, you fancy not being on the receiving end of his unamused stare for a change.

“What else?”

“You’re right. I apologise for assuming there would be something different for once, O fearsome king of— ow, ow, ow!”

Your words are promptly cut off by the biting cold metal entrapping your left cheek. Despite knowing escape is futile, you still try to free your cheek from your king’s bullying. It, as expected, fails, and so you’re left to do what you do best — complain. “What was that for?!”

“For being so cheeky,” he retorts. For extra measure he gives your cheek another squeeze before letting go. You jump away at the presented opportunity and cradle your poor, abused skin, pointedly ignoring his deadpan gaze and huff at your antics. “Don’t worry. There will be an assortment of cheese and other accompaniments as always.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you in your chambers, Your Majesty.”

As you are about to trudge towards your quarters, his figure steps in front of you and blocks the way. When meeting his gaze, you find him already looking at you in a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.

“Why?” he asks, and you’re left wondering how this man is the king of a nation.

“So I can have a shower and change into non-sweaty clothes…?”

“Just use my private bathroom.”

“But what about my clo—”

“I still have some of your spares from prior visits. All clean,” he quickly adds, possibly seeing your attempts for a rebuttal.

That fiend. Of course he would look so proud of himself knowing you have no arguments, nor the will to argue, left in you. At this point, all you want is a nice shower and some food, all of which he has offered and knows you won’t refuse.

With yet another defeat fresh in mind you release a long sigh, accepting your fate once more as you begrudgingly fall into step with your king who looks far too pleased with himself, if his satisfied smirk is anything to go by.

Seriously, with how often he calls you into his office and personal chambers for a drink or some food, one might think you’re his personal attendant; you may as well be at this rate!

Well, at least he seems to be in a good mood. In the end, that is all that matters to you.

---

A curse. A sin. A stain upon the royal family’s name. That is what Mydeimos, the once celebrated crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, became known as after the prophecy was foretold. Without a question for the prophecy’s legitimacy, his infantile body was cast aside and thrown into the endless abyss by the man known as his father, King Eurypon, while his mother, Queen Gorgo, died by the king’s treachery after challenging him to a duel shortly after his descent.

…Or so he was told by his teacher, Krateros, who followed after him with the Kremnoan detachment after he resurfaced from the endless depths of that river at the tender age of nine. As it stood, Mydei’s childhood evaded him. He knew he hadn’t led a typical life. He'd grown up fighting endless monsters in an attempt to evade death, learned to read, write, and speak both the common tongue and his mother tongue after nine-years-old, and was forced to adapt his newly undying body to the overworld while traversing the lands. The phantom pain of injuries sustained never faded despite its physical evidence stitched anew without a lasting mark. His senses took a while to completely adjust, the new sounds and sensations leaving lasting remnants for days at a time.

And then would come the nights; the nights where he would dream of the mother whose face escaped him. They came frequently — every night, even. Truth be told, the young prince learned most of his fighting through those dreams. Where his mother awaited him by the flickering firelight, a training session would soon follow. They would spar, him left huffing while she remained unperturbed, and the same conversation would flow without diversion. She would praise him; he would ask why they learn to fight; she would give her response; he would question the philosophy; she would eventually relent and agree with his view, explaining her reasons. And, as in every dream, his mother left with the same parting words,

“I no longer put my faith in any oath or doctrine. Now, I have just one role… That of your mother, Mydeimos. Your guardian…”

And then it would end. And every time, the crown prince would wake up, go about his day with the detachment, and futilely hope for a sequel to his dream. But as was the cycle of life and death, that dream repeated endlessly and without cease. There was no closure, no elaboration of wisdom or guidance she departed him with.

While he never fully understood her words, he continued to traverse the lands with his detachment. Life and death came frequently. Sometimes it would be expected, other times it would grab him by the collar and steal his breath. Regardless of the many partings Mydei witnessed, the pain always lingered. That much never changed even as he became older; he just learned to hide the pain better, to not show any weakness.

His travels eventually led him to the territory of an influential family — one renowned for producing highly capable knights, as well as the budding rumours of the elders’ tyrannical control over their domain. Wealth clearly was not an issue, but rather the skewed distribution between the rich and the poor. The detachment was commissioned to put a stop to their oppressive reign and, after having witnessed the effects first-hand, it did not take long for them to purge the land of its dictators.

And then he stumbled upon you, alone amongst the carnage and debris with a listless gaze directed to your former home and a broken sword discarded beside your kneeled form. Maybe it was the spur of the moment — of your untapped potential or even the budding guilt of wrecking everything you once knew — but he was crouched in front of you with an outstretched hand as the words, “Come. Join me to see the birth of a new king,” escaped him before he could dwell on his next destination.

In truth, Mydei was unsure why he felt compelled to see through the territory’s reconstruction and stability. It was none of his business, and his people were not the patient type when it came to aimless pursuits. And yet, upon witnessing your eyes regain some of its light at his proposal, he found himself uncaring of their protests. He would bring order to the land himself if it came down to it.

Luckily, his men agreed and the restoration was a smooth process over several weeks. Poverty was gradually overturned, a democratic system would be established after their leave, and the people finally experienced peace. They were even celebrated in honour of their feats for freeing the citizens from the suffocating ruling, departing the next morning with you as their newest addition under Mydei’s behest.

(You had nothing left, you’d claimed to him the night of the celebration after sharing a drink, having lost your purpose after being caged for so long. He merely gave you a reason to soar once more.)

From travelling with his group, fighting side by side and experiencing losses together, to usurping the throne under King Eurypon’s ruling, you eventually found your place beside him after his ascension to the throne as his handpicked personal knight. The years flew by — some longer, others shorter. But throughout it all, it hadn’t taken long for Mydei to grow fond of you.

Perhaps it was your lost, broken shell he saw fragments of himself in back then among the carnage and debris which caused the first crack in his heart. 

Perhaps it was your innate talent for the sword he witnessed first-hand after sparring you for the first time in the open planes to test your abilities for himself.

Perhaps it was how you gazed at him with purpose and renewed devotion, watching from afar as you dedicated yourself to honing your abilities in an effort to be useful to him. 

(You would never be a burden, Mydei found himself thinking once. The very notion itself left an uncomfortable stir in his heart.)

Perhaps it was your expression when you first tried his cooking, him growing bashful in the face of your starry eyes after forcing you to take a break during your self-imposed training.

(Mydei was grateful it was nighttime. God forbid he let you see him so flustered just from you enjoying his cooking.)

Perhaps it was when you stood by his side for the first time not as the comrade he travelled and faced numerous hardships with, but as his personal guard who would forever stand by his side.

(Oddly enough, Mydei anticipated your knighting ceremony more than he did his own coronation. For having been raised with the ideology that overthrowing his father and becoming king was everything, the newly crowned king found himself overwhelmed with something inexplicable when you swore that oath before everyone in attendance, touching your knelt-form’s shoulders with the tip of the ceremonial sword, and handing you the kingdom’s royal insignia to proudly boast on your person.)

Perhaps it was when he spotted you chatting with Phainon back when he was a rookie and not yet the knight commander, who would follow you around like a puppy trailing behind its owner and pester you for the smallest of things; joining you to the water fountain, asking to watch you train, helping you with whatever menial task you decided to pick up for the day, somehow convincing you to be his personal instructor — just whatever routine of yours he could slot himself into.

(It struck Mydei as odd whenever the scene of you both together would cause his heart to clench. It was a pain unlike what he was used to experiencing, more akin to the air knocked out of his lungs and pin pricks settling deep within the beating organ. The mere thought of Phainon having your attention alone was enough to agitate the king, but maybe it was your easy acceptance of the starry-eyed rookie’s presence in your life which hurt a little more.)

Perhaps it was that time you threw yourself in front of him to stop an assassination attempt in his room in the dead of night when all but you both and the assassin were asleep, quickly disposing of him before Mydei rushed to catch your wounded form from hitting the bloodied floor before turning to him asking if he’s alright as though he was the one injured. He’d given a withering stare in response, offering no response as he picked you up and placed you on his bed to patch your fresh wounds.

(He’d given you a stern lecturing, reprimanding you for being so reckless and getting injured as a result. You’d quietened down then and offered an apology but, rather than his unintended harsh words, he’s almost certain it was his trembling hands as he tried to bandage your torso, the subtle shake in his voice he desperately tried to mask as disapproval, and the distraught manner he held you in which made you back down.)

Perhaps it was when he’d caught the way that blasphemous scholar started to seek you out on his own, having always been known to keep to himself unless absolutely necessary, even refusing palace summons were you not the one to personally guide him upon his arrival.

(In the beginning Mydei chalked it up to nothing but a passing curiosity during the scholar’s first visit to the palace, his gaze lingering when you walked away. But when Anaxa started to only ask, or demand rather, for you to be his escort otherwise he wouldn’t come to the palace — despite his personality, his discoveries are still one the best — a strange discomfort welled up within him. Sometimes Mydei thought himself to be petty when intercepting you both during the garden strolls, but when reminded of how that scholar would glance at him over his shoulder with a smirk before resuming his bickering with you, he believed some petty acts can be justified.)

Perhaps it was the days he spent by your bedside, gripping your hand as he barked out for all those well-accomplished physicians to do something to rid you of the lethal poison flooding your system while he could only sit and wait and pray for you to survive this, that you wouldn’t leave him alone. Not when you promised to remain by his side eternally.

(Despite running himself haggard, clinging to the fraying hope you would survive the longer the days dragged on, his wellbeing was nothing in comparison to the choked call of his name, voice hoarse from lack of use and eyes misty as they adjusted to the light. Despite all the words and nags and repressed emotions he all but wanted to tell you — because why would you take such lethal poison meant for him when you knew of his high tolerance? How something like that would have affected him far less than it did you? — Mydei deflated with relief when your cold hand touched his cheek in assurance, clutching desperately to the warmth beginning to seep through your palms as proof of life.)

Perhaps… it was nothing in particular; perhaps it was just you. Unapologetically. Wholeheartedly.

But really, if Mydei were to truly pick a moment where this inevitable downfall of his started, then it would no doubt be the day you were both about to reach the main outskirts with his resistance in tow the night before the Kremnos Festival, his goal to overthrow that man within grasp. The day you pledged to be his entirely.

Mydei had no expectations. He merely followed the path he chose and the fate awaiting him at the end of his journey. He was the crown prince. He was soon to be the king who would govern the land and do everything in his power to bring peace and prosperity to his people. Even if it took unimaginable sacrifice, countless losses, and surrendering his own freedom; everything he desperately wished to avoid in this inevitable power struggle.

He had long since accepted what the rebellion would entail.

And yet there in the heavy downpour did you kneel, one fist clenched atop your soaked heart and the other wrapped around the hilt of your sword wedged in the soil. Mydei could not hear anything happening around him; nothing but your clear voice as you made a vow that changed his life from there on out.

“Allow me to be yours, Your Highness. Your sword, your shield, your confidant, your friend… Whatever it is you need, allow me to assume that role. You don’t need to selflessly sacrifice yourself any longer. I pledge to be yours to use however you see fit, so please allow me to remain by your side eternally and fight for you until death itself forces me away.”

(…How could someone look so sure of themself? How could you say those without an inkling of doubt seeping through? How could you put so much trust in him when he himself had many doubts about his own capabilities?)

It was then, through your clear words and blindingly resolute eyes, did Mydei allow himself to dream once more — to hold onto the hope that, at the very least, you would remain beside him. Selfishly, just this once, he wished to have something to call his own without spilling his entire being for the sake of fate.

And so when he knelt down to match your height and accepted your pledge, the then Crown Prince, soon to be King Mydeimos made a vow to himself; to protect you from those who wished harm on you or tried to get you out of the way in an effort to target him, no matter the route it took to do so. Because regardless of the many potential threats that were to come once he purged the castle, the one thing Mydei refused to give up was you.

“Have you found something deserving of your protection as well, Mydeimos?” He faintly recalled his mother’s voice, the familiar words settled deep within his memory. Despite how long he had travelled with the Kremnoan detachment, Mydei could never give an absolute answer to that question. The answer was always there — just out of reach.

But as Mydei stared at you, your warm smile having melted the frigid rain from his subconscious, he could finally answer his mother’s question with full certainty.

Yes, Mother. I have. When I return home tomorrow, you can rest easy.

(Even now, as he watches in amusement when your lips pucker from the sweetness born from his preferred version of pomegranate juice, he vows to keep you safe from the dangers posed from those beyond this room.)

A languid yawn escapes you. Resting in the shade of a large oak tree secluded from the palace, you allow yourself to relax. Dashes of honeyed marigold slip through the gaps of the leaves and paint your leisurely form in dappled warmth.

Barely anyone knows of this spot other than yourself and Mydei (given the fact he is, y’know, the king and all), so you don’t have to worry about being disturbed in your rare, blissful moment of peace and quiet.

Sighing contentedly, you slowly melt further into the lush grass. Now, if only it could be like this every day—

“Fancy seeing you out here!”

…Of course someone would ruin your rare, blissful moment of peace and quiet just when you thought about it. A knight never rests as they say, and whatever higher being out there is looking over you seems rather keen on keeping it that way. 

Maybe if you just keep your eyes closed they will take the hint and—

“Uhm, [Name]? I know you’re awake.”

…Darn it.

A resigned sigh escapes you. With great reluctance, you peek your eyes open. Through blurred vision you see a figure hovering over you, clad mostly in white, black and gold. Blinking a few more times and gently rubbing your eyes, the hazy outline becomes clearer, the smudged outlines merging into defined lines.

“...Hello, Commander.”

A bright smile lights up Phainon’s expression after your attention focuses on him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in glee. Really, what need is there for the sun when you have someone who is the very epitome of it right above you?

“There’s no need to be so formal. You can call me by my name, you know…”

“I’m merely treating you with the respect you deserve, Commander.”

The young leader visibly deflates upon your insistence, the upright tufts of hair drooping in tandem. His lower lip further juts out in a pout as he mutters, “Sometimes I wish I were still a rookie. At least you called me by my name back then.”

When catching his sulking mumbles, you merely give him a deadpan stare before releasing a low sigh. Hoisting yourself up, you scoot backwards until you can rest comfortably against the base of the tree. Probably having sensed your nonverbal invitation, he wastes no time joining you under the shade, his prior down-trodden mood instantly wiped off and replaced with an unmatched radiance.

Now, you would never outright admit to having favourites among the knights; that would just bring on more troubles and questions than you would like, and you already have your hands full with some of the people you know. Yet — again, never would you admit this to anyone outright — you could never deny the inherent soft spot you have for the young man. Aside from you being the one to introduce him to this haven away from the main palace years ago, it was probably his stubborn charm and constant presence which inevitably made you grow fond of him. He also has rather amusing reactions to certain things, so much so he can be like an open book at times.

A soft rustle. A gentle jab. You’re snapped out of your reverie when strands of white and gleaming cyan appear from your peripherals.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, eyes slightly widened and head tilted in curiosity.

“It’s nothing,” you begin. “Just got caught up a little in my… thoughts…” Phainon blinks and tilts his head once more when your voice trails off. Yet you pay it no mind.

This time, you are solely focused on his looks; more specifically, how unusually dishevelled in contrast to his typically neat and tidy appearance.

While his hair being messy is nothing out of the ordinary, you spy more out-of-place strands than usual, all sticking out in sporadic directions. Despite the light colours taking up the majority of his uniform, it usually remains clean even during training sessions. Yet right now, prominent marks of dirt stain the once snow white of his apparel, his collar and cuffed sleeves slightly askew from their usual position. Despite this contrasting appearance, what holds your attention the most is the dark discolouration located on his wrist.

Perhaps noticing your intense gaze focused elsewhere, his eyes follow your stare.

“Oh. When did that happen?” he says, relatively unconcerned for the bruise blighting his skin.

You frown. “Commander, how did you not notice ”

“I suppose I might have gotten a little distracted, haha…” he trails off, sheepish. There is an awkward laugh as he lightly scratches his cheek, his eyes settling everywhere but on you. 

Seriously, how is this guy the leading knight commander?

(…Well, actually, someone who can spar with your king for several days and nights in a row is more than qualified to be a knight commander.)

Without warning, you surge forward. Perhaps caught off-guard, Phainon stiffens, frozen in place as you gently hold his injured wrist and bring it closer, turning it over and lightly brushing your thumb over the amalgamation of deep purples and reds and blues.

“...They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

Perhaps sensing your apprehension, he encloses his hand atop of yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “I am the knight commander, remember? Compared to before, things are different now. Besides,” he adds with a light smile, “it’s been a long time since then.”

His gaze holds yours in gentle assurance, leaning forward slightly. When remnants of his body heat brush against you, a sudden wave of awareness at your lack of distance has you hastily lean back.

“Really, you need to be more aware,” you reprimand, awkwardly coughing as your eyes resume scanning over him intently in search for other possible marrings on his person. “It’s not good to make others worry so much, you know.”

Okay, so maybe you might sound a little hypocritical — but it’s different when it concerns someone else! At least when you do it, it occurs away from lingering eyes, unlike him who practically prances around in his messy appearance.

When you hear no response, you pause. Typically, this would be when he had some playful quip or sly remark about how you’re not any better than he is to retort back with, often accompanied with that charming, boyish grin and teasing gaze of his. Usually, he would give a playful nudge to your shoulder as he recounts the times he found you dishevelled and roughed up with dramatic flair, often in pursuit of getting a reaction out of you before tending to your superficial wounds with a tender touch.

You find none of his usual antics this time. Instead, when you lift your eyes to meet his, there is an uncanny solemnity in his expression, his once spirited and mischievous gaze now shadowed with uncertainty. And when he opens his mouth after a beat longer than you would have liked, a flicker of doubt flashes briefly across his features before it settles into his shadowed contours, disappearing as though it were never there.

“Does seeing me like this make you worried?”

You blink, confused at his sudden switch in attitude. “Huh? Of course it does. Why wouldn’t I be worried about you?”

A beat of silence.

“I see…”

Something creeps into you then. Slow. Subtle. Discreet.

You’re not sure what it is about him. There has always been a subtle quiet nagging feeling in the back of your mind, whispering there is more to him than he lets on.

Is it that friendly demeanour he automatically has on display regardless of who or what he encounters? Or is it how his expression dims when he turns away, eyes dull and expression grave once he no longer has to put up such charades? Is he even aware how frequently his smile does not reach his eyes at times? How he looks as though something unfathomably burdensome weighs heavy on his shoulders as he plays the part of the hero people make him out to be?

…Does he even realise how worried it makes you when that sullen countenance of his has been increasing in frequency in recent times?

With a resigned sigh, you quickly discard such thoughts. Instead, you pat the space beside you before shuffling back down onto the grass in a comfortable position. 

“Rest here,” you clarify, prompted by his furrowed expression spurred by confusion. “No one else other than His Majesty knows of this spot, so you can rest comfortably without worrying about onlookers.”

And when his downcast expression shifts into something far brighter as he readily scoots himself closer beside your seated form, you think it’s fine if he never tells you his story. If he can live the rest of his days free with his past behind him, then there is nothing more you would ask of him.

---

Phainon still dreams vividly of that day.

When he closed his eyes, the screams and the wails and the cries of sheer terror rang loud in his ears.

When he closed his eyes, he saw his father fighting to his last breath with a broken sword in hand.

When he closed his eyes, an all-too familiar heat licked his skin and ebbed away in a brief moment of reprieve in this hellish nightmare before returning with renewed fervour.

When he closed his eyes, his mother was in front of him once more screaming for him to run away all the while being ripped apart by those monsters.

When he closed his eyes, a pungent mix of ash and sulfur and iron burned him from within.

When he closed his eyes, his childhood friends were swallowed by the black tide and turned into the very monsters which destroyed his home.

When he closed his eyes, their voices asked, “Why, Phainon? Aren’t we the best of friends?”, their anguish and betrayal evident as he steeled his heart and drove his sword through them to grant eternal peace.

When he closed his eyes, her outstretched arm and final smile dissolved into smoke, billowing away with the ashy wind and distant cries. 

When he closed his eyes, that harrowing embodiment of the reaper itself stood before him, a grim reminder for what had been done and what he strove to vanquish.

And then he wakes up. When he returns to slumber, the cycle repeats itself.

Phainon can still remember it. All too well.

Even as he journeyed across the lands to find a sense of belonging — to find a reason other than vengeance to pick up the remnants of his former self and piece them back together to feel whole once more — not for a single moment was he free from death’s shadow. It clung to him incessantly, its vice-like grip unforgiving in its grave reminder of his true purpose, of how the happiness he felt throughout his travels were fleeting remnants of his past hopes, of how the simmering anger and inevitable retribution for his people would come to overpower the temporary relief he’d been desperate to seek refuge in.

Regardless of how much he tried to dispel that nauseating voice, Phainon knew it would only be a matter of time until his psyche would give out.

In the end, his hatred would consume him. Entirely. Irreversibly. Unapologetically. 

It continued like that for a while: wander from place to place; temporarily stay in a tavern or a makeshift camp; help the locals in whichever manner he could; build superficial bonds with those he encountered; move to the next destination; repeat.

It was a tiring routine, one which led to constant doubts about his own character and the purpose he had in the world when all was dark and silent, but it was a routine nonetheless.

And so he trudged on, roaming the land with but one clear goal in mind: to become stronger to kill that cloaked reaper.

Amid his wandering, he heard through word of mouth the rise of Castrum Kremnos’ new king. Former King Eurypon was slain in the winner’s duel of the Kremnos Festival, the challenger and recently coronated monarch having turned out to be the crown prince thought to be dead years ago. The tales Phainon heard kept piling up: some discussed the prosperity and improvements accomplished after he took the throne, while others spread exaggerated rumours of his feats on the battlefield.

But if there was one thing which stuck to the young wanderer, it was how strong this king supposedly was; the exact quality he strove to improve.

And that was how he found himself in a spar with said king until there was a victor. After much persistance and persuasion to be let in by the guards stationed at the gate, the king himself appeared at the site of the commotion closely followed by you, who Phainon assumed to be the personal knight he’d heard through various gossip.

King Mydeimos was curt in his speech, something Phainon thought went against royal etiquette. (Maybe Kremnos didn’t bother with trivialities such as etiquette?) But it mattered not, for his one and only purpose was to be part of the royal knights in order to get stronger.

“Stronger?” the king scoffed. There was an almost imperceptible mocking bite to his words, but it was soon forgotten when he tilted his head back with a cocky expression. “Then let us see if you are worthy. If you can best me in a duel, I will accept you as one of my knights.”

Contrary to Phainon’s thoughts, the duel lasted ten days and ten nights. They were both utterly stubborn, a feat he thought no one rivalled him in until that duel. Even so, the young man never realised how exhilarating it was to clash with someone of equal match, to be able to go all out without worry. Strength truly was unlike any other quality, both in the merits it brought and the weight it forced upon the wielder.

The duel came to a draw after the tenth night. It was you who stepped in, adamant in your decision even after Mydei’s bitter mutters. You’d approached them both with water and towels in hand. He never noticed how parched he was, nor the sheer amount of sweat and grime which clung to him until your deadpanned once-over.

(He had never rushed to bathe so quickly before in his life. He had also never expected a king of all people to look bashful at their subordinate’s scrutinising stare. The more you know, he supposed.)

The following morning marked his official instatement as a knight. Mydei, though with a rather begrudging acknowledgment, commended his prowess with a brief comment about his expectations before you stepped forward as his tour guide. The tour of the palace grounds was… efficient, to say the least. You showed him all there was to show, not forgetting to include some side quips about areas to stay away from and shortcuts within its grand structure. And just like that, his first day ended with a hearty meal.

The following days gave way to a few discoveries.

One, were all Kremnoans hard to get along with, or was it just those he encountered? Every time he tried to strike up a conversation with a fellow knight (or warrior, as they liked to call themselves), Phainon found himself on the receiving end of either a blank stare, a gruff response of some kind, or the cold shoulder, all of which left him awkwardly laughing on his own. But it was fine! Most of them were responsive in their own way, and there were some who even initiated the conversation before he did!

Two, they took their training very seriously — more so than he anticipated even after hearing about their battle-oriented traditions. In what he expected to be relatively light sparring sessions turned out to be full on tournaments, each opponent going all out in their matches. Considering who their king was, it really should not have been so surprising. (Then again, he himself wasn’t all that different when considering his competitive streak…)

And three, you were different compared to your first impression. While, yes, you came off as rather cold and stand-offish in the beginning, Phainon’s gaze somehow managed to trail toward you. He noticed you were always standing in the distance in some manner; always observing, always alert and at the ready. From what he managed to catch, you cared more than you let on to your peers whether they knew it or not, as shown through the subtle acts you did for them.

But he’d seen it in your eyes — in the way you sometimes spaced out with an all-too familiar shadowed expression as though the weight of the world was a burden too heavy to carry on your own. And, perhaps, you had noticed it in him as well when you allowed him into your space in quiet, reassuring company.

Maybe it was then when Phainon realised he wasn’t alone in this desolate world. That maybe, just maybe, you could both carry this weight together. (Two is better than one, as they say, so perhaps sharing such deep-rooted burdens could help you both as well.)

And for a while, he believed it.

He believed it when you allowed him to follow after you back during his rookie days. Unlike the king’s impressive brute strength, Phainon found himself drawn to the finesse of your swordsmanship. There was an undeniable artistry in the way you fought, your movements fluid and light as though you were dancing in the air itself. He never knew the way of the sword could be so beautiful, so utterly captivating; not until he fought you. Even when he lost there was no voice of self-loathing echoing within his mind, just pure admiration for you and your skills.

(It was then Phainon knew he wanted nothing more than to learn from you. Under your guidance, he was certain his eventual vengeance would turn successful. You were apprehensive at first. Perhaps you never thought to take on a student before him, hence your hesitance. But it was fine. He was nothing if not stubborn, and could be very persuasive when he wanted to be, which became evident when you eventually relented two weeks after his relentless pursuit with a weary sigh. He’d somehow found himself enjoying your company along the way, eventually making it a habit to tag along wherever you went. You never seemed to mind either.)

He believed it when he stumbled upon your anguished form all by your lonesome. It was in the dead of night. He was unable to sleep and decided a late night stroll and some fresh air would do him some good, only to have come across the scene where numerous training dummies laid in tatters while you were hunched pitifully in the centre.

(Phainon detested his inability to move, utterly frozen and helpless at your tormented cries of self-loathing. He wanted nothing more than to run to you, to kneel down to your crouched form and tend to your wounds, to provide you a comfort he himself wasn’t even sure he was capable of giving. And yet he could do none of what he desired. Instead he only gazed from the shadows in agony as you abruptly stilled, slowly stood back up, grabbed your previously discarded sword, and resumed what you were doing. He couldn’t remember how long he remained there watching you. By the time he regained his senses, dawn had risen.)

He believed it when you stood in front of him against your comrades without hesitation. Phainon knew it would take some time for him to be accepted by the pre-established knight order. They were all familiar with one another before the current king had taken his throne, having gone through unimaginable sacrifice and loss to get to where they stood. As such, he did not mind when they were particularly harsh during the spars against him. But when you appeared and defended him from their assaults, getting angry at the people you were more familiar with on his behalf, Phainon felt as though a new world had been opened up before his very eyes.

(They just wanted to make sure he was strong and capable enough to protect their land and king. He knew that. As such, he had no qualms with their harsh methods of training, even when his hands trembled and his knees buckled under their relentless attacks. If this would prove himself to them — prove his worth that he, too, had a right to stand and fight with them — then he would endure, and endure, and endure. Phainon never liked to rely on the help of others; if he could help it, he would be the one to help all those in need. And yet, in that moment when all said and done where only the two of you remained in the abandoned training grounds, your form crouched and gaze filled with unimaginable concern for him, Phainon found himself not minding being on the receiving end of your outstretched hand if it meant you would fuss over him like that.)

He believed it when you found him during a particularly rough night and let him find comfort in you. He’d been walking aimlessly in the gardens after one of his recurring nightmares in the hopes of cooling off. Phainon wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting from his decision, but you finding him and offering your shoulder to lean on definitely were not on the list.

(Admittedly, it was a moment of weakness he never intended to show anyone — especially not to you. You were the last person he wanted to be seen as weak to. He wanted to show you the fruits of his labour under your teaching, to show you he was capable of handling whatever was thrown at him. And yet, when you looked at him with that warm, knowing gaze, his head was on your shoulder before he knew it. Maybe… maybe he could allow himself to want something for once. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish, even if it was just during those brief fleeting moments where only the two of you seemed to exist.)

He believed it when he chanced upon you resting in the garden, your back against the lush grass and head angled towards the sun. He remembered tilting his head at the thought. You always reprimanded him for doing so (“Do you want to go blind?” you would huff and shield his eyes with your hand, unknowing that was the reason he continued such a trivial action), so what spurred you to go against your nags? To find the answer to such a riddle, he took it upon himself to sneak up on you, a cheeky line or two ready on the tip of his tongue to tease you about being a hypocrite.

At least, until he saw what — or rather, who it was you were gazing up at.

Mydei.

Phainon froze, feeling nothing more than a complete outsider.

That was the first time Phainon had seen you so… relaxed? At ease? Happy?

He paused. The word sunk into his conscience, descending into the abyss of his raging thoughts. You never showed such an expression with him. Sure, you allowed yourself to relax in his presence more so than when in others — a feat Phainon held very dear to his heart. You laughed and joked around with him, shed your carefully structured armour the rest of the world was only allowed to see, let him be privy to your vulnerabilities…

And yet — and yet, and yet, and yet — he had never once seen such an expression from you before; you, who seemed so unequivocally content sunbathing with the feared king, who also had an adoring expression the young knight had never seen before. 

Phainon would not necessarily call himself a jealous man, nor one who covets what others have. It was ungentlemanly, an ugly vice unbecoming of the chivalrous knight he wanted to be — of who he strived to become. Someone worthy, someone reliable, someone capable of protecting others.

Yet there he was, hidden in the shadows watching from afar with clenched fists, a spiralling mind, and a rotten heart. Amongst the few intelligible thoughts in his chaotic mind, a dark cloud hung above him. Suffocating. Maddening. Unbearable.

Everything he vowed to never become suddenly seemed to be the only voices he could hear. Those revolting voices he once shoved down without a moment’s hesitation lingered a second longer, the words akin to poison-laced honey having sunk into the depths of his psyche before he could snap himself out of the trance and walk away.

If he were to climb to a higher position, to become someone of a more influential status… would he become someone you could rely on like that?

(Even now, as he finds himself fixated on your peacefully dozing form under the oak tree with his hand shielding your eyes from the burning sun, Phainon can only hope that hideous green monster never sees the light of day; at least, not around you.)

Today is not your day.

First, you overslept. Usually that wouldn’t be so bad — after all, who doesn’t need a lie-in every now and then? However, you missed the usual breakfast time, today consisting of your favourites. How did you know that, exactly? Well, your king had ever so kindly enlightened you on such crucial information after instructing you to run twenty laps after showing up to the scheduled training session late. You were rarely late, typically even being an early riser when there was morning training scheduled. But of course on one of the few days you were late, he was there overseeing the session.

(And, of course, since everyone was in attendance he couldn’t let you off without a disciplinary punishment of some kind. Go figure.)

And as if that was not enough, your oh-so beloved king decided to rain on your parade once you finished the laps by reminding you of a certain scholar’s visit, and how you are to once again escort him to the audience room.

Now, you are no stranger to this eccentric man. With how long you’ve been stationed in the palace, it would be more surprising if you weren’t at least acquainted with him. Even more so when considering how familiar you have become with him across the years with his… anticipated visits. At least he always had some rather interesting stories to share each time; some about his students and how “challenged his school of thought” (which he would boast with a proud expression and a rather hearty laugh of sorts), others rambling about how the other scholars in the Grove would get on his nerves with “meaningless drivel” and “unoriginal opinions unbefitting of their scholarly title”, as he would so eloquently put it, as well as even some stories detailing his latest experiments and the progress of ones he had previously shared with you. (And how they blew up in his face. Quite literally.)

Yes, since you’re so familiar with him, surely you wouldn’t have such a hard time finding him, right?

Wrong, apparently. You have been searching for the past hour with no luck — yet another thing added to your amazing day.

“Seriously, where could he be? It’s not as if he has anywhere else to go,” you mutter to yourself, bottom lip caught between your teeth as your narrowed gaze sweeps across the palace gardens for the fifth time.

“Ahem.”

Jolting at the abrupt sound brushing against your ear, you whip around with a hand on the hilt of your sword. Upon seeing that familiar nonchalant face, however, your previously tensed and battle-ready form relaxed. A sigh escaped you as you turned to properly face him.

“Oh. There you are, Lord Anaxa. To—”

“Anaxagoras.”

“—what pleasure do we owe this visit of yours, Lord Anaxa?” you continue, smiling at the visibly unimpressed man.

“Pray tell, are you being sarcastic with me right now?” he asks, arms crossed and expression as monotonous as his voice. “I find it hard to believe you happened to conveniently forget the reasons for my visits.”

“I am in no position status-wise to be as such with you, my lord.”

“I see. So you were.”

“Respectfully, my lord, I was not.”

“Your words implied if status were not an issue, you would be sarcastic. Therefore, you were.”

As though sure in his deduction (which was very much accurate, but you choose to not confirm what he already knows), he crosses his arms with a raised chin, narrowed eye, and a haughty huff; you have all but half a mind to strike him with your sword’s handle. But you refrain with all the self-control you can possibly muster. You would never hear the end of it with how much he tails you during his sporadic visits, after all. He complains enough about Lady Aglaea, the most renowned seamstress across the lands as well as one of Mnestia’s most cherished priestesses, and adding what he nitpicks about you? Yeah. No. You don’t need your ears to be bleeding any time soon.

Sure. He’s always been a little… vain? Prideful? Egocentric? Really, Anaxa is a lot of things, his penchant for getting under people’s skin and uncaring demeanour in regards to that being the key dominating factor. Rumours about him spread like wildfire. Some surrounded his rather questionable methods, but most surrounded his blasphemy. After he arrived in Castrum Kremnos for his first official audience with Mydei, you didn’t find anything of what they said in the stoic young man. Even so, you maintained a cordial distance, unwilling to entangle yourself with someone who had the potential to ruin your king’s reputation.

Well, up until you chanced upon him practicing one of his proposals requesting more funding and magic-imbued equipment for the Grove of Epiphany to a stationed dromas, that is. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on him and some of his rather… outlandish propositions meant for his discussion with Mydei, which you would have heard later in the meeting room regardless, but the way he practically waxed poetic in his long-winded speech, paused, then muttered something along the lines of, “No, no. That fool won’t appreciate nor understand such flowery prose. I’ll need to simplify it for him to understand,” all the while feeding and stroking the dromas with an unexpected gentleness struck a chord in you.

After all, someone who treats the dromas kindly in the way he did couldn’t be a bad person, right?

As it turned out, he was just a well-accomplished scholar who could get pretty cynical at times; namely when it came to the matter of the gods. (You’ve heard rumours of one too many complaints officially written by the various temples in Amphoreus. Despite their differing beliefs, they all seem to agree on their mutual resentment for Anaxa, a feat you find oddly impressive considering the sheer number of temples there are in the empire.)

“What has your mind so occupied?” he asks, brow raised and face closer than you last recall it being.

You blink. Once, twice. Without missing a beat, you respond, “I was thinking about how grateful I am to be your escort, my lord.”

“How quick-witted of you,” he says, deadpan. Anaxa straightens up and appears by your side, and you take that as your cue to begin the walk to the audience room.

Contrary to your initial expectations, the walk is relatively silent; peaceful, even. While you find some of his stories to be entertaining (particularly the manner in which he tells them), you feel you deserve some peace and quiet after the morning you had. Ah, the breeze is so lovely—

“So, have you considered my proposal?”

Nevermind. You spoke too soon. The breeze is horrible.

You inwardly sigh, already knowing where this conversation is going from the sheer number of times you have gone through it. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lord.”

Once again, Anaxa regards you with an unimpressed stare. “Are you playing dumb again?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to jog your memory.” With a fist raised to his lips as he gives a — rather dramatic, if you might add — clearance of his throat, the scholar turns to you, a smug grin stretching his lips. “My proposal for you to be my most cherished assistant, of course.”

“Oh,” you begin with a sigh, “while I’m grateful you think so highly of me, my lord, I’m afraid I’ll have to kindly refuse your proposal. Anything outside of the sword is beyond my capabilities, I fear.”

“Hmph. That’s what you always say. So you do remember after all,” Anaxa accuses, a petulant frown tugging down the corners of his lips.

“Perhaps my answer is just unchanging, my lord. My—”

“—loyalty lies with my beloved king. Yes, yes, I have heard it all, so spare me the theatrics.”

You frown. “Don’t—”

“—speak so dismissively about His Majesty or tarnish his name, lest you want to add treasonous snake to your plethora of nicknames, as well. Yes, I have heard that, too. And here I was thinking you would come up with something new after all this time,” he tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Your eye twitches. It takes every fibre in your being to maintain the strained smile tugging your lips, desperately reminding yourself to maintain composure. “My lord, has anyone told you how insufferable you are?”

Unfortunately, this man has a rather remarkable ability wherein your usual composed demeanour seems like a figment of your imagination.

“Plenty, dear knight. Are you only just now realising that?”

“Regrettably, I am well-aware of your…” you pause, grimacing as you try to find the fitting words, “much-to-be-desired reputation.”

“I’m happy to know you’re so interested in me, enough to be a cause for concern over my wellbeing,” he says. Oh, how you long to wipe that smirk off his face. “Now escort me through the palace gardens. You wouldn’t let a frail scholar such as I wander alone only to become lost in such a vast space or, worse yet, collapse in the middle of it all with no nearby help, would you?”

(‘Frail scholar’ your ass. You’ve seen that man shoot one of those plague-stricken monsters creeping up from behind him with such pin-point precision it would put shame on the battalion — he’s half blind!)

“...You talk too much, my lord.”

“And you, dearest knight, dilly-dally too much. Chop chop, the garden isn’t going to be toured itself.”

Lord almighty above, if my king does not strike down this fiend then so help me.

“You just wished harm upon me, did you not?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lord Anaxa.”

“That’s Anaxagoras to you. And your expression says it all. See? When you wish for something to besmirch me, your lips tighten. Your fists also tremble as if you wish to punch me — to which I will give you the benefit of the doubt since I still want you to join me. And also…”

…If Castrum Kremnos doesn’t want to see another incident, it better pray this man does not push your buttons any further today.

---

Anaxagoras was no fool.

He knew what it meant when his parents never returned home, their faces having long since faded from memory while his sister was the only one to remain beside him.

He knew what it was like to live in poverty, barely having the means to scrape by and eat what could be afforded from his sister’s measly income as an animal tamer.

He knew what it was like to lead an isolated life, having watched from the shadows of the trees as his peers frolicked the grassy fields while he sat alone picking at the fallen leaves or found companionship in the dromas.

He knew what it felt like to be wronged, that one priest always seemingly furious with his childlike curiosity and doubts about the oh-so revered gods as he was thrown out of the temple time and time again.

Even when he barely reached the early stages of his childhood development where his cognitive skills became more prominent, he still perceived things well-beyond his years. Perhaps a little too much.

Anaxagoras was no fool, and yet, sometimes, he wished he were.

His sister never blamed him for the trouble he knew tended to follow him. The money she could have used for herself was instead split into basic needs and funds to buy the items he looked at for a second longer during market strolls. Books, screws, heavy pliers, delicate scales… These were some of the few items she bought him with the money she could have used on herself; the money she should have used to treat herself more often. Yet she would merely smile and stroke his head, the words, “Your happiness matters most to me, Anaxagoras. The money can always be earned again,” always uttered without fail.

Perhaps that was when his endless curiosity for life itself manifested, her support his sole pillar.

(Despite all the trinkets she bought which he held dearly, his most cherished item would be the dromas stuffed toy hand-sewn by her, it accompanying him to bed every night without fail.)

And when he had ever so boldly declared he would become the most knowledgeable person in the whole empire— no, the whole world, she took him seriously. Despite believing her encouragement at face value, he truly realised it during one of their market strolls when passing merchants talked about the Grove of Epiphany, a sanctuary devoted to the pursuit of wisdom, caught his sister’s interest. 

(He’d memorised that name in secret — the Grove of Epiphany. If, somewhere in the future, both he and his sister could attend together… would their lives be a little easier?)

Then one day she’d sat him down and presented a stash of funds she had kept hidden; his travel funds to attend the Grove. When he’d asked if she would join him, she refused, instead insisting she would continue making ends meet and remain in their remote city-state as a home he could return to.

Anaxagoras believed her.

Of course he did. He believed she would always be there waiting for him, on the receiving end of his letters sent during his time in the academy, there to greet him when he returned during the breaks, appearing at his graduation where he could amass the funds to support her after everything she had done and sacrificed for him all those years.

Anaxagoras believed her.

And so despite the heavy heart of their parting — of being separated from each other for the first time — he clambered onto the carriage of her merchant friend and waved until he could no longer see her. Thoughts of what new things he would learn and experience filled his mind as the carriage trekked onward, the prospect of growing his boundless curiosity instilling hope for a better future in the young boy for the first time.

At least, until word of the black tide having struck his home reached him halfway through the journey.

Anaxagoras never knew true fear until he was rushing back. The bile which would not go down no matter how hard he swallowed; the thunderous beats of his heart having drowned out everything around him; the suffocating grip which clawed at his throat.

When he drew nearer to the place he called home, a sense of foreboding rushed through him all at once as he sprinted harder. It came in the form of a creeping darkness, spreading its tendrils far and wide with nowhere to run nor hide. The panic, the tangy metallic scent, the mayhem, the loss of breath, the smoke, the screams and cries and wails and—

And then the silence. When all was laid to rest, young Anaxagoras found himself fearing the silence more than he did the chaos.

He stumbled at the sight of the corroded ruins, his breath knocked out of his lungs when the dread became too unbearable and rendered him imobile. There was no one to answer his desperate cries. There was no one to console him as he weeped amid the debris. There was no one to wipe away his tears as he silently stared at the area his house once occupied. There was no one to reverse time back to when his sister sent him off to the academy and instead take her with him to avoid the tragedy. There was no one to soothe the rage simmering beneath the despair. There was no one — no god — who answered his desperate pleads for help.

He was alone amid the carnage, the destruction his to bear in its entirety.

When the realisation there would be no help struck, that the gods everyone had revered so deeply would never extend their hand to the likes of him, Anaxa knew he had to take matters into his own hands. It was he who controlled his own fate, not the voice of some unseen being. He had to gain power, and what better way was there than to see through to his enrollment in the Grove of Epiphany? It was every aspiring scholar’s dream to attend and receive education there and yet, for the boy who had lost everything with not even the gods on his side, his only motivation was his beloved sister’s wish for him to attend in hopes for a better life.

The enrollment was nothing special. Perhaps it was his family’s connections, or maybe they just saw the talent within him at a glance, but he got in without hassle. The school lived up to its reputation, knowledge found in every nook and cranny if searched for. His teacher, Empedocles, was understanding and kind, his wisdom far beyond anything Anaxa could have imagined before attending the school.

And yet it wasn’t enough. There had to be something more; something he could dedicate his entire being to.

Then, as though the puzzle pieces fell into place, he came to learn of Thalesus, the First Scholar’s, theory of souls, and how life, as well as the composition, movement, and transformation of matter, all stem from souls themselves. Alchemy, he came to realise, and how it could be the answer he had been searching for all along. After all, since all living things had the same origin, why would he be unable to sacrifice himself to resurrect his sister? 

It was the rope he clung to without hesitation, throwing himself into alchemy without pause. His teacher voiced his concerns, but Anaxa took little heed. This was his path — this is what his purpose was for.

Then one day, he succeeded. His left eye was no more, but he managed to see his sister once more… Even if it was for a brief moment. A moment in which she did not say anything, but just the sight of her one last time was enough for him. That momentary exchange soothed his ailed heart in a way he nearly forgot about, and he was able to give a proper send-off with closure.

Despite the resurrection not happening the way he’d planned, Anaxa discovered a new path after his desire had been laid to rest. To continue the study of souls and prove the scholars of the Grove truly knew nothing about the First Scholar’s depth of study.

His achievements soon racked up. He soared academically, brought new ideologies and questioned the tried-and-true. The matter of the gods, however, was what sullied his name.

The Foolish. Demised Scholar. The Great Performer. “A dromas wrapped in finery.” (He never knew why people thought the latter title to be an insult. If anything, Anaxa took that one as a compliment.) He gained many aliases throughout his academic pursuit, but what did that matter? All it meant was people were acutely aware of him, and that was the greatest gift he could have when his whole purpose was to educate them on the real truth of the world.

And when he was soon to establish his own school, the Nousporists, Anaxa was sent as a representative of the Grove of Epiphany to Castrum Kremnos to establish communications. It was there he met you; the personal knight of the newly crowned king.

He hadn’t thought much of you at first. You were merely doing your job to guide him through the palace grounds, ensuring he wasn’t led astray. You hadn’t talked much either. Not that he minded; in fact, he was rather grateful you weren’t the overly chatty type to talk his ear off (there were enough of those back in the Grove as it was). The escort was quick with no detours. Simple and efficient.

He appreciated it, truly. And yet, when you walked away with a quick bow and respectful, “I wish you a pleasant audience, Lord Anaxagoras,” his gaze followed you even after you’d rounded off and disappeared behind a corner. It was an inexplicable feeling, that long-forgotten emptiness back when he lost everything having abruptly resurfaced with your departure.

But he shook it off and walked into the audience room where the recently ascended king awaited. It was merely a scholar’s curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less.

It didn’t take long to note your habits during the two week-long stay at the palace.

Through observation, Anaxa came to realise your tendency to linger in the gardens when you had no immediate duties. With how stoic and business-like you were, it never occurred to him how gentle your expression could become when cradling the flowers. Sometimes when he would take a stroll by himself, he would catch you dozing peacefully under a large tree, your armour shed for lighter and more comfortable clothing.

(Heh. For someone so rigid, you sure had a knack for finding ways to slack off. It was rather amusing when he frequented you more often, sometimes choosing to reveal himself while other times he remained hidden and observed from afar.)

He also observed your rather bad habit of overworking yourself late into the night. He never meant to snoop, but when the crisp sound of a sword slicing through air and haggard pants could be heard in the stagnant evenings, it was natural to let curiosity guide its course. Had it not been for curiosity, he would have never stumbled upon your moments of weakness, where frustration took you by the throat and reduced you to a crumpled heap in the training grounds and he could only watch from behind a pillar.

(Hmph. Really, you were already skilled enough as it was — more so than any knight he had ever seen. Seeing you tell yourself to be better, that you would never be able to protect anyone at this rate… a strange pang pierced in his chest at the thought of you doubting yourself.)

He also noticed how he was the only one you would call by name. Your lower status with the king forbade you from saying anything other than “Your Majesty” or “His Majesty” and, despite how familiar the overly friendly rookie knight seemed to be with you, you rarely addressed him by name. In fact, Anaxa heard his name uttered by your lips more times than that knight’s! Phainon, if he recalled correctly.

(Truthfully, Anaxagoras shouldn’t have been as elated as he was upon the discovery, but the self-assured smirk could not help but to slip out at times when either of the two happened to pass by and catch you saying his name.

…Even when you eventually turned to using a shortened version after he’d annoyed you on a particularly bad day. He would take the small wins, however, as you did use his original name for some time.)

And, eventually, he discovered your stalwart nature. Again, he hadn’t meant to snoop, but it wasn’t as though he expected to stumble across the gaggle of knights discussing his less-than savoury rumours. You were amongst the roster, polishing your sword amid the rowdiness when they turned the spotlight to you asking for your thoughts. Having upset you just two days prior, Anaxa was almost certain you would partake in such trivialities against him — you had been giving him the cold shoulder, after all. Only… you hadn’t. You ended up doing the very opposite. “Please refrain from such ridicule. He is a guest of His Majesty, and it is our duty to remain sharp against unforeseen dangers — not participate in blatant slander.” There was a slight pause, and Anaxa was almost grateful he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him once more upon hearing your next words. “Besides, those rumours seem far too exaggerated. Lord Anaxagoras isn’t as bad as the gossip makes him out to be. A stubborn and prideful man he may be, but he has much passion for his cause; something I find admirable compared to those who only know how to run their mouths with nothing to show for it.” 

(He would have stifled a rambunctious laugh at your brazen words, if not for the obnoxious heartbeat that rang loud in his ears nor the rapid flush which rushed through his body. A hand was placed above the erratic palpitations in a futile attempt at calming the restless orgain while the other dragged pitifully slow down his face, only stopping to try — and fail — to cover the trembling grin which split his lips and let loose a few shaky chuckles. Really, he’d thought amid the last breathy laughter, fully slumped and slid down against the base of the looming pillar. You’re making me almost want to be a little more greedy, my dear knight.)

His departure after those two weeks was nothing special. King Mydeimos came to personally see him off, sharing a brief word or two regarding future relations between Castrum Kremnos and the Grove of Epiphany, while the main figures who worked in the palace were by his side. Despite saying his farewells and climbing into the carriage, Anaxa found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you even after the carriage began its trek back. It was reminiscent of when he first met you, and he could not help the quiet laugh which slipped out at the realisation.

It wasn’t until a fair few years later did Anaxa come to realise what that curiosity of his truly was — of what it had evolved into.

It happened during one of those utterly stifling banquets he loathed, all because he had to show face in at least one of them each year. As it so happened, he hadn’t publicly appeared in any for the year. So what did that old coot of a teacher do? Why, he gave Anaxa that familiar smile before kicking him out into a carriage conveniently on its way to the end of year banquet hosted at Castrum Kremnos, of course.

Really, if he had it his way, Anaxa would have spent this precious time cooped up in his office surrounded by all his alchemical experiments — not loitering in the back of the ballroom with a flimsy champagne flute and grimacing at all the gossipmongers surrounding him.

 Utterly ridiculous. Did those people have nothing better to spend their time on? He pitied them, truly, to do nothing but waste away in a stuffy room and exchange faux pleasantries with one another.

Having had enough, Anaxa promptly stepped out. The cool evening air was sufficient, and he decided a stroll around the gardens was due. It had been a while since he wandered around on his own, becoming used to you escorting and indulging him with conversation.

Funnily enough, the moment he’d thought of you, you appeared in his peripheral vision. Stood in the distance, side profile visible to him. While he wondered what brought you out to the gardens, he supposed he really shouldn’t have been so surprised to see you in the place he knew you frequented most. And for such a stuffy occasion such as the banquet, he really didn’t blame you for being outside.

Just as Anaxa had smoothed down his suit and cleared his throat in preparation to walk over to you, he froze. The sight he witnessed had him rooted before he could even take one step. 

Anaxa had met that brutish king more times than he would have liked. As with his usual outlook, he mostly regarded the monarch with nonchalance, sometimes a slight admiration if a good argument was brought up in their negotiations, and other times a subtle annoyance when his garden stroll-escort with you was interrupted. Yet, seeing you both together under the dim moonlight away from the suffocating crowd and caught in your own world made him feel as though he were imposing on something he should have not. An unfamiliar sensation stirred in his heart. And yet he could not look away, seemingly enraptured.

Such blind, unwavering loyalty... Though a fleeting thought, Anaxa could not help but wonder what it would take for you to direct such beguiling devotion to him instead.

(Even now, as he watches from the sidelines how your unshakeable devotion to your king’s sudden interruption during the garden escort blurs the rest of the surrounding world into an incomprehensible blend of colours, he cannot help the fleeting hope you would one day gaze at him like he was your entire world and more.)

TRIVIA TIME !!

well, more like WORLD BUILDING-SLASH-LORE TIME !!, but i digress. anywho i just wanted to add in this little segment to try and explain the au world a little more, mainly the composition of amphoreus !! this was mainly done for myself bc i kept having inner battles abt whether i wanted castrum kremnos to be the kingdom where everyone resided in with mydei as the sole ruler, or if i wanted amphoreus to be an empire made up of various nations (like how it is in game basically). i ended up going with the latter bc i ended going down an entire rabbit hole creating the world of a fic that most likely won't get a continuation of sorts, but it was fun to imagine and made it a little easier writing the backstories, hehe !!

anyway here are some key notes which hopefully explain it a little more for those interested ^^

Amphoreus = empire

All cities (e.g. kremnos, okhema, etc) are the kingdoms in amphoreus with their own ruler/democracy

Amphoreus has multiple leaders to discuss state affairs (basically hsr main chrysos heirs but not all - like castorice is aglaea’s right-hand in a way + the executioner bc adonia is no longer a nation, or phainon & anaxa who lost their homes) with aglaea as the main/overseeing leader (empress but not really. She just wants to create beautiful clothes ;w;)

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

@milk-violet heres ur tag <33

[thebirdandhersong]

I am in my fragrance free era

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

*a friend and me talking about being mostly chill with our bodies until suddenly dysphoria goes wham, partially to stay, partially just at certain times*

another friend, at my complaining abt dysphoria i can't really counter: to be fair, your ideal gender is a fucking monster

me:

me: okay yeah that's a good point BUT STILL

[random-hippocat]

there are practical uses for big pickups. I grew up in a tiny farm town where mostly everyone has a big truck. my family are farm people. my dad is in construction and has to haul around trailers and equipment constantly, as well as drive off road to get to the work site, often through mud and potholes.

I do, however, agree that in an urban area there is no purpose for them. unless you actually do regularly haul around trailers and equipment and such.

cities aren't built for big trucks, so they're impractical if you live there. my dad doesn't even like driving in cities because the roads, parking lots, drive thrus are all smaller.

Saw this Trucks Discourse on facebook and I'm not part of that world but yeah that one on the left is delightful and I really had no idea just how wasteful and pointless the other kind is until this comparison

[realitys-ex]

Looking for a specific genre or series of Manga to help an ESL refugee kid!

I know a kid who just moved to NA, under refugee status from Eritrea, who is struggling very badly with reading, but in a specific way.

He is very good at the actual reading out loud part: you would be unable to tell he was ESL if you didn't know. BUT he never actually comprehends it, he just sort of short-circuits eyes to mouth and skips comprehension.

He also doesn't really follow along with stories that are read out loud.

So after some discussion, we thought that the perhaps a good option would be to give him a sports (specifically soccer) manga.

Pictures are enticing (he loves art), his only interest when you ask him what he likes is 'Soccer', his native language is right-to-left so the set up of a manga won't throw him off, and the Sports Genre of Manga is practically made for his age group.

Alas, I am not a sports manga fan, so:

If any of you know of a really exciting Soccer Manga that is appropriate for 10 year olds please send me some recommendations!

(It doesn't need to be "good" by anyone's standards but a 10 year olds)

(Appropriate being his parents and mine won't give me shit if they happen to flip over to a bad page, y'know?)

[readymades2002]

they should make a movie that is good

[termitesisagrandslam]

bad headache again 2day. not gone yet. hopefully it is not something bad 😜 i still suspect it's most likely tension but this is draining me having a near constant headache with occasional really horrible migraines and i am not getting things done ive wanted to get done the past couple weeks bc im afraid of doing anything to make it all worse and also im just kinda drained even when the headache is super mild

[jarofstyles]

Use Your Head

Hi my love bugs!! Part two to Migraine is here. I'm sorry it took me a bit to edit. Last half of the original one shot but I am already planning/ have written a few patreon exclusive extensions for them. Enjoy!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings

WC- 11.2k

Warnings- mentions of alcoholism/addiction, anxiety, prior bullying, smut, biting, soft dom!Harry, unprotected sex, creampie, slight moment of choking

Over the following weeks, Harry made a conscious effort to change how he interacted with Y/N. No more constant teasing, no more overly loud jokes to try and capture her attention. No more being straight up obnoxious. 

Instead, he found himself bringing her coffee on days he knew she was fighting a migraine, asking genuinely about her day, and going out of his way to make her life a little bit easier. It wasn’t just the guilt of it that was the driving force. Y/N was so lovely, so sweet. He’d been stupid to think that just because she was quiet that she was being judgmental or that she didn’t like him- because if he’d bothered to sit and listen to the whispers she did let out, he’d have been as enamored as he was now, months ago. And that was saying something considering how his crush had festered.

 Oddly enough, he had shared bits of his life with her that he usually kept private. It was something his therapist said was a defense mechanism for him, using humor to get people to like him but also succeed without opening up- but Y/N seemed to genuinely listen. She remembered stuff he said about his childhood dog or the fact cilantro tasted like soap to him. And to his surprise, she started opening up too - albeit cautiously. Her quiet demeanor made their late-night office chat sessions when they had to finish projects more special somehow, each small exchange feeling earned rather than forced.

It had started with her coffee order- iced mocha when she was drinking for enjoyment but an americano was ideal when she was approaching a headache for optimal caffeine. Then it ventured into the little fun facts that had him keeping a mental log of the obscure things he picked up along the way. 

She was really good at using chopsticks, she kept a tea kettle in her office and tea bags- including the ones he’d gotten her- which she would let him have if he asked.  She had a pet rabbit at home named Mocha, in honor of her favorite drink. She went to bed at exactly midnight (or tried to when her sleeping issue didn’t bug her) every night. She preferred the shape of anatomical hearts over the standard ones used for Valentine’s Day. She had an extensive TBR (he found out it meant To Be Read from google later) but she kept falling for sales and she was a sucker for a good romance so she had books in piles all over her place. All the things he learned were kept up in his head as precious information to use to make her feel more seen, more comfortable. 

So when she had mentioned having trouble falling asleep the last few days, he had taken it upon himself to grab her something his mum recommended. “It’s called sleepy time tea? S’got the cute bear on the box, so it must be decent.” He sat across from her in the break room, sliding the box across the table to her. “My mum used to deal with insomnia and she liked this one a lot. It may not fix everything but it helps make you drowsy.”

The woman glanced down at the tea box, a small smile tugging at her lips as she took in the cute bear illustration. She picked up the box, examining it further to see the ingredients before meeting Harry's gaze. "Your mum has good taste." She remarked, her voice soft but genuinely appreciative. Y/N tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a gesture Harry was starting to recognize as a sign she was a little flustered. It usually followed something he did for her. "I'll give it a try tonight. Hopefully, it helps me sleep better than counting sheep."

“Mhm.. I hope so too. I don’t mean to keep throwing gifts and stuff at you, but I remembered you saying you were frustrated by it and figured I’d ask someone who’s dealt with that stuff before.” (Harry slept like a log,so he wasn’t much help.) He tapped his fingers against his thigh in a slightly anxious pattern. It wasn’t like he was going crazy- he mainly got her coffee or in this case, tea, but the last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like he was buying her friendship. “Did you submit your part of the project yet?”

"Yeah, finally got that done yesterday," The answer came with a small smile forming as she looked up from the tea box. "I actually managed to get through the presentation without forgetting any bullet points or stuttering this time." Placing the tea carefully in her bag, the corner of her lips curling up a bit more. Fucking adorable. "Thanks for checking in though. Most people don't care about these tiny details." The truth was, she found it sweet when he did. It showed he actually listened to her talking about work stress. "Want to grab lunch later?"

Harry's face lit up at her invitation, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I'd love that,"  He accepted easily, his voice warm and sincere. As if he would ever say no to that. "How about we go to that new sushi place down the street? I've been dying to try it out." Leaning back in his chair, he watched as she pulled up the menu on her phone. "My treat, of course. As a thank you for being so patient with me and my... previous behavior."

“Harry, you don’t have to keep making up for it. I believe you. We’re friends.” She sighed, tapping on top of the table. “You can let go of that guilt. Okay? You’ve proven yourself every day to me. As long as you don’t turn around and be a dick for no reason again, I’m fine. Really.”

A small laugh escaped him as he nodded, genuinely grateful for her understanding. It wasn’t something he probably deserved, but she was too good. "Alright, alright. No more guilt trips." He leaned forward on his desk, fingers drumming against the wood. "And I mean it, by the way. I'm truly not trying to buy your friendship with gifts. Though..." he pause. "If I wanted to treat a friend to sushi, would you say no?" The word 'friend' felt strange in his mouth now - almost too casual considering how much time they'd spent together lately.

She gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t need you to treat me, H. Really.” It seemed like he did like to do it regardless but he’d be really sweet. As much as she didn’t need the extra things, the coffees or little treats he got her, it did make her feel appreciated- though she didn’t admit it too often because she knew he’d keep doing it.

"I know you don't need me to," he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "But I want to. And besides, it's not like I'm buying you a whole new wardrobe or anything." He stood up from his desk, walking around to stand in front of her. "Let me just spoil you a little bit, okay? It makes me happy to do nice things for you." He gave her a small, sincere smile, his eyes searching hers. "Please?"

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes but ultimately gave in to his puppy dog eyes. Those things were brutal. "Fine, fine," she conceded, crossing her arms over her chest. "But only because you look pathetic begging like that." 

Harry's face lit up with a triumphant grin. "See? Was that so hard?" He chuckled, ruffling her hair slightly before she could swat his hand away. "Alright, sushi it is then. My treat."

—-

Harry found himself more relaxed than usual during their lunch. He’d been dying to try it since he’d seen a review in the paper and there was no one else he’d rather eat with right now. Being around her felt exciting just as much as it was relaxing. She was so calm and sweet, making him feel at ease even though sometimes he felt like he was buzzing when she gave him her attention. 

Was this the shit he had been missing out on when he could have just spoken to her without acting out? He’d wasted a lot of time, but she was thankfully far more gracious than he would have expected her to be. They sat across from each other at a small table by the window, the sunlight creating a warm glow around them. The conversation flowed easily, no lulls. Y/N was by far the easiest person to talk to once she warmed up to you, and he was finding out the pleasures of getting closer to her every day. "You know," the man hummed, picking up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, "the whole office is going to drinks tonight." He paused, studying her face. "Are you planning on..."

"Going?" She finished his question, laughing softly. "Probably. I don't go out much, so when they suggest it, I’ve been trying say yes." She picked up an egg roll, dipping it in soy sauce. "You?" She asked, meeting his gaze. He was struck by how pretty her eyes were, how they almost sparkled when she laughed. It was weird how beautiful she was. How people didn’t put their foot in their mouths like he had whenever he had been around her prior. It was distracting in the best of ways.  Damn it, he really liked her.

 "Yeah, I'll go," He said, pulling himself together. The last couple of times he had ditched mainly because he had been trying to catch up on some other stuff, but considering he knew for sure Y/N would be there? There was no way he wouldn’t. "The whole marketing team will be there. You too?"

"The whole marketing team," she confirmed, nodding her head. "Including Laura and Tom, who always end up drunk and arguing about whatever anyone wants to bring up." She took a sip of her iced strawberry açaí green tea, a small smile tugging at her lips at the memory of the last office outing where exactly that had happened. "And probably Jennifer from HR, who always tries to get everyone to play truth or dare like we’re still in school. I mean, considering she’s HR she has to know that would be a major violation. Sometimes I think she tries to get it to happen so she has something to do at work considering everything is usually relaxed." Y/N laughed softly, setting her chopsticks down. "Will you be there the whole time? Or will you bow out halfway through?" Sometimes Y/N got a little overstimulated from being out at places like that and she had to leave.

"I usually stay the whole time. You know me, supposed party animal." Harry shrugged his shoulder at the title.  She was like a different person when she wasn’t at the office. He was too, obviously, but it felt more dramatic when it came to her. "But actually I… I don’t drink.” His face shifted before he smiled again, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I'm the one who usually calls cabs at the end of the night when everyone is hammered." The words seemed casual enough as he picked up another piece of sushi, but there was something unsaid. 

“Oh!” She was somehow a little surprised at that. Something about Harry did give ‘party animal’ but it was mostly his extroverted nature. “I’m glad you still come out then. I can have a drink or two if I feel like it but it’s not really my thing, you know? I’m not a fan of the taste so I go for the fruity or sweet stuff.” She set her chopsticks down to give her tummy a break. The suggestion had been really good, actually. It may as well be added to her take out rotation. “It’s nice of you to do that for them, Har. Really.” She had tried not to pay him much mind in the past but the kindness wasn’t overlooked now.

"It's no big deal," He waved off her compliment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He always did it without expecting anything in return, but hearing her say it made him feel a little warm inside. He liked that she was noticing these things now. “I um, I used to struggle with alcohol. Drinking too much. It was a nasty habit I picked up in uni and I didn’t realize how bad it was getting.” Clearing his throat, he looked down towards his plate. “S’been 5 years. It doesn’t bother me to see other people drink so it’s fine when I go out. But yeah it’s… S’a interesting dynamic.” He had no idea why he chose now to tell her that. It wasn’t something he ever really talked about at all, but… Y/N felt like a safe person.

"You're the first person at work who knows about that." He admitted quietly, stealing glances at her face to gauge her reaction. He'd spent months being an asshole around her, and now he was trusting her with this? Something vulnerable, genuinely real. Something he usually only shared with close friends or his therapist. "Most people assume I just don't drink because I'm some kind of saint." He managed a small laugh, but it was edged with something more vulnerable. "Though I’d appreciate it if you could keep that between us. I’ll take the party animal jokes over them knowing..."

“Harry, I would never.” She interrupted, reaching for his hand with concern on her face. “First of all, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You realized you had a problem and you did what you needed to do to better your life. That’s fucking amazing!” It was rare to hear her cuss but it felt like an appropriate time. “Addiction can happen to anyone at any time. But I can assure you there is no way in hell that I’d try and tell anyone your business. You trusting me enough to tell me that isn’t lost on me, okay?” Stroking her thumb over the top of his hand, she gave him a little smile.

"Damn." He laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing. He hadn't expected her to get it so quickly. Most people just made recovery sound like something that he should hide, like it was something dirty or shameful. She made it sound like any other condition. "You get it," He said slowly, his voice lower. "Like, really get it. You're not going to make a joke or something?" He wouldn’t have blamed her considering how he had treated her before. But Y/N would never. That was the difference. He had been a bit used to people reacting negatively.

“Nope. No need for jokes.” She didn’t even think about that. “We don’t even have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to. That information is safe with me. I don’t need anything else from it. We can just move on and talk about it another time, okay?” Squeezing his larger hand with her own, all she wanted to do was make him comfortable. They’d have to head back to work soon and she didn't want the conversation to get cut off if they got deeper into it, but she really appreciated him opening up. Never would she have thought that. Then again, even after the last few weeks of getting closer, there was still so much to him that she didn’t know.

Harry nodded, giving her hand a grateful squeeze back before reluctantly letting go as they both stood to throw out their trash. "Thanks." he said softly, meeting her gaze. "Seriously. That means a lot." As they walked back towards the office, he couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through his chest as their hands brushed each others every so often. She had handled that revelation with such compassion and grace, without any of the judgment he'd feared.

 It was yet another reason why he was slowly falling for her, despite his best efforts not to.

———

The usual crowd was filling up the bar - coworkers laughing loudly, ordering rounds of shots. Y/N sat at a high-top table with a few of the infamous marketing team members, sipping her second drink- another Diet Coke, as he had heard her order. Across the table, Laura and Tom were already getting heated in their friendly argument about the rightful winner of the Grammy’s. Meanwhile, Harry leaned against the bar, ordering water for himself and checking his phone occasionally, but mostly keeping an eye on Y/N.

 It was hard to keep his eyes off of her at all, especially after she had taken her blazer off and showed her arms in the tank top she’d had underneath it. So distracting, in fact, that he’d barely noticed someone from accounting, a blonde named Michelle he’d talked to a few times, saddled up next to him. "Hey Harry."

Michelle batted her eyelashes at him, ordering herself a vodka cranberry from the bartender before turning her attention back to Harry. "You're looking pretty bored standing here by yourself," She remarked, leaning against the bar next to him. "Why don't you come sit with us?" Her hand gestured towards a group of her friends from accounting, who were laughing and drinking nearby. Harry, however, barely spared her a glance before responding politely, "Nah, I'm good here. Thank you for the offer though."

"Come on, you're usually the life of the party. Don't tell me you're just going to stand here all night." Michelle persisted, adjusting her top slightly. Normally, that kind of fljrting could worked - but the way she had said it put him off. Besides, all Harry could focus on was Y/N laughing with her team members across the room. "Look, I actually need to... Excuse me." He mumbled, excusing himself from Michelle before she could protest. Finding his way back to Y/N, he leaned down to whisper her ear. It was closer than he usually got to her and he tried not to let that get him distracted. “Please help me. Michelle’s been bothering me the last few times n’I really don’t want t’be wrapped up in all of that.”

As he spoke into her ear, Y/N could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, sending shivers down her back that she quickly ignored. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to notice any of the chills on her arms. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating up close, the sweetened spice making it hard to focus on the task at hand - helping him avoid Michelle. "Uh sure- What do you need help with?" She asked, turning her head to look up at him, their faces inches apart. He looked so frustrated, and for some reason, seeing him like that made her stomach flutter.

His eyes locked with hers, he saw a flicker of something in her eyes that made his stomach drop - was it just the light, or was she actually looking at him like that? He pushed the thought aside, focusing on his problem. "Can you come t’the bar and lean into me or something?" He asked quietly. "So Michelle gets the hint that I’m not interested?" He needed a buffer, and Y/N being up close to him would probably do the trick. "Please?" He added, using his puppy dog eyes to his advantage.

Y/N obliged, standing up from her seat and following Harry to the bar. As they stood side by side, she leaned into his arm slightly, making it look like they were engaged in a conversation. Michelle, noticing it quite quickly, sauntered back over to the bar, looking miffed. "Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?" She asked, trying to insert herself between them. Harry wrapped his arm around Y/N’s waist lightly, pulling her closer. "Not really the best time. M’in the middle of something.”

Y/N could take a hint, looping her arm around him in turn, leaning her face against his shirt. Giving a light smile, as a response to the woman who seemed weirdly annoyed that a man that had nothing to do with her was so close to another woman. “We’re gonna leave soon, so maybe you guys can talk another day.” It wasn’t exactly catty, but it was an insinuation that they’d be leaving together. 

Michelle could put things together and make up her own mind. They could deal with that gossip later.

Michelle's face dropped, clearly not expecting such a casual display of familiarity between them. Harry felt Y/N's head resting on his chest and almost lost his breath for a second - it felt more natural than it should have. Her slight weight against him made his arm circle around her waist more securely, and he tried to focus on maintaining his composure instead of how good she smelled right now. "Yeah..." He said to Michelle, letting the word trail off as if he couldn't even be bothered with her now. "I'll catch you later."

As they stood there, Y/N's hand found its way to his back, her fingers running over the fabric of his blazer and then his dress shirt underneath. It was a simple, casual gesture, but it sent a jolt of warmth through Harry's entire body. He felt like he was melting, his arm around her waist tightening slightly as he tried to subtly pull her closer. Her hand felt so small and warm against his back, and he found himself leaning down slightly to nuzzle his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. “S’this okay with you?” He was double checking for her assurance. “Don’t want you to feel like you have t’make yourself uncomfortable for me.”

Michelle had walked away and Y/N didn’t feel the need to pull away. As nerve wracking as it was, she tried to push them off as she had felt him relax into her. He was sweet, he really was. This was the Harry under all the layers of peacocking and jokes. The type of man she actually really had begun to like.  “I’m okay.” Tilting her head up to meet his eyes, she gave him a shy smile. “Are you okay?”

"Yeah. M’great, actually." He responded softly, watching her face. God, she was so pretty. Here she was making his stomach flip with one small smile. "You know what would make this a little more believable?" He asked quietly, his voice lower than before. He was testing the waters, really. He had no idea if she'd go along with this. "If I put my hands here." He demonstrated slowly, spreading his hands over her lower back. “S’that good?”

As his hands found their way to her lower back, Y/N could feel the tingling spreading across her stomach and up her chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching, trying to gauge his expression. His hands felt big and protective on her back, making her feel small and safe. She didn't pull away, instead, she found herself leaning into his touch slightly. "Yeah, that’s... It’s nice." The reply was whispered, hoping he didn’t catch the slight quiver in her breath.

Harry watched closely as she swallowed hard, her eyes flicking down to his mouth briefly. Truthfully he was an idiot for thinking doing this would have no effect on him - here she was making his body react like he was a teenager again. It hadn’t been thought through- that didn’t mean he would stop, though. His thumbs moved slightly, massaging her lower back lightly. He saw her eyes close softly, almost like she was enjoying it.

Unable to resist the temptation, Harry leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing her ear. "You're doing great," he murmured, his voice a low, soft rumble. He couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit against him, like she was meant to be there. His hands shifted slightly, pulling her a fraction closer. "Michelle's long gone now, but..." He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. "D’you think we pretend for just a little longer?"

"Mhm," she hummed softly. It was hard not to show that she was borderline giddy at the suggestion. Her hand pressed more firmly against his back, hooking her fingers in his belt loops showing she had no plans to move away anytime soon. Instead, she leaned her head to rest back against his chest. 

The way her body fit against his was doing things to him - things he shouldn't be thinking about right now. Like about how she smelled so good it was making him feel antsy to inhale her scent. 

"How long d'you need?" She asked, her voice soft but steady. A small smile played on her lips as she felt his heartbeat against her ear.

"Just... five more minutes, maybe." He murmured, his voice hoarse. He didn't want to let her go, not yet. Not when she felt this good in his arms. "And then... maybe we could go somewhere quieter? Talk, if you want?" He suggested, his hand slowly sliding up her back and down to her hip. Harry was playing with fire, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. Not when she was being so sweet, so willing to do this with him. 

“Yeah. You can drive me back to my place. Or yours.” It was a decision in a while that she was going to let him  read into however he wanted. Y/N was welcoming any bit of what could happen. If it was to truly talk somewhere else, or… more. She would be open to it.

The words had him almost losing his breath, his body tightening slightly. He wasn’t sure what he’d imagined her response to be, but it certainly hadn't expected her to suggest that. "So if I said... let me take you home to mine' - you wouldn't have a problem with that?" He asked slowly, his thumbs moving back and forth on Harry lower back possessively. He was trying to read between the lines. Was she being friendly, or was she being flirtatious? Christ, he hoped it was the latter.

“No. No problem with that.” In any other circumstances, she’d be embarrassed with how breathy her voice sounded as she replied to him. His voice was deep and soft just for her, making her feel the heat pooling in her tummy. “You can take me home, Harry.”

His pulse quickened, hope surging through him at her breathy confirmation. He swallowed hard, letting it hit him with how much he wanted this. Wanted her. "Alright then," the answer was spoken, his voice thick with restrained desire. "Let's get out of here."

———-

The drive to his place was silent but tense, filled with unspoken words and heavy glances. As soon as they pulled into his driveway, Harry turned off the engine and looked at Y/N, his eyes searching hers for any bit of apprehension- but he found none. She seemed at peace, if not a little bit happy about the situation, and he wasn’t about to waste any time. Getting out of the car, he walked around to her side, and opened her door for her - a gentlemanly habit he'd picked up and kept up. He led the way to his house, unlocking the door and stepping inside, closing it behind them.

“Did you really want to talk?” Y/N asked, peering up at him from her lashes as she took a step towards him. The foyer of his house was dimly lit, but she could see how intently he was staring at her. “Or did you bring me home to do something else?”

"I had some things I wanted to say, yeah." he admitted quietly, his voice deeper than she had heard it before, similar to how he’d spoken at the bar. There was an edge to it, one that made her feel… exhilarated. "But right now..." His hand found her waist naturally, pulling her into him. "I think there's something else I want more." He paused, his thumb moving in small circles on her hip.

“Yeah?” She whispered back, allowing herself to lean into him. “And what is that?”

"You." The words whispered were cut off before she could respond, pressing his lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss. It started slow, almost questioning- as if he was waiting for her to pull away. Giving her the chance to do so. But when she didn't, when she leaned into it instead, his free arm snaked around her to pull her even closer. The kiss deepened, becoming a little more desperate as he felt her against him. His fingers tightened on her hip, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek, tilting her head slightly to kiss her more thoroughly.

Y/N melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back just as needy. A small noise escaped the back of her throat, one that he swallowed with his mouth greedily. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly as she felt him groan against her lips.

Her fingers in his hair made him feel like he may lose it a little bit. Everything about Y/N called to him, but her knowing what to do without ever being told spurred him on further. Deepening the kiss further, he traced her bottom lip with his tongue and bit back a second groan at what he found. She tasted fucking perfect - sweet and subtle, like honey and peppermint, a tiny hint of her sticky soda from the bar. His own personal new favorite flavor. 

 One hand slid down her back to palm over her ass while the other cradled her face, keeping her exactly where he wanted her, practicing that control he liked to keep. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, matching his own heartbeat- But when she let out the soft whimper against his lips as it seemed like he may pull back, pressing herself closer against him instead?  Harry thought he might lose his mind.

Harry pushed her carefully backwards, taking her with him until she hit the wall. Breaking the kiss, he started to trail his lips down her neck, sucking and nipping gently at her wherever he could reach. "You taste so sweet." He murmured against her skin. "I want t’kiss you everywhere." It punctuated his words with a particularly hard suck on her neck, knowing it would leave a mark- wanting it to leave one- as his hips pressed against hers, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

She gasped, head tilting back to give him better access. Hands fisted in his shirt, she tugged him closer as she felt the hard evidence of his arousal press against her stomach. "Harry," she whimpered, voice shaky. "Bite me." The words were out before she could even think about them, a demand rather than a request. She wanted his mark, wanted evidence that this really happened. Even if it was just for tonight- though she wanted more than just once. “Please? Jus’ a little bit. I want to feel your teeth on my neck.” Her hips rocked forward slightly, seeking friction.

The growl that rumbled in his chest at her words was primal, sending a shiver through her body. "Fuck, you're perfect." Harry murmured before grazing his teeth against her sensitive skin and sinking them into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He bit down hard, not with the goal of breaking the skin but applying enough pressure that she would definitely have a mark in the morning- just as she requested.

She cried out, arching her back to give him more access as he bit down. He could feel her nails digging into his back through his shirt, pulling him closer as if she was afraid he might stop. "More." Y/N begged, panting heavily. "Harder." What she wanted was  the ache, wanted the reminder on her skin that he was really here, really doing this. "Harry, please..." She whimpered, turning her head to try and pull him into biting her again. "Again."

“I’ve got t’be careful, sweetheart.” He cooed against her skin, nipping underneath the mark he had left. “Do you like the pain, hm? Or do you like the marks?”

Y/N moaned, trying to tilt her head further to give him better access to her neck. "Both," she breathed out shakily, her body tensing as he nipped underneath the mark. "I like the pain because it hurts so good, and I like the marks because they remind me... they remind me you were really here, doing this, not just in my head." She was rambling, but she couldn't seem to shut up as he kept marking her up. "Can you give me another one?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, you can have another one." He crooned, biting down on the same spot on the other side, applying a little more pressure this time. There was doubt in his mind that he could really say no to her, not when she asked him with that tone, those eyes, and the taste of her on his tongue.  He could feel her trembling against him, hear the desperate whimpering sounds she was making. He loved it, loved how responsive she was to him, how easily he could reduce her to a shaking mess. 

"Fuck, look at you..." He murmured, pulling back slightly to admire his handiwork. Sure enough, there were two perfect bite marks on either side of her neck. She looked claimed, marked - and Christ, it turned him on more than anything else. Before she could react, he grabbed her chin, tilting her face up for another kiss. This one was rougher, more urgent than before, his tongue plunging into her mouth. One hand slid down her waist while the other tangled in her hair.

His fingers gripped her hair taut, holding her in place as he kissed her like he was starving for it, for her. His other hand squeezed her ass almost too tightly as he ground himself against her, conveying his mounting desperation without words. Each nip and suck at her lips sent jolts straight to his cock, making him impossibly harder, if that was even possible. He swallowed every whimper and moan greedily, addicted to her sounds.

"Fuck, darling." Harry whispered against her lips as he pulled back to let her breath. His hand slipped into her trousers to get a better handful of her, feeling her hum at the intrusion. All he needed was her warmth, the feel of her on his skin. He could die happy like that, most likely. 

Letting his fingers play with the edge of her panties, he knew he was in some sort of dream. After months of crushing on her, even when he had been failing, he’d dreamt of this. "You're killing me here." His breathing became heavier as he squeezed the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her harder against him. One hand kept her hair tight while the other dipped lower, almost slipping beneath the fabric but pausing uncertainly. "Can I..." he trailed off, waiting for her permission before actually sliding beneath, his voice rough with need. "Can I touch you, baby?"

Y/N let out a shaky breath, nodding almost frantically against his lips. "Yes, please." The reply was a shaking whisper, her heart racing wildly like a little hummingbird. "I want your hands on me, Harry. Anywhere, everywhere." She was so turned on, so desperate for his touch that she couldn't even think straight. His hesitation had only added to her desire, making her want him even more. "Just... please, touch me," she begged, her hips rolling against his in encouragement. "I need it."

"God, you're killing me." He growled softly, picking her up easily by her thighs. Realistically, he had been waiting for this day for ages and he wasn’t going to take her in his foyer- regardless of how badly he was tempted to. Y/N deserved a proper fuck, which included being in his bed. Somewhere she was meant to be. Hopefully one day they’d do it out here, but today was not that day. 

Thankfully there was no protest from his little dove, her legs wrapping around him automatically as he lifted her up, allowing him to walk them towards his bedroom without breaking the kiss. He couldn't get enough of her lips, her taste, anything that had to do with her. Greedy, he was so fucking greedy for anything he could get from her. 

Kicking his door open, he wasted little time dropping her onto his mattress softly, listening to her sweet giggle as she bounced on it. Watching hungrily as her shirt rode up slightly, the deposits of her body revealing more of her stomach. "Off." He ordered softly, unbuttoning his own shirt slowly. "Take your top off." Harry wanted it off. He needed to see her.

She sat up slightly, unbuttoning her blouse slowly, revealing the plain white camisole underneath that had been a layer under the sleeveless top. His eyes were locked onto her hands, watching intently as she revealed more and more of her silky skin. "Now the cami." He urged, his voice dropping lower as he unbuckled his belt, his mind desperate to see the heaven underneath.  His unbuttoned shirt tossed haphazardly onto the floor, revealing his tattooed torso. "I want it all off, sweetheart. Don’t want a lick of fabric between you and my hands."

Her hands moved slowly, deliberately, savoring the attention. She lifted the bottom of her camisole, slowly letting it peel off of her body to reveal her bare chest. Her breath hitched as she looked up at Harry, seeing that intensity in his eyes. He was staring at her like she was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, and it made her feel powerful, desired. Never in her life had she imagined that Harry of all people would be the one to make her feel that way. She let the man stare as he pleased, letting her hair fall off her shoulders from where she had it up as she sat there, completely bare from the waist up.

“Fuck me.” He groaned, hands itching to touch. Holy shit. He had almost lost it. Her body was insane - full breasts with pretty nipples that hardened under his gaze. He had the  urge to taste them, suck on them until she let out the pretty noises he’d gotten hints of - but he didn't move. Harry wanted to see all of her first. "Off, all of it. Told you. Need t’see all of you." He ordered again softly, his voice hoarse with restraint. He watched as she shimmied out of her pants slowly, revealing black lace panties underneath. "Baby," His voice was slightly breathless as she kicked the fabric off, letting it fall in a pile beside his bed. "I think… that you're trying to kill me."

The sight of Y/N naked in his bed almost knocked the breath clean out of him. Here was this incredibly sexy woman, somebody he'd fantasized about for months, laid out before him like a goddamn dream. The soft curves of her body, the smooth planes of her skin, those pretty tits moving in time with her slightly labored breath—it was almost too much. His cock was rock hard, straining against his zipper, aching to be buried inside her. “You are the most gorgeous little thing.” He murmured, undoing the button of his trousers as he stepped closer to her form. “I knew you would look good in my bed, but fucks sake, Kitten.” He reached for her face, tilting her chin up. “Think you were made t’be here.”

As he reached for her face Y/N shifted her mouth, catching his thumb between her soft lips and sucking on it gently. The feeling of her mouth wrapped around his thumb, the subtle tug as she sucked, was incredibly intimate and distracting. Harry's eyes rolled back slightly, a low groan escaping his throat as he stared down at her.

As Y/N sucked his thumb with increasing pressure, her other hand deftly moved to his zipper, tugging it down slowly. The sensation of her hot mouth contrasted deliciously with the cool air hitting his exposed skin. He couldn't help but shudder, his hips rocking involuntarily as his aching erection sprang free. "Holy fuck." he gasped, watching her through hooded eyes. She maintained eye contact, her tongue swirling around his thumb teasingly as her fingers brushed lightly over his straining cock.

He wanted those full lips wrapped around him so badly he ached. He wanted to feel her warm breath against his stomach, the gentle suction around the tip of his cock, the way she looked up at him with those big eyes. "Enough of my thumb. We both know what it is y’really want." He growled, his voice thick as he gently pulled her thumb out of her mouth, smearing her lipstick with the saliva coating his digit as he dragged it over her lip. 

"Think it’s time for you to wrap those pretty lips around something else now." Letting his trousers fall to the floor along with his briefs in one go was exactly what he needed. Hissing slightly, he grabbed his painfully hard dick in his hand and swiped the leaking slit with his spit and lipstick coated thumb, watching her eyes as they took in every motion. “See what you did t’me? Been doin’ this to me for ages, sweet girl.” He mumbled, guiding his cock towards her swollen lips. "Do you want to suck on it

like you were sucking my thumb?"

Y/N looked up at him with those big, doe eyes, her lipstick slightly smudged from the drag of his thumb. She could feel the warm, heavy weight of him in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around his base tentatively. She could already taste the saltiness on her thumb where she had swiped the bead of moisture from his tip. "Can I?" she whispered, parting her lips slightly, inviting him in. "Like this?"

"Fuck yes," he breathed out intensely, watching as those perfect lips parted. His hand moved to the back of her head gently, not pushing, but guiding. "Just like that. Nice n’slow for me." He wanted to savor the moment she took him in for the first time, make sure it felt good for both of them. Her small hand wrapped around his base felt amazing, but he needed more.

Y/N stuck her tongue out slightly, swiping over the tip of his length. He watched hungrily as she gathered the bead of liquid there, tasting him carefully. "Mhm," she hummed softly, wrapping her lips around her teeth to hide her smile. It wasn’t something he had expected but he found it incredibly sexy - she was savoring his taste. Her pink tongue peeked out again, licking over the head like a sweet, swirling around the sensitive underside. Surely it was something he should have expected, but it made him shiver slightly, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Shit. You’re a sweet little thing everywhere, aren’t you darlin’?”

His dirty words made her stomach flutter and her core clench. She liked them too much, especially when they were laced with that deep voice. She dragged the flat of her tongue slowly down his length from base to tip. Taking her time with him was exactly what she wanted. Weeks of getting to know each other, the quiet attraction building until it was too loud to ignore, this had been on her mind more than she could admit yet. His stomach contracted sharply as she did it again slowly, watching him through her lashes. Y/N was putting on a show. 

The woman wanted to drive him crazy, wanted him to bend to her and feel as much as she had.

Harry was losing his mind. His hips were rocking gently, trying to encourage her down further each time she swiped her tongue down. She was torturing him slowly, deliberately - he could see the mischievous glint in her eye behind her lashes. He could feel his orgasm beginning to roll over just from her tongue lathing over him - but she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet. "Tease." The groan was loaded as he scraped her hair into his hand, pulling her back up to the tip. “C’mon, sweetheart. Suck on me a bit. Rub your little clit while y’do it. Get yourself wet f’me.”

She let out a shaky breath at his command, slipping one hand between her legs. Her fingers found her clit easily, already swollen and sensitive from all the teasing and tension they had between them. While she circled herself slowly, she opened her mouth wider, letting the tip of his length slide between her lips.  Moaning softly, vibrations pulsing around him as she slowly worked herself with her fingers. 

She was beautiful - eyes closed, lipstick smudged, fingers busy between her legs while she took his cock into that perfect mouth.

Harry knew she was getting wetter just from the sounds she was making around his length as she suckled gently, her fingers busily rubbing herself beneath his watchful eye. The slick sounds of her cunt against fingers, he knew she had to be dripping for him. He wanted to be inside that cunt so badly it hurt, but watching her pleasure herself while she took him into her perfect lips slowly was a blessing he had never anticipated getting the honor of experiencing. The feel of her soft, hot little mouth wrapped up around him, a sensation he had been gagging for. "Deeper, kitten. Y’can take some more while you rub that clit, yeah?” He encouraged hoarsely, his hand carding through her hair.

Y/N hummed around him, taking him deeper. His tip hit the back of her throat and she swallowed slightly around him, making him hiss sharply as she gagged a little. “Shit, baby. Are you alright?” His hand held her cheek, wiping the tear that had spilled accidentally from her gagging. “Didn’t mean t’do that. M’sorry, precious.”

 “I’m okay. Just didn’t anticipate it.” She reassured him, pulling back slightly to catch her breath. A devastatingly beautiful and filthy smile was painted on her slightly swollen lips before she pursed them, wetting him with her saliva and taking him back in. Mindful of his size, she relaxed her jaw and her throat as much as she could, letting him slide further back. Her fingers moved faster between her legs, swirling around her sensitive pearl.

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck your fingers, Kitten. Get yourself open a bit for me. Need to be in that cunt soon.” He pleaded, eyes rolling back as his tip hit the back of her throat. The noise she let out was filthy, downright nasty, but she didn’t attempt to pull back. She stayed there with her throat spasming around his cock, breathing heavily through her nose. “Oh, for fucks sake… my girl.” He muttered in awe, mouth hanging open. “Should’ve known y’would be a filthy fuck. So quiet and sweet… Read all those dirty books, don’t you?”

"Mhm..." Y/N hummed around him intentionally, pulling back slowly before taking him deep again. Her fingers moved faster, sliding inside herself, stretching herself ready for him. He was big and she knew it was good to get herself ready, but part of her wanted to feel the stretch. She pulled back completely, leaving a trail of saliva along his shaft. “But you like that I’m dirty.”

"I fucking love it." He groaned, feeling his dick pulse as it hit the back of her throat one last time. At this rate he’d be spilling in her mouth sooner rather than later, but they both needed more than that. "Love that you're so quiet and sweet on the outside but a whole different person on the inside." He pulled her head back further, his cock slipping out of her mouth with a wet pop. "Now, get on the bed and spread those legs for me. Need to see that cunt before I fuck it." He demanded, his voice rough as the words tumbled out. "Want you to show me how wet you are for me, sweetheart." His voice was rough, heavy with lust as he gripped his dick in his hand and stroked it using her spit as he watched her get up back onto his bed, laying back in the duvet. "Spread those thighs nice n’wide. Want to see if you're ready for my cock." Harry wanted to taste her pussy, wanted to watch her fingers disappear inside that tight hole. 

He wanted to devour her.

Y/N listened, throwing one leg over the other slowly, spreading herself open for him just as he asked. Using two fingers, she circled her clit slowly, letting her head fall back slightly with a small moan. He watched every movement, feeling  himself pulse in his hand as she slid two fingers inside herself easily, working herself open with a muffled whimper. His mouth watered - she was wet, so fucking wet and all for him.  There was no way in hell that he was going to be inside of her and not keep her. None. 

His jaw tightened as she added another finger, stretching herself wider. The view was his favorite, watching her free hand knead her tits and arching her back as she fucked those fingers in- the lewd sound of her wet cunt making him swallow back his groan. Holy shit.

Her fingers slipped out with a wet sound and she brought them to her lips, sucking her arousal off with a needy whimper. "Please, Harry. Fuck me already." She begged, her hips lifting off the bed restlessly. "Been waiting for this for so long. Need your cock." Her head tilted back and she licked her lips, staring up at him with fuck-me eyes. "Stop teasing and just fuck me already." The desperation in her voice was clear, pussy throbbing and empty, craving him.

It wasn’t at all something anyone would expect from her, let alone Harry. She was so quiet at work, kept to herself, gave her shy little smiles- and here she was. Laying on his comforter, thighs spread as she exposed her cunt to him with the taste of herself on her own tongue, begging for his cock. It was a very quick lesson he was learning- when Y/N asked him for something, he was most likely going to give it to her.

"You're a little minx, Y’know that?" He growled, running his cock through the mess she’d made of herself before lining himself up with her entrance. "This isn't going t’be slow or sweet, sweetheart. We’ll have to save that for another time. You want me t’fuck you?" Pressing the head into her hole, he watched as her back arched off the bed ever so slightly with her hand reaching for his wrist. “S’alright, baby.” Harry softened his tone.” M’just teasing. I’m giving it to you. Just lay there and look pretty. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Pushing forward slowly, he let himself fill her inch by inch. Finally. Feeling the spasms of her cunt as he rocked his hips in, getting nice and snug as he got all the way inside of her, he couldn’t deny himself the moan that left his lips. The heaven that was her cunt wrapped around him had his body feeling hot, each roll of his body feeling her tighten up around him.

"Baby, fuck." He hissed as she wiggled slightly beneath him, her inner muscles clamping down around him experimentally. "Stop that. Don’t want t’cum too quickly." He warned hoarsely, watching her body as he filled her up. The stretch of her pussy around the girth of his cock, lips clinging to him as he pulled out and pushed back in was fucking lethal. There had been effort to slowly work her up to it, but he needed to fuck her harder. Wanted to hear the little gasps and moans coming from her beautiful mouth. "Goddamn. You're tight, baby, So fuckin’ good." He grit his teeth as she flexed again, his hips bucking forward suddenly, watching her tits bounce slightly with the force.

He kept snapping his hips forward, filling her up over and over again, the wet sounds of her taking him filling the room. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist as she tried to pull him deeper, her nails clawing at his chest as she whimpered and whined beneath him, breathing heavily as Harry talked lowly to her. "You like it rough, sweetheart. Can feel it. Got you dripping on this cock…" He growled, his hands going to her thighs and pushing them up and back, opening her up wider as he drove into her again and again. "Like being manhandled, bitten… what else?"

"Yes... yes, just like that- I like all of it." She gasped, her voice breaking slightly as he nailed particularly deep. He was definitely the biggest of the dicks she had ever taken and while she had thought it would be a struggle to fit it, Harry hadn’t hesitated in making her take it in the way she needed. Making her feel this full was a rarity and she wanted to feel it tomorrow, feel it everyday. The memory of his cock deep inside of her and his hands gripping her tight needed to be refreshed often and plenty. 

"Harder. I can take it, I promise." She whimpered, her nails digging into his arms, leaving crescent marks. Her hips met his thrusts eagerly, showing she was taking exactly what she wanted. "Talk to me. Love your voice so much." The girl breathed out, her face flushed with the pleasure he was so willing to give her. "Tell me how good I feel."

"You're taking it so well, baby." He cooed, angling his hips differently and hitting a spot inside her so perfectly she let out a choked noise. "Your little cunt is squeezing me so goddamn tight, like it's trying to milk every drop of cum from me." If she wanted dirty, he’d give her dirty. His filthy words echoed in the room as he kept fucked into her, watching her tits bounce before meeting her eyes. 

"Bet you'd let me fuck this needy hole anytime I wanted, hm?” Hooking her thighs over his arms, he looked down to watch her cunt swallowing him up. It was unreal to see it in person, in real time. It wasn’t just a dream. Y/N was in his bed, taking him inside of her- and she was loving it. “Bend y’over your own desk, turn the lights off and shove those scraps do fabric y’call panties into your mouth to keep you quiet. No one would bother us, think you’ve got a headache but… You’d really be taking my cock.”

It was absolutely something she had thought about, especially the last week. Y/N had her own fantasies and he had plucked that one from her head and spoke it out loud. If she wasn’t getting railed it would probably freak her out, how he had somehow read her mind- but it felt too good to think about anything but him inside of her. "You’d really do that? Fuck me on my desk?" She panted, her fingers playing with her hard nipples as he watched. “You said I-I’m the filthy one but you’re just as…just as bad.”

"You’re not answering my question." He chuckled darkly, snapping his hips up sharply and stealing her breath. "If I lifted that skirt up and bent you over your desk… Sunk my cock in this pretty hole. Would you take it?" He growled deceptively soft, his voice getting deeper. "Spread your legs wide, like you’re doing for me right now, and let me pound you while you keep quiet… Make you drip with my cum all damn day? S’that something my pretty little kitten wants t’do for me?" He knew he was dirty, knew he was an asshole - but the mental image of doing exactly what he described had him leaking inside of her.

She threw her head back slightly with a small moan, "Yes, god yes..." She whimpered softly, her mind going crazy with the thought. "You could shove your hand over my mouth while you do it..." Her body tightened around him as the fantasy felt more real. He’d been so polite their whole newfound friendship. Maybe a dirty joke or two to make her roll her eyes. Y/N knew he could be dirty, had a feeling he could fuck, but having it in real life was so different than she had imagined. It was better. "You could pull my hair while you pound me from behind... You could..." She broke off with a gasp as he hit something deep inside her that had her seeing stars.

“I could what, baby?” He crooned, feeling the droplet of sweat slowly drip down the side of his face. This was by far better than any workout he’d had recently. His workout of choice, if he had one. The poor comforter was a goner and he knew it, but there was little care about anything other than getting her to cum around his cock. “S’getting hard to talk now, mm? Taking that cock so deep… Thinking about all those filthy things. M’gonna make sure you get fucked at your desk- Gonna make sure you get whatever fuck you want. But I want to feel you cum for me.” Lowering herself, he adjusted so her legs could wrap back around his hips as he got close to her face. “You‘re so good for me. Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.” That was no lie. “Been dying to get my hands on you since the very first day, and now m’not going to take them off.”

"Harry..." She whined softly, her body feeling hot and sweaty. Her thighs were slick with her juices mixed with his spit - he had spread them open and spat right onto her hole before pushing back inside. Y/N was getting close, just like he wanted. He had her legs spread wide again, watching every snap of his hips and how her pussy swallowed him. His deep voice was making her brain mushy. "Kiss me- Please?" She whimpered, dragging her nails up his back to hold the hair at his nape.

"Anything you want, baby." His lips crashed down onto hers, swallowing her whimper as he continued pounding into her. The kiss wasn't sweet or gentle - it was hungry and demanding, reflecting exactly how he was fucking her. Having her where he’d wanted her was borderline overwhelming. Finally having her, being able to taste her, feel her everywhere… That was a dream. Y/N was the dream.

 His tongue pushed into her mouth as he hit that perfect spot inside her again and again, pulling back to coax her into it. "C’mon baby. Can feel you so close t’cumming... you're right there.” The croon was heavy against her lips, feeling how she was moving against him, how she clenched around him. It was everything he’d needed. “Gonna fill this dirty little cunt of yours..." His hand moved between them and found her clit, pressing down firmly as he swiped in circles. “S’that okay, baby? Can I fill this pussy up?” His voice broke slightly, kissing her over and over between the words.

She kissed him back frantically, her arms wrapping around his neck as she squirmed with him rubbing her clit. It was too much, his dick hitting that spot, his fingers on her clit, the deep rasp of his voice as he asked if he could fill her up. It was a wet dream, but she knew she wasn’t asleep with how full she felt. Their bodies were damp with sweat, her thighs and his shaft covered in her slick, the throb she felt between her legs- there was no way any dream could make her feel this good. 

"Yes, yes, yes- give it to me. Give it all to me- you’re making me cum." She cried out against his mouth, her body seizing up as her orgasm hit her hard. “Oh my god, m’cumming. I’m cumming, you’re making me cum-“ The frantic words were cut off with a high pitched whine. Her cunt clamped down on his cock as she came, the wet sounds of him fucking her through her orgasm filling the room. "Har- fuck." The garbled moan escaped her as she took it, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

"Good girl, baby…" He praised softly, his voice muffled against her mouth as he kept pounding into her convulsing cunt. "You took it so well… Knew you would, my beautiful fuckin’ girl. Been waiting so long to have you, needed you since I met you." He moaned back, his hot breath washing over her face as he kept his cock filling her, in and out, getting her full over and over. “Soaking that cock… Don’t think I can last.” The feel of how slippery and hot her cunt was, feeling her trying to suck him in deeper, it was too much. He couldn’t hold on much longer.

"Cum inside me, please..." She begged softly, a cooed whisper as she felt him still fucking into her. Sensitivity made her shiver but she didn’t want it to stop- it oddly enough felt good, the little twitches of pleasure. "Fill me up, Harry. I want it all... I want you to cum so bad." She wrapped her arms tighter around him, holding him close as she felt him start to shake. "Give it to me. Let go... I’ve got you."

"You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me." His voice was thick with need, the way she held him close being the final straw. It was unlike what he’d experienced before. Being held that way, coaxed, her soft lips pressing against his sticky skin as she got them as close as possible, it was a new level of intimate he’d never expected from a first time with someone- but it was Y/N. Everything about her was soft and silky, comfort. The sweetest girl with his bite marks on her throat and her legs wrapped tight around his hips, pulling him in deep.

 "Fuck... I'm cumming baby" He groaned thickly, burying himself to the hilt as hot streams of his load filled her. The pleasure nearly made him feel delirious. Heart beating out of his chest, hand curled up in the comforter as his body stayed as close to her as possible. "Oh fuck.” He slurred, grinding into her. “Feel that? Feel my cum flooding your pussy, sweet girl?" The pulses of his cock as he finished made her whine, eyes fluttering as she sought out his mouth to kiss. When his hips stilled, he made sure to keep himself deep, wanting every drop inside her. "S'alright if this is my new favorite place to cum... between those pretty thighs?"

He nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing her in as she nodded with a tired giggle. She was wrapped around him completely, like a vine, running her fingers up and down his spine and her lips finding him when he pulled up from her neck. He let out a happy sound as she pressed kisses to his face before he caught her lips again, humming against them. His body was heavy on top of hers, his softening length still nestled deep inside her warmth. His kisses were gentle and slow, his hands carding through her hair as he held her face close to his, needing to feel her breath against his face. "Love how you smell… like that peppermint tea y’always drink… and me." He murmured softly against her lips.

She released a soft giggle against his lips, feeling the ticklish slide of his stubble against her cheek. "Now you smell like me too, big guy." Her fingers played with the short hairs at the nape of his neck as she gazed up at him, wrapped around him like a koala.  “But you said some stuff…” She raised an eyebrow as he pulled his face back to look at her. “You had a big crush on me?” Her tone was teasing, a little giddy from the knowledge. “You told me that before but it hits different when you’re balls deep.”

He groaned softly, shaking his head at her teasing as he rolled his hips lazily, feeling how her walls clenched around him. "Smartass." Though he grumbled, there was a fond smile tugging at his mouth. "Yeah well, you had me chasing you for months, sweetheart. Little did you know, every time you told me to go away or that I was being obnoxious, my brain was a constant loop of 'fuck, she's gorgeous.'" He tapped her nose playfully. "So yeah, I had a crush. Have one. But m’not gonna ask you to be my girlfriend properly in this way so… Just know you’re mine, and m’gonna ask you in a far more romantic way for the proper title."

Y/n giggled again, feeling completely giddy and light - post-sex afterglow mixed with knowing he'd pined after her for so long. "Is it weird that you being such a weirdo turns me on?" She admitted with a laugh, running her fingers through his damp hair again.  “You better ask properly...That’s what I deserve." The tone was playful, but there was a dreamy look in her eyes as she thought about what romantic Harry might be like. The woman had vast knowledge of annoying Harry, Office Harry, and Friend Harry… but boyfriend Harry? Well, that made her giddy to think about. "If you ask nicely..." The hum was soft as she lightly pinched his cheek. “I may just say yes.”

“That’s my goal, cause I’m already planning on it.” That had always been his goal, even if he had completely fucked it up and had to start from scratch. Building them up was worth it, though. Having her so close, hearing her giggles, feeling her body warmth? All of that was priceless. “Gonna stock up on all your headache stuff here, too. Make sure you’ve got a stash. Have to make sure you’re taken care of always…” His lips split into another grin. “Even if I’m the cause of your headache.”

[dakusan]

Under the weather, under their care.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, sick day fluff

🌙 synopsis: you’re sick. your head hurts, your throat’s sore, and your body feels like it’s made of led. lucky for you, the boys don’t take your sick days lightly. from dad-mode chan to chaotic nurse han, here’s how each member would react to you being under the weather.

💌 a/n: I made this upon request, @cybergracie, she's sick, I HOPE U GET WELL BESTIE 🥺. this is a fluff-heavy, comfort-core piece. each member is written with personality accuracy in mind—not just idealized bf fluff, but the actual way they’d show care in their own unique ways. also: please imagine han beatboxing your fever away. thanks. ps. reblogs = love

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Still With You" — Jung Kook

Bang Chan // 방찬

The second he notices something off—your voice a little hoarse, your body a bit sluggish—he’s on it. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’s clocked it. You barely get a chance to brush it off before he’s already adjusting his schedule around you. If he's on tour or at the studio, he’ll be checking in constantly with messages like:

“Did you eat anything yet?” “Are you resting properly?” “Don't make me come home early, I will.”

When he is home, though? You’re not lifting a single finger. He’s all over the place—running to the pharmacy, heating soup, fluffing your pillows, and making sure you’ve got water within reach at all times. He’s quiet about it too, not making a big deal, just subtly doing what needs to be done because taking care of the people he loves is second nature to him.

You try to tell him you’re fine, and he just raises an eyebrow.

“You’re literally shivering. Don’t argue with me.”

He doesn't smother, but he's present. Keeps a calming hand on your back while you nap, plays soft music in the background to soothe your headache, and watches over you without making it feel overbearing. He reads the room well—gives you space when you need it, but never strays too far.

If you get emotional or frustrated about being sick, especially if it messes with your routine or makes you feel helpless, he gets it. His voice goes softer. He cups your cheek with a warm hand and murmurs:

“You don’t have to be strong right now, okay? Just rest. Let me take care of you for once.”

He will pull out the dreaded herbal stuff his mom used to make him drink when he was sick—“it tastes like sadness but it works”—and insists on staying up to monitor your fever, even if you beg him to sleep.

He keeps your hair out of your face, wipes your forehead with a cool cloth, and kisses your temple like it's instinct. Being with Chan when you're sick doesn't feel like being a burden—it feels like you're being wrapped in care, in love, in quiet devotion.

He won’t let you thank him too much either.

“You’d do the same for me. And besides, this just means I get extra cuddles when you’re better.”

Lee Know // 리노

He notices immediately. You don’t even have to say anything—just one look at your slightly pale face, the slower blink, the off rhythm of your breathing, and he’s narrowing his eyes like:

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

When you try to deny it, he just stares you down until you give in with a sigh. You’d think he’d tease you, but no. Lee Know becomes uncharacteristically serious when it comes to your health.

He's not dramatic about it, but he’s efficient.

The moment you admit you’re not feeling well, he’s already on his phone checking what’s in the pantry, planning what you can eat, and quietly adjusting his day to make sure you’re not alone. He doesn’t announce it. He just does it.

He shows care through actions—not babying, but making sure you’re comfortable. Your favourite blanket suddenly appears around your shoulders. The heating pad is already plugged in. He hands you medicine without saying a word and watches to make sure you take it properly.

He cooks for you—but don’t expect anything fancy. You’re getting classic, warm, nourishing meals, exactly the kind of food that won’t upset your stomach. And yes, he’ll roast you a little:

“It tastes bland because you’re sick. What, you want Michelin-star when your nose is running?”

He absolutely will not cuddle you while you’re contagious. He’ll stay close, sure—sitting at the edge of the bed, folding laundry nearby, occasionally brushing his fingers through your hair with a sigh—but full-on snuggles? Nope. Not until your fever’s gone and you're cleared.

But he doesn’t leave the room either.

He stays just far enough to keep from catching whatever you have, but close enough to monitor you. He keeps one earbud in to give you peace but always pulls it out the second you shift or wince.

And when you wake up coughing at 3AM? He’s already by your side, handing you water before you can ask. His voice low and gentle, like:

“Don’t talk. Drink first. Breathe.”

If you start crying or feeling weak, that’s when he gets quiet. He won’t overwhelm you with comfort, but his gaze softens. He tucks you in tighter, hand lingering just a little longer against your forehead.

“You’re allowed to be sick. Stop trying to act like you're okay all the time.”

Later, when you’re getting better and a bit more dramatic than necessary (maybe asking him to fluff your pillow again), he smirks and rolls his eyes.

“You’re milking this. I know you.”

But he still does it. And when you're fully recovered, that's when the affection comes back in full—teasing kisses, long hugs, and a quiet,

“Don’t get sick again. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

(And maybe a whisper when he thinks you’re asleep:

“You scared me a little, you know.”)

Changbin // 창빈

The moment he finds out you’re sick, he goes from 0 to 100. Like, you text him “I think I caught something” and five minutes later he’s blowing up your phone with:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMETHING??” “How bad is it??” “Do you need me?? Should I come over?? I’m coming over.”

When he does show up, he’s carrying way too much. A full bag of random groceries, multiple drinks (some contradictory—like, why ginger ale and sports drinks and vitamin C packets?), tissues with lotion, and something pink and fluffy that you’re not even sure has a purpose.

And he's breathless, out of breath from rushing, still in his hoodie and slippers like he didn’t even stop to fully change.

“Okay—okay, first things first—do you have a fever? No, wait, let me check—no, you don’t check, I check—”

He's definitely the type to Google your symptoms while sitting next to you, holding your hand like you’re dying. You cough once and he’s already deep into “early signs of pneumonia” and quietly panicking.

But here’s the thing—under all that chaotic energy is someone who really, really cares.

He wipes down surfaces, makes you take medicine on time, and paces while you nap because he can’t sit still when you’re unwell. If you so much as shift in your sleep, he’s immediately next to you.

“Do you need something? Water? Blanket? Me? I mean—I’m here—just say the word.”

He tries to cook. Like really tries. Follows a recipe video step by step, but ends up making the kitchen look like a warzone. The food is edible, and honestly, it tastes way better than you expected—but it comes with a sheepish smile and a “Don’t die, okay? I put my soul in that rice.”

He’s the type to encourage you to laugh through the misery, even if he knows you feel like crap. He’ll pull out his silly voice impressions, make faces, or randomly do aegyo just to get a smile out of you.

And when you’re too tired to respond? He quiets down. Holds your hand gently. Tucks the blanket up to your chin and just stays close.

“Rest, jagi. I’ll stay right here. I promise.”

And if you thank him too much, he gets all bashful and dramatic again:

“Stop being cute when you’re sick! I’m trying to focus on taking care of you, not falling in love all over again!”

Hyunjin // 현진

When you tell Hyunjin you’re sick, he gasps like you just confessed a tragic secret.

“You’re what? Sick? You?!”

He's immediately distraught. Not because he doesn’t know what to do—he actually does—but because he hates seeing you like this. His empathy is through the roof. If you're miserable, he's basically miserable by osmosis.

He shows up in a long coat, scarf, and a tote bag full of oddly curated items: a sketchpad, multiple fancy drinks, a candle he claims will help “cleanse your aura,” and a tiny stuffed animal “to guard your bed.”

But once the theatrics die down, he’s incredibly gentle.

He speaks softly around you, like he’s scared to disturb your peace. Brushes your hair back from your face with his knuckles. Gets you tissues and cool compresses and rubs your back when you cough. He doesn’t make a fuss out of helping—you just look up and he’s already kneeling next to the bed, adjusting your blanket with care.

“I don’t like this. You should always be glowing. You’re supposed to be warm and smiley and annoying me with your weird jokes.”

He doesn’t necessarily cook full meals, but he’ll cut fruit for you like a seasoned Korean mom. Brings you sliced apples and pears with toothpicks and arranges them in little patterns. He lights the candle (of course he does) and hums softly while you rest.

And when you fall asleep, he doesn’t leave.

He curls up at the foot of the bed like a quiet cat, sketchbook in his lap, drawing you as you sleep—not in a weird way, just a soft “I want to remember you like this, even if you’re sick” way. His lines are delicate. Thoughtful. Honest.

If you start crying out of frustration or exhaustion, he immediately drops everything to cradle you, whispering into your hair:

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in. Let me carry it for you.”

He’ll cry too, but quietly. Not to take the attention off you—just because it genuinely hurts to see someone he loves in pain.

And when you finally start to feel a bit better, he brightens like the sun peeking out after rain.

“You’re healing,” he says, brushing his knuckle under your eye, “and when you’re fully better, we’re going to go out and celebrate your immune system.”

Because of course he would.

Han // 한

Han freaks out immediately—but it’s not super helpful at first. You text him something simple like “I’m feeling kinda sick today,” and within ten minutes he’s calling you with a full-blown gasp:

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE DYING—okay no you’re not dying BUT LIKE—ARE YOU OKAY???”

He’s definitely pacing back and forth in his room, still in pyjamas, with a headband holding his hair back and zero plan on what to do. He panics first, then pulls himself together. His love language is chaos-then-action.

He shows up at your place with a bag that makes no sense: two different kinds of ramen, a random juice box, cough drops, chocolate, three stress balls (“in case you’re bored”), and a neck pillow. No medicine. No actual meals. Just vibes.

“Okay okay, hear me out—I panicked. But I brought snacks and love.”

Despite the scattered brain, he pulls it together when it really counts. He’s attentive. He’ll sit next to you while you rest and hold your hand loosely, thumb brushing over your knuckles. He won’t say anything for a while—just watches you with those big, warm eyes full of concern.

If you’re curled up and miserable, he’ll adjust the blanket for you and say in a surprisingly soft voice:

“I don’t like seeing you like this. I’d rather be sick instead.”

(He means it. But also, if he got sick, he'd be 10x more dramatic than you. Bedridden. Needy. Demanding forehead kisses every five minutes.)

He makes you laugh without even trying. The moment your fever breaks a little and you can sit up, he’s already putting on dumb videos, doing weird impressions of your doctor, or lip-syncing to ballads with way too much emotion.

He’ll also say stuff like:

“If you die, can I keep your hoodie collection? Not because I want them, just so no one else gets them.”

Followed by:

“Wait, no, don’t die. You’re the only person who laughs at my weird jokes.”

He’ll write you a freestyle rap while you nap. It’s bad. It’s so bad. But it’s from the heart. And you wake up to him beatboxing quietly next to you, working on rhymes like “She’s sick but she’s slick, with tissues so quick—uh, what rhymes with thermometer?”

And even if he makes light of it, he doesn’t leave. Not until you’ve eaten something. Not until you’re tucked in. Not until he’s made you laugh at least once.

“You’re not allowed to feel gross. You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen—with or without the sniffles.”

Felix // 필릭스

Felix immediately switches into guardian angel mode the moment you tell him you're sick. His brows knit together with concern, and he softly goes:

“Oh no, darling… Are you okay? What hurts? What do you need?”

His voice somehow gets even softer than usual, and that’s saying a lot. He doesn’t waste time—he’s already got a mental checklist going. He shows up at your place like a quiet storm, arms full of carefully selected things: your favourite tea, fresh fruit, his cosiest hoodie (the one you steal all the time), and a little handwritten note that just says “rest well, lovebug 🤍” tucked into a book.

He moves around your space like he’s done this a thousand times. Lights a soft-scented candle. Makes you tea—ginger, lemon, honey, everything—and hands it to you with both hands like it’s sacred.

“Sip slowly, yeah? It’ll help your throat.”

He speaks in a hush, like he’s scared to be too loud and disturb you. But even more than that, he listens. He watches your cues. If you don’t feel like talking, he sits quietly and rubs your back in slow, rhythmic circles. If you’re cranky or frustrated with how you feel, he’s patient. He doesn’t dismiss it. Just murmurs,

“It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He won’t let you feel guilty for needing help. He doesn’t even think twice about it—it’s just natural to him to care for you. He’ll spoon-feed you porridge if you’re too weak to eat (with a soft, teasing “open up, baby~”), fluff your pillows, and offer to braid your hair to keep it out of your face if it’s long.

And when you’re really out of it, in that floaty feverish state? He hums lullabies to you. Soft, low, breathy melodies while running his fingers through your hair, grounding you like an anchor.

He’s physically affectionate but gentle—he won’t cling if you’re uncomfortable, but he’ll press a kiss to your forehead with reverence when your fever starts to come down.

“You’re getting better already. That’s my strong baby.”

When you start feeling a bit better and try to apologize for being so out of it, he just shakes his head and smiles that soft, dimpled smile:

“I’d take care of you a hundred more times if it meant I get to love you this much.”

Seungmin // 승민

You text him: “I think I’m getting sick.”

His reply:

“Wow. Weak.” “Do you want me to come over or are you going to survive this incredibly tragic cold on your own?”

He teases you endlessly, even when he’s already halfway out the door with a tote bag full of essentials. He’s not the kind to show up flustered or chaotic—he’s cool, collected, and annoyingly prepared. He stops by the pharmacy like it’s a casual errand, picks the right kind of medicine, and shows up at your place with soup containers labelled with the exact heating instructions.

“Because I know you’re going to ignore me when I leave. So I made it idiot-proof.”

Despite the constant roasting, he’s weirdly good at caretaking. Like, scary good. He’s probably done this for the other members a million times. He doesn’t hover, but he keeps you on schedule—meds on time, hydration checked, food warm. He sets timers on his phone like:

“Every 4 hours, you're drinking something. I don’t care if it’s water or juice. Just not coffee. Don’t test me.”

He definitely sits at the edge of your bed or couch with a mug in hand, watching you like a judgmental hawk while you eat something.

“Chew slower. You sound like a vacuum cleaner.”

He’ll bring over one of his own hoodies and act like it’s no big deal when you snuggle into it—but there’s a flicker of fondness in his eyes when you do.

If you’re really sick and end up crying or feeling gross, Seungmin’s whole vibe shifts. His voice softens. His teasing fades out, and he looks at you like you’re fragile—but never in a pitying way. Just... attentively.

“Hey. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up and pretend you’re okay. You're sick, not invincible.”

He sits beside you, holding your wrist gently and checking your pulse like he knows what he’s doing (and honestly? He kinda does).

When you’re asleep, he doesn’t leave right away. He stays long enough to make sure you’re breathing evenly, your fever’s down, and that your glass of water is full. He’ll tidy your space a little—nothing crazy, just enough so that you’ll wake up feeling a bit more at ease.

And if you ask him why he’s being so sweet the next day?

“Because I don’t want you to die. Who else would I bully?”

And then under his breath, as he's walking away:

“…Plus, I care about you. Obviously.”

I.N // 아이엔

Jeongin freezes when you tell him you’re sick. Like—deer in headlights, soul leaving his body—kind of freeze.

“You’re… sick?? What do I do?? What am I supposed to do?? Do I call Chan-hyung?? Is there a number for this??”

He genuinely panics at first, not because he doesn’t want to help, but because he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He’s never fully confident in these situations, but the second he realizes you need him, he pulls it together real fast.

He shows up at your door with the most random collection of items: yogurt (he read online it helps), a bag of cough drops (he bought 3 kinds just in case), a warm scarf (that he knitted, sob), and a tiny teddy bear he won at a claw machine a week ago.

“He’s here to keep you company when I can’t. Don’t get attached, though. He’s still mine.”

Once inside, he’s constantly checking with you—nervously, but sweetly.

“Do you want porridge? I can try making it… it might be weird though.” “Do you feel hot? Like fever hot, not hot-hot. Not that you’re not hot—okay never mind—”

He’s flustered. So flustered. But he puts 200% effort into everything. He follows tutorials to make you soup and burns his tongue taste-testing it (“worth it”), tries to fluff your pillows in just the right way, and keeps offering you water every ten minutes.

He might pace a bit when you're napping, muttering to himself like:

“Okay, don’t forget the medicine at 2. And check the temperature. And don’t forget to smile when she wakes up. But not creepy. Calm smile. Natural. Chill. I'm chill.”

If you’re too tired to talk, he’ll just sit nearby, playing quietly on his phone, occasionally peeking over to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t leave until you force him to rest too. And even then, he sets an alarm so he can wake up and check your temperature in a few hours.

And when you’re finally feeling better, all the tension leaves his body in a big sigh of relief—and he gets shy.

“You’re okay now… That’s good. I didn’t really do much but… I’m glad I was here.”

Then adds with a soft, sheepish smile:

“Next time, let me take care of you before you pass out trying to act fine, okay?”

He’s your little protector in disguise—nervous, thoughtful, and quietly proud of himself for stepping up when it counted.

[myloveer0]

Beg teacher..

Ambessa medarda x Fem!reader x Sevika

🔥🔥🔥❤️❤️❤️

⚠️warning contain smut⚠️

Summary: As a high school teacher, you were conducting a private parent meeting for two of your mischievous students. However, the moment you glanced at their parents—a pair of stunning, sophisticated older women sitting in your office—you felt an immediate wave of regret.

Everyone is messaging me for another, and it makes me happy to see that they appreciate my work.. Anyway, here we are... of course, I can't leave out a hottie like Sevika. It’s my dream to be in the same room with these two hella fine woman..

Part I

It was friday—the one day in your schedule that made your stomach churn with unease. Today wasn’t just about handling a rowdy classroom or going through lesson plans. No, today, you had your first-ever parent consultation. It wasn't part of your bucket list on dealing with a private parental meeting the first year on your teaching career, but it was hard to avoid when you were assigned one of the most chaotic students in the school.

And, of all the parents in the world, it had to be the one responsible for not one, but two students who gave you the biggest headache.

Mel and Jinx rivalry.

Jinx—wild, young, unpredictable, and relentless. If there was trouble in the classroom, you could bet she was at the center of it, grinning ear to ear like she lived for the chaos. She's actually a very smart one, but her focus was as fleeting as her attention span, and her energy levels were off the charts—way more than you could handle.

Mel, on the other hand, wasn’t really. She an outstanding student—smart, disciplined, and excelled in every subject. But the moment she crossed paths with Jinx, everything changed. Mel was the only one brave enough to stand up against Jinx. She just wanted to restore order about jinx behavior but Jinx never backed down. It turned into a rivalry that grew with each passing day, and the tension was palpable. A simple glance or eye roll between them could escalate into a full-blown argument, dragging the whole class into the chaos.

And now, you had to explain this mess to their parent.

You glanced at your watch. 4:00 PM. Not exactly an ideal time for a meeting, but Mel’s mother had specifically requested it due to her busy schedule whatever she do exactly. Thankfully, Jinx’s one didn’t mind the late hour.

Your palms felt clammy at every step you take. You can't help but rubbed them against your pencil skirt. What if the parent was just as unpredictable as their child? What if they blamed me? What if they simply didn’t care? The nerves coiled tighter in your stomach with every step toward the classroom door. You could already imagine all scenario in your head. What would their parent be like?

You stopped at your homeroom door and caught your reflection in the door’s glass, your expression giving away the anxious energy which you tried to suppress since morning. Smoothing down your shirt, you inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. This was just another part of being a teacher. you had to handle it, no matter how much your nerves screamed to turn around and run. You can't help it, you have this feeling that this wasn't going as you planned.

With one final breath, you gripped the handle and stepped into the door.

A shiver ran down your spine the moment the cool air conditioning brushed against your skin. You closed the door behind you, exhaling softly before letting your eyes drift toward your desk. But you barely had a second to process before your gaze was caught—drawn in by the two figures seated before you.

Your breath hitched.

On the left, a broad-shouldered older woman, likely in her forties, lounged effortlessly in her chair. One elbow rested lazily on the worn wooden surface, she was dressed simply—a crisp white long-sleeve polo, the sleeves neatly folded to reveal her powerful, bulging forearms. The fabric stretched across her broad chest and shoulders making her breast standout especially of the two open button.

Dark trousers hugged her frame in all the right places, and scuffed boots tapped idly against the floor, a stark contrast to how put-together she looked. Even in such simple attire, she carried herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made it impossible not to stare.

Her face was all sharp angles and quiet intensity, high cheekbones, a strong jawline. A single scar traced a path from her cheekbone down to her jaw. Her hair pulled back in a practical half ponytail, had a few loose strands that framed her face. And then—there was her gaze.

Dark. Steady. Unapologetically ogling at the woman across from her.

On the other side of her sat a much older woman whose mere presence commanded attention. A vision in red—a dress that draped over her muscular frame like liquid silk, despite her bold masculine build, she wore the dress with an undeniable confidence that made her stunningly captivating. Confident and wasn't afraid to show off those muscles despite being a woman. A black fur scarf rested around her neck, adding a touch of luxury to the raw, effortless authority she exuded. And those heels—sharp, blood-red, the final, deliberate detail to an already striking figure.

Her dark curls styled with meticulous care, framing a face that was the very definition of refinement. Every inch of her spoke of wealth, power, and control. From the delicate shimmer of her jewelry to the poised way she held herself, she seems like a woman who had never once needed to ask for anything.

Mel’s mother.

Your pulse quickened.

That same shiver.

Only this time, it wasn’t from the cold.

Shit. You nearly cursed out loud.

You had always had a thing for strong and confident women—the kind who commanded a room with just a look, who carried power like a second skin. And now, standing in front of two of them, you felt utterly helpless.

The moment the door clicked shut, their attention snapped to you, and your breath hitched in your throat.

God.

It was overwhelming—the way they sat there, poised and beautiful, their sharp eyes drinking you in like they already knew what was running through your head.

You shouldn't have organized this meeting.

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck as your body betrayed you. This was exactly the kind of situation you weren't prepared for—the kind where your mind screamed at you to run, because you know you can't think properly with this two presence. You would definitely embarrass yourself.

You couldn’t even breathe properly.

They were exactly your type—tall, masculine, older, effortlessly stunning. Women who knew their power and weren’t afraid to use it.

This was a bad idea.

A very, very bad idea. Can you retreat and back out!

Both of them stood, and—oh god, please help.

They were tall.

Taller than you imagined. Tall enough that you barely even reached their shoulders. The sheer difference in size sent a shiver through you, and for a brief, terrifying second, your knees almost buckled.

The urge to sink to your knees in front of them, to let them tower over you, was— NO.

You clenched your jaw, gripping your shoulder bag like it was a lifeline, your fingers digging into the fabric as if it could somehow ground you. Stay composed. Stay standing. But it was hard when their presence was so much for you to handle, when every part of you felt small under their gaze.

You were about to voice out when mel's mother eyes locked onto you. “Call the teacher,” she ordered, voice firm, not even sparing you a glance. “We’d like to finish this meeting earlier as possible”

You blinked. “P-pardon?”

She exhaled, barely masking her impatience, but before she could repeat herself, the other woman cut in, her tone a little rougher. “We would like to clarify about the owner of this room''

You hesitated, a flush of uncertainty washing over you. Did they think you were just a student? Shifting you weight before finally saying, “I-i am the teacher.”

The silence that followed was thick, stretching between the three of us. The woman raised a brow, eyes flickering with something close to amusement. The red dress, on the other hand, looked you over with a slow, calculating gaze, as if assessing whether you were lying or just a complete anomaly in her expectations.

Then, she scoffed. “I was prepared and expecting to argue with an older woman,” she admitted, leaning back in her chair. “Not… this.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you straightened instinctively. “Sorry to disappoint.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of the other woman lips, while red dress simply shook her head, more intrigued than annoyed now. “We’ll see if you do, little one” she mused, finally gesturing for you to sit. “You’re young, but if you’re here, you must be capable. Sit down, teacher. Let’s get to business.”

Both of their eyes ran over you, and your cheeks heated more at their stare. You cleared your throat, trying to push away the sudden warmth creeping up your spine. You took a step closer, closing the gap, and offered a hand. Stop blushing and be professional. “Y/N, Mel’s and Jinx’s homeroom teacher. I am glad you accept my invitation despite your tight schedule”

The short-haired woman smirked. "Sevika, jinx guardian" she introduced, voice smooth yet edged with something darker. Her grip was firm, rough fingers lingering against yours just a moment longer than necessary.

The woman in the crimson dress tilted her head, studying you with amusement. "Ambessa Medarda," she said, her voice rich and authoritative. She reached for your hand, and although you expected it to be soft, her grip was surprisingly rough. Her thumb ghosted over the back of your hand before she finally let go.

A shiver ran through you at the contact, warmth pooling at the base of your spine. The way they looked at you as you turned to your seat—watching, following your every movement—made your skin prickle. You wanted to melt. Why were they staring so much? You felt like prey under their gaze. The room suddenly felt hotter, despite the full blast of the air conditioner.

Shaking off the feeling, you focused on setting your bag down—until your eyes landed on something sitting brazenly on your desk.

Your breath hitched. Your jaw dropped.

"I Love Butches" magazine.

Panic surged through you. Oh. My. God.

Fuck Emily! Your overly enthusiastic, meddling lesbian co-teacher. She had given it to you the moment she found out you were into women. And now, it was sitting in full view.

Your body moved on instinct—get rid of it! You snatched it up, but in your frantic rush, you didn’t calculate your strength.

The magazine flew.

It soared across the room in a graceful, traitorous arc before landing with a humiliating thud on the floor—right in the middle of the now silent room.

Every eye turned toward it.

Heat crawled up your neck, burning your cheeks. This was the worst.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"That’s not mine, I swear," you blurted out, voice higher than you intended.

You bit your lip, a wave of frustration washing over you as you fought the urge to smack your head in disbelief. What was wrong with you? You were clearly being obvious, announcing it was. Now you look nothing but a fool.

Silence.

Then, a deep, amused hum. “Is that so?” Ambessa’s voice was rich, indulgent, like she was enjoying a private joke.

You dared to look up.

Sevika was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her broad chest, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Pretty bold reading material for someone so flustered,” she mused, eyes flicking from your burning face to the magazine still splayed out on the floor.

Your entire body was on fire. You needed an escape—now.

You made a move to grab the cursed thing, but before you could, Ambessa stood. “Allow me.”

She strode over, graceful and commanding, bending down to retrieve it. The movement—deliberate, slow—gave you a full view of the way her dress hugged every strong curve. She straightened, turning the magazine over in her hands, studying it as if it were a fascinating artifact.

But your stomach dropped when she flipped to a random page. It wasn't a normal magazine; it was an adult magazine, and the shock of it washed over you like cold water. Each woman in the glossy pages was a striking image of muscular femininity, their bodies bold and unapologetically naked, exuding confidence of the topic of raw sex. The models look like the two women sitting across from you in the very same room.

Your skin burned.

You didn’t dare look up.

Because you could feel their gazes on you now—one amused, the other piercing. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your throat tightening as if the air itself had turned thick and unbearable.

Shit.

There was no taking this back. Your reputation as a teacher is now over and they think of you as a lesbian sex starve woman. No excuse that could erase the fact that they’d seen exactly what kind of things you were drawn to.

“Interesting taste,” Ambessa commented, skimming the contents. “I must say, I do see the appeal.” Her brown eyes lifted to yours, glinting with something, something dangerous.

Sevika chuckled lowly beside her, shaking her head. “You’re adorable when you’re panicking, y’know that dove..?”

"I—" Your words failed you.

Ambessa took slow, measured steps toward you, finally placing the magazine back onto your desk—but not before trailing her fingers over its cover with a thoughtful hum.

She leaned in, just slightly, her voice a murmur. "No need to be embarrassed, teacher. Everyone has their… preferences."

Sevika was watching you too, her expression hot, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that made your pulse stutter.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your desk to keep yourself grounded. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole—or, better yet, to throw yourself off the highest building. It was the perfect day to die in embarrassment. What a way to have your first parent meeting.

You had planned to make a good impression, to come across as an innocent professional and composed teacher that they can rely. That dream was dead.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to focus. You could feel the heat radiating off your face—it probably looked like a rotten tomato by now. Without wasting another second, you grabbed the magazine and shoved it inside your desk with more force than necessary. You swear your going to tear that thing to pieces same as the person who gave it to you.

''I-If you don’t mind, can we start?” you asked, voice wavering slightly as you reached for your pen and papers.

Silence.

Your brows furrowed when no one responded. Why is it so quiet? When you looked up, you instantly regretted it.

They were staring.

Both of them. God! help they must think you're a pervert.

But it wasn’t just any stare—it was the kind of look that made your stomach twist, your breath hitch. Hungry. Amused. Dangerous. Like they were toying with their food before taking a bite. You weren’t clueless about the way they look. You felt your thighs press together involuntarily, the heat pooling lower, the sharp awareness of your own body betraying you.

Desperate for an escape, you cleared your throat again and turned to Mel’s mother. "Mrs. Medarda—"

A single brow lifted. “Ms. Medarda.” Her tone was smooth, but there was no mistaking the edge to it. She didn’t look pleased.

Shit.

Your eyes widened, panic surging through you. "I-I apologize, ma’am." The words tumbled out in a rush, and you probably looked like an obedient puppy, sitting up straight, hands folded neatly on the desk in a desperate attempt to save yourself.

Ambessa leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the arm of her chair, fingers idly tracing along her jaw as she regarded you. “Good.” The single word carried weight, approval mixed with something else—something thicker, more suffocating.

“I gotta say,” Sevika drawled, stretching lazily in her chair. “I wasn’t expecting much from this meeting, but I’m really loving it now.” She smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “No regrets.” Sevika let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Damn. She’s cute when she scrambles.”

Your fingers tightened around your pen. Your face burned even hotter. Of course she’s enjoying this. Stay professional. Focus. Ignore the way they’re looking at you. Ignore how hot your face is. Ignore how your thighs starting to pool.

This meeting was going to kill you.

And the worst part?

A very shameful part of you didn’t mind.

[dellieghtful]

LADS: Under One Roof

🍓A/N: No thoughts at all! Wrote this thru free-will and solely based on a video I saw on instagram lol hope you'd like this one! Banners (?) were all edited by me, kind of rushed since the idea for this was a spur-of-the-moment as well lol

p.s.: some scenes here are suggestive so ‼️MDNI‼️

SYNOPSIS: In which you left for a top secret mission and left them to handle a few of your household chores. Simple and easy enough, right?

📍Characters: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (separate)

I'll be out for a couple of days on a secret mission! I'll contact you guys when I get the chance! See you soon!

Was what the note plastered on your apartment door had written. Although they all knew you'd be out for a couple of days on a top secret mission, what they didn't expect was that you'd asked a specific favor for each one while you were away.

"So, that leaves," Caleb starts, flipping through the little piece of paper attached to your fridge about chores that had to he dealt with while you were away. "Laundry for Caleb, groceries for Rafayel, general cleaning for Zayne, water plants for Xavier, and bills payment for Sylus. Sounds just about right, and everyone's got their own spare keys to this place, right?"

Caleb asks, raising his gaze and eyeing each man, who were sharing the now-small living room space, to which each one pulled out their spare keys to affirm they've received theirs. "I'm surprised everyone had the free-time to show-up," Sylus says, as he leisurely makes his way to the single-couch near the apartment's entrance. "Just goes to show kitten's got us wrapped right around her little finger. Well, some more than others". He continued as he had taken his seat, crossing one leg over the other and carefully resting his arms on the couch's armrest, calm and relaxed as he should be. After all, who would Sylus be if he wasn't both of those things?

Caleb couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the comment, already understanding there was a hidden meaning behind Sylus' words. As Caleb was about to retort, Zayne cut himself in-between the conversation.

"She's been gone for less than a day. Surely, we can all agree that it is in our best interest to follow through with our roles without hassle" Zayne states from across the room, sitting on the right edge of the couch situated in the middle of the room while wiping his glasses clean. "After all, it's just five days without her presence. I'm sure we can all find a common ground".

"Right, and we don't exactly have to be living under the same roof. We have the keys so we don't have to go running after each other just to access her apartment." Caleb pointed out, walking towards the fridge and putting a magnet on top of the paper to keep it in place. "Plus, doing laundry for every single one of you isn't my ideal picture of a week-long break from duties."

"I can barely even tolerate living on my own, how much more with four other people?" Rafayel grumbled, not seeming to care with the on-going conversation as he taps and swipes on his phone, seated in-between Zayne and Xavier. "If this is done, I'm heading out. I'm dying to paint out a new piece to give to cutie once she comes home."

"Then it's settled, we won't stay here far longer than we should and just get on with what we're supposed to do." Xavier concluded, getting off the couch and preparing to take his leave. "We'll get along just fine as long as we don't get in each other's way."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sylus' responds, eyeing Xavier with a smirk plastered on his face. "Jail sounds likes a shallow place for my time and taste. I mean, if you could hold enough power to take me in."

Xavier felt a twitch in his body, already prepared to pick-up a fight with the other silver-haired man who sat right across from him. Zayne couldn't help but sigh and rub both sides of his temples to somehow ease the incoming headache of having to deal with all four men within a span of a week. Even as a doctor, his patience and level-headed coolness could only span so much within a day.

"I'll make a group chat for all of us to share. It should be a lot easier to reach out that way. I'm sure we'll take our responsibilities with upmost care". Zayne finally spoke, cutting through the growing tension in the air as he also prepares to leave, slowly getting off the comfort of the couch and reaching towards the coat rack near the entrance of the apartment.

"Besides, what would be the worst possible outcome that will come out of this small truce?" and he opens the door and closes it shut, leaving the four other men on their own.

XAVIER

Water the plants, simple and easy right? Wrong! Xavier actually spent HALF THE WEEK watering the fake and plastic plants. Now, Xavier's got crusty-dusty pot plants and a well-watered table ornaments. Didn't even bother checking if the plants were fake or not as long as he finished the job.

"Xavier, are you sure you've been watering the plants right?" Caleb called on the phone while Xavier was out for his morning run.

"Yeah, why? The one's in the bathroom, kitchen, and living room. Those are the plants I've seen her tend to while I visit".

"Dude. Oh my God," As Caleb runs through the apartment checking the places where Xavier mentioned the plants he watered were located. "Those were fake. Those were table ornaments. Come on, didn't you even bother to check?"

"Oh."

"And wait, you visit her here? Since when?"

Xavier didn't think twice and ended the call, quickly running towards the direction of Jeremiah's flowershop.

Xavier did manage to replace the plants but, unfortunately not the exact same plants you had kept BUT it belonged to the same plant family. So, that counts right? Surely, you'd never tell the blues from the greens...right?

To salvage his sins, he tried to learn as much as he could about horticultural techniques in hopes he could salvage what was left of your original plants. Even had gone as far as using his evol to initiate photosynthesis. But, of course, nothing ever goes as planned.

"Caleb".

"Xavier." Caleb replied on the other end of the phone.

"Do you think your evol could fix up broken pieces of, let's say, an apartment building?"

"No, why? Did something happen? I'll be right there. Just give me-" But before Caleb could continue, Xavier ended the call and dialed a different number this time.

"Jeremiah."

"Xavier?"

"As a florist, is rebuilding an apartment part of your skill sets?" Xavier asks as he stares at the now-very open portion of what's left of your kitchen wall. Surely, he'll figure something out before anyone gets here.

ZAYNE

Zayne stays committed to the work he's assigned regardless of where he's placed. He makes sure to clean your apartment and arranges everything in the right place such as your paperworks, books, food cans, and basically anything he can sort by color, size, and shape.

On occassions if any of the other guys would visit, he'd somehow end up cleaning after them too. Jackets and coats on the couch? Folded. Leftover snack packs? Tossed out. He makes sure everything in your home is clean and organized.

BUT Zayne should have definitely kept his mouth shut, he should have never offered to create the group chat, and he should have definitely chosen to ignore strings of messages and the numerous group chats he has somehow tangled himself into. Besides, what would be the worst possible outcome that will come out of this small truce? For the love of God. How did he even end up in this situation?

For some reason, Zayne also became everyone's designated driver? For a man who spent YEARS learning about the human anatomy to save lives, who would've thought he'd be demoted as everyone's designated driver.

Between going to the hospital, his home, and travelling towards your apartment, Zayne already has his day packed. So much to his surprise (well, not really), he comes to see your apartment's kitchen with a huge hole in the wall. Great, one problem piling over another.

"No, I don't even want to hear it." Zayne says, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tightly, hoping what he saw was just a trick of the light. But, no. There IS a huge hole in your kitchen wall.

"You know what, no. I don't want to know how or why, Xavier. I'm going to get coffee, I need a really long break. Fix, whatever you can fix." And Zayne storms off to the nearest convenience store to buy the strongest dose of coffee money could buy at 10:00AM.

RAFAYEL

Does he even do his own groceries? Not entirely. More or less, Thomas would do half the work with Rafayel following nearby (if he decides to not entirely abandon Thomas at the supermarket in pursuit of better things). Unfortunately, despite the main occupation as being "Rafayel's talent agent", Thomas works for multiple roles in Rafayel's life.

"Okay, that's milk, chips, and vegetables..." Thomas pauses over the phone as he skims through the handwritten list from Rafayel. "What kind of vegetables do you need?"

"Oh you know," Rafayel pauses on the other end, busy adding final touches to his new piece that he plans to give to you as soon as you return from your mission. "The ones with colors".

"Be more specific Rafayel, you know vegetables have tons of colors".

"The ones with shapes, you know what they are". Rafayel says on the other end, brimming with joy as his work is finally getting together. "She likes all kinds of fruits and vegetables".

"She? You mean I'm just doing your errands? Rafayel, when I-" The call comes to stop as quickly as it begun as Rafayel ended the call with one press of a button.

Thomas, on the other hand, rubs his fingers over his right and left temple, trying to ease the will to combust in that moment. Taking in long and deep breathes, Thomas pushes the cart over the vegetable isle and says: "One of everything, please".

When Rafayel (Thomas) had accomplished the grocery shopping, he decided to take his newly-accomplished art piece and bring it over to your apartment. Rafayel had already informed the others via text beforehand about his visit just in case anyone else was staying over.

"This would look perfect in her kitchen, cutie will definitely love it!" Rafayel says as he grabs your spare apartment keys and unlocks the door. What he did not expect to see was a part of your kitchen's apartment wall blown to bitz and Xavier standing in the middle of the pile.

"Well, I don't know what blasted itself in here but," Rafayel steps closer towards Xavier and hands him the art piece "if this helps, maybe cutie won't notice if you cover up the wall."

"Do you think you could make maybe 10 more of these?" Xavier asks, lifting up the art piece and matching it to the large hole in the wall and see if it could patch it up miraculously.

"Are you crazy? My art isn't some sort of wall-paste. But, give or take maybe 4 might do? I don't know. Did you call Mr. Spaceman?

"Yes."

"Did you tell him you blew up the wall?"

"No."

"Oh, damn."

Rafayel ended up making additional rushed-pieces while Xavier worked with what he could to patch up your kitchen wall. The hole wasn't too big, sort of? Anyway, it'll depend on your reaction when you get home.

Although, Rafayel loves your home decor, he decided upon his free-will to put his creative mind to work and re-arrange a few of your household furniture. Surely, you wouldn't miss a few or two curtains, sheets, and even pillows. Right?

SYLUS

Sylus rarely stays around your apartment but, when he misses you a little, he'd find time to stop by and leave small trinkets and gifts near your bedroom for you to find when you get home. He'd also find time to actually make and store ready-to-eat food in your fridge when he knows you're date of arrival is nearing. He loves to make sure you're well-taken care of and fed.

AND Of course, out of all the sane chores you could have given the crime boss of the N109 zone, you just had to give him "bills payment". Sure, it was easy but not until the servers crashed which leaves Sylus no other option but to visit the bank. And it's not just any bank, it's the Linkon City Bank.

So, naturally, Sylus had to pull out a fake name and identity to avoid unwanted attention. Unfortunately, today's fit was definitely giving off "crime boss".

Straight up went ahead of the lines and directly to the teller. Unfortunately, his killer charm didn't do him any good as he was told to: "get back in line" and had to wait for a whole 2 hours before being catered. Only to be told to line up again because he didn't fill out any of the forms and paperworks to submit the payments. Well, that's another two hours down the drain.

To top it all off while waiting as a past time, Sylus could be seen polishing his gun in the middle of the bank. Sylus was warned about a couple of times before being asked to leave the premises. Hence, Sylus could be seen hopping from one bank to another.

After the 5th attempt, he finally gave up.

And true to his word, Sylus did keep his promises towards you. Although, maybe next time he would have to beg off from this chore ever again.

CALEB

Going back to his roots to when you were kids, Caleb is once again stuck with laundry duty. But, he's not complaining as long as he's doing yours. Unfortunately, Caleb chose the wrong day to put up with this chore.

It was a day before your return when the guys decided to surprise you with a small "welcome home" party. The truce was still there but of course, living under the same roof for a day does things to a man.

"There's a bin! Look," Caleb starts as he gets into position. "You pick-up, shoot, and toss. It's so easy".

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Don't think too much about a pair of tidy-widies". Rafayel waves off, focusing his attention towards the baked goods on the table. The plan for today was to decorate and prepare a bunch of sweets for your return.

"Well, then stop mixing in the whites with the colored!" Caleb yells out, holding a pair of purple boxers and a now-pink shirt (which was white before Rafayel tossed his colored clothes into the washing machine). "Nobody wants to see purple boxers on a man! It mismatches the whole fit."

While doing the rest of the laundry (which doubled in number for unfortunate reasons, thanks to the guys sleeping over), he finally got to your pile, the clothes he was actually tasked to wash. He was arranging and dumping piles by color when he came across a pair of red lacy thongs and a bra to match.

caleb.exe stopped working!

Wow, she is definitely a big girl now. I remember back then whe she used to wear those cute white undies with the animal prints. Time does flyby really fast as you grow older. And now she's a big girl and-fuck-fuck-fuck! Stop.

Caleb quickly pushes out all thoughts aside and focuses on doing your laundry. Afterall, it's Caleb: mr. man-with-a-plan, mr. I-got-everything-covered, mr. I'm-going-to-shove-this-thong-on-my-

The thought never finished as Caleb quickly smacked his head about these unholy thoughts. To make matters worse, the whole basket he took were full of your lacey underwear.

After breaking down, Caleb was quick to work with folding your clothes in a neat stack inside your drawers. Despite Caleb seeming to be in a razor-sharp focus mode, he can't shake off the feeling of his early encounter with your underwear. Who would've thought his pipsquek would grow up to become a woman with refined tastes and fuck-fuck-fuck! No. Don't go there. Caleb has to fold laundry, just fold the goddamn laundry. Fold laundry, fold laundry, folds...And then Caleb malfunctioned again.

Even if Caleb is only assigned to one chore he makes sure to double-clean the apartment with Zayne. Despite being apart for quite some time, that childhood-bond they both shared as children still continued to hold them together.

Caleb also prides himself as your main meal-provider. So, when he discovers pre-packed and ready-to-heat meals in your fridge from Sylus, so he did what any sane man would do: toss is into the trash. Because if it's not made by Caleb's hand then it's not good enough for you.

AND of course Sylus found out, which is why Sylus changed the passcode and took the spare keys Caleb had hidden under his jacket. Which is why, from a bystander's point-of-view, you could see a grown man climbing up your apartment window trying to get inside.

Sylus could only laugh and watch as Caleb struggles to get through your kitchen's window. "I'm going to come after you, and when I do-" Sylus didn't even bother letting Caleb finish talking and shut the curtain blinds.

"Oh don't be like that Colonel," Sylus starts, opening his phone and skimming through the accessible cameras of the building until he finally spots what he's been looking for. "You could warmly welcome our guest now, she's just right there."

Without needing other hints, Caleb knew what he meant and as he looked towards the building entrance, he could see you with a more than displeased look as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Well, fuck."

part 2? yes, no, maybe so? :3

[sashaforthewin]

Multi-chapter fic on Ao3

Steve had been enjoying a nice relaxing lounge by the pool despite it being night. He had his hearing aid off and his fruity drink and a romance novel Robin had let him borrow. He was determined to have a good time despite the circumstances. 

Someone tapped his foot, scaring the crap out of Steve and making him drop his book and nearly knock over his drink. 

It was a fellow cruise passenger and he was saying something. Steve turned his hearing aid back on.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked why you were out here instead of at the concert,” repeated the man with a smile.

“Oh, um. I’m not actually a fan of metal music. It gives me headaches if I listen to more than one or two songs in a row,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

This stranger was still clearly a metal head, but he looked significantly less scary than most of the ones he had seen so far that day. Everyone Steve met had been nice, but Steve hadn’t felt comfortable telling anyone he wasn’t a fan until now. Maybe because it was just the two of them out here and he was smiling so cutely. 

“Not a metal fan? Well damn, not to critique your life choices, but I think maybe going on a metal cruise wasn’t an ideal choice for you? I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

There were plenty of deck lounges around, all empty, but Eddie sat down on Steve’s right next to his legs. 

“Steve. So Steve, why are you on a metal cruise when you don’t like metal? These tickets were not exactly cheap and there’s no way you missed the theme, it was pretty clearly advertised,” Eddie asked teasingly.

Steve looked Eddie over, noting that he was actually pretty cute. Pretty eyes, nice full lips, dimples, and he was that type of lanky Steve was drawn to. He had good skin and his hair had some volume and texture to it, Steve could work with that. Bit of a fixer-upper, but a better starting point than most of the men that had flirted with him since his last failed relationship. He also had the vibe, so Steve decided this guy would be fine to open up to. 

“Well, Eddie, I bought this ticket for my dear friend Dustin for his birthday, but then the little shit went and outed me to my parents. Accidentally, of course, and he feels like shit about it. But still, that got me kicked out of my home so maybe I’m being petty but I decided he shouldn’t get to go on this cruise after all. I forgive him, it really was an accident, but still, gotta teach him a lesson.” Steve shrugged. “And I would’ve gotten the ticket refunded but the money would’ve gone back to my parents and they clearly don’t deserve to get anything back from me. So, instead of trying to figure out how to sell a ticket to a very niche interest cruise, I figured I deserved to just come and treat myself for four days before I have to go back to living in my ex-girlfriend’s basement. It’s actually pretty nice to have the ship to myself while all you guys are in there shaking your heads to loud music.” Steve gestured to the pool and the drink.

“Ex- girl friend’s basement?” Eddie asked.

“Shut up, I’m bi.” Steve smacked Eddie on the arm with his book. 

Eddie grabbed the book and looked at it as he replied, “Hey, just checking to make sure I’m not barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh? Is that what you’re doing, barking up my tree?” Steve said, playfully.

“If you’ll let me,” Eddie flirted back.

“So how come you’re not in the show right now?” Steve asked, gently stealing his book back from Eddie’s grasp.

“Oh, I’m touring with those guys right now, I have heard them play the same set like fifteen times already. I’d much rather be out here getting to chat with you. You know you’re beautiful, right? How come you don’t live with your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” Eddie asked, quite obvious in his fishing for information.

“I’m single and yes, I do know I’m beautiful, but I still like hearing it. Are you like a roadie or something?”

“Actually,” Eddie said, “I’m the lead guitarist in the headlining band. We play tomorrow night. Can I buy you another drink? Maybe dinner?”

“The, uh, the bill goes to our cabins,” Steve answered, too shocked that an apparently famous musician was asking him out to respond appropriately.

“Baby, I’ll put your entire tab on my cabin if you’ll let me. You are the most beautiful, and dare I say cleanest man on this entire boat. Metal heads are great, but they aren’t really my type.”

Steve takes a sip of his cold drink just to make sure he’s not fallen asleep and dreaming. The ocean is calm and the moon is full and he is most definitely awake.

“And what is your type?” Steve asked. 

“Handsome men with soft hands who will let me pamper them,” Eddie said, picking up Steve’s hand and feeling his lack of calluses. He placed a kiss onto each finger tip. “These hands aren’t meant for labor, let me spoil you rotten.”

Well, Steve reasoned, even if this ended up being just a weekend fling, it was going to be worth the price of admission.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

something sugary {alex karev}

Plot: Reader has diabetes and Alex always keeps a stash of sugary food and drink for them in his locker.

requested by anon

Character: Alex Karev x Female Reader

Alex nudged your side for the third time in the span of twenty seconds. You shot him a dirty look, "Stop," you hissed under your breath.

Bailey pulled a look of 'shut your mouth right now or I'll kill you' at the two of you but still, ten seconds later, Alex nudged your side, "Are you feeling alright?" He asked quietly, "You're looking a little clammy..."

You looked at him, feeling a rather large surge of anger bubble inside you, "Alex, you're a piece of-" and then you realised that he was right. You'd been feeling rather warm for the last five or so minutes and when you stopped to listen to your body, you felt sluggish and a little shaky. You were having a hypo. "-shit!" You cursed as you began to feel the familiar tendrils of a hypo taking over your body. It had a way of sneaking up on you and then making you go down fast. You had to check your bloods and get something sugary into your body and fast.

Bailey, who'd been in the middle of telling you about a patient, raised her eyebrows, "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Doctor Bailey, I need to go check my levels, think I might be-"

She flapped a hand at you, "Alright, go, go!"

You rushed out of the room quickly, trying to get to your locker before the hypo got worse. You always kept your kit on you but the snacks were always stored in your locker (or the vending machine since you usually forgot to get more) - maybe not the most ideal but that's the way it had to be. You'd been so preoccupied with getting out that you hadn't realised someone else left behind you.

By the time you got to the locker room, you felt rather worse for wear. A dull headache was spreading across your forehead that was slick with sweat and your body felt like one more step forwards would cause it to collapse. Despite that, you pushed through and sat on the bench. You needed to know your levels, as you did this, you barely processed the fact that Alex Karev had now joined you in the locker room and was rifling through his locker for something.

2.2mmol/L flashed on screen.

"Shit," you whispered before standing and going to your own locker but before you could, Alex caught your wrist and twirled you round. Annoyed, you snapped, "Alex, I don't have time for-"

He pushed something into your hands, "Eat." You frowned at him and then looked down at what he'd put in your hands... Candy?

"What is this?"

"Shut up and eat," he rolled his eyes, "I told you that you looked funny, you're having a hypo. Something sugary is what you need. Eat."

You didn't question him again and instead sat down on the bench and began to eat a few of the sour candies he'd given you. He sat next to you in silence.

As you ate, you could feel the headache ease off a bit and you didn't feel as warm, "How did you know?"

"I'm a Doctor, genius."

You rolled your eyes, "Seriously, Alex, how did you know?"

He shrugged, "We've been doing this together for like a year. I know when you're having a hypo or you're about to. It's why I've stashed so much sugary stuff in my locker for you."

It took you a moment to process what he'd just said. He'd been observing you enough to know when you were in a hypo and he kept snacks in his locker for you? You and Alex were friends, barely. He was an asshole half the time but sometimes, in rare moments, you connected. You liked to drink with him, he had the wildest stories and could always make you laugh.

"Alex..."

He gave you a small smile, "Don't mention it but maybe you should lay off calling me a piece of shit and just let me help you instead, yeah?"

"... Why do you keep snacks in your locker for me?"

"Give me your locker key." He held out his hand and you gave him your keys. He stood and moved to your locker before swinging it open. Inside, you had a few changes of clothes, some skin care, shampoo, tampons but no snacks, "Like I said, we've been working together for a year. I know that even though you're one of the best Doctors I know, you're hopeless at keeping on top of buying yourself snacks to keep in work. Too many times I've seen you send O'Malley to the vending machines." He shrugged, "I thought I'd keep a stash for easiness."

You were touched. You were insanely appreciative of Alex Karev in this moment, your heart surged and felt rather full and warm inside, "Alex, I don't know what to say."

He shook his head, "It's alright," he sat beside you again, "here, let me check your levels." He took your hand and you let him. You were a little too shocked to stop him if you wanted to but you'd never felt this seen before, least of all by Alex Karev. You watched him in awe as he expertly pricked your finger and took your levels, "There," he grinned, "Perfect."

He packed your kit away and handed it back to you and dug around in his scrub pocket to pull out another key, "It's my spare locker key." He looped it onto your keychain and you noticed it had AK in Sharpie on either side, "If you ever need sugary stuff, help yourself... it's all for you anyway."

"Thank you, Alex," you said softly. Your cheeks felt hot again but not because of a hypo but more so because you didn't know what to do now. Having him be here, having him care for you like this... it sent your heart and stomach into a frenzy and you weren't sure how to react now.

He rolled his eyes as he laughed, "What?" He asked, "I give you candy and that's got you all blushing and shy? What would you be like if I took you on a real date, mm?" He was teasing but there was a genuine question under the humour. A date - a real date with him. He was testing the waters, wanting to gauge your reaction to him saying that.

You laughed, not freaked out or disgusted at all by his suggestion, "You need to work harder to get a date with me, Karev," you stood up and the two of you began to walk back to the elevators.

"Yeah? Name your price, I'll do it."

"Coffee, every morning for the next two weeks. Not crappy hospital coffee-"

"Nah, you want the real stuff from that coffee shop across the road. I've seen you in there before your shift starts." You nodded in agreement. Alex smiled, "Easy, done."

You saw a completely different side to Alex Karev that afternoon and it didn't stop there. Once you'd seen it once, you'd seen his softer side one hundred times. You began to see him just like he had seen you. And yes, for the next two weeks, he got you coffee and a muffin every morning (and then every morning afterwards also).

[honeyhaeya]

🎮03 | No Feelings Involved🎭

Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: smut, strong language (profanity), explicit language, petty arguments, mention of alcohol consumption, depictions of stress/anxiety related to online and work life, light suggestive jokes/humor, suggestive content, enemies-to-lovers dynamic, jealousy, mature themes (alcohol, party scenes), angst, emotional manipulation, romantic rivalry, descriptive intimacy. smut warnings: masturbation (both f and m), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (fictional context, not ideal IRL), rough sex, degradation (really slight. f being called "slut" once), overstimulation, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom) wc: 11,087 ♪ playlist ♪ : one of the girls (the weekend, lily rose depp, jennie), love me harder (ariana grande, the weekend), toxic (britney spears), kiss it better (rihanna), don't blame me (taylor swift).

03

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a vivid, merciless replay of every single humiliating detail from the night before. It wasn't just a hangover—it was the full-course regret special. You'd tried so hard to push the memory of last night into the furthest corner of your mind, but it refused to budge. Instead, it danced right in front of you, mocking you with every cringe-worthy second. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkk.

Groaning, you splashed cold water onto your face, scrubbing with an almost aggressive force as though that would somehow erase your mistakes. This is why alcohol is the devil.

You'd made this promise to yourself before—swearing off drinking after every disastrous night out—but this time, you meant it. Probably. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your thoughts racing. You couldn't let this ruin you. Vulnerability was dangerous. It was messy. It made everything worse. No, you couldn't afford that—not with Jeonghan, especially not with Jeonghan. You straightened your back, glaring at your reflection as if it could fight you back. Be your fucking self, you dumb idiot. But no matter how much you mentally pep-talked yourself, there was no escaping the glaring, undeniable fact: you tried to kiss your boss last night.

What the hell was wrong with you? Even worse, you'd been so drunk that your stupid, impulsive actions had no logic behind them. You didn't even know why you did it. And now you were paying the price. When you arrived at work, Jeonghan was... off. It wasn't his usual self—the playful, teasing boss who would occasionally poke fun at you for being "too serious" or "too good" at your job. No, today he was colder. Detached. His voice was clipped, his instructions sharp and curt. "Get my coffee," he'd said that morning, handing you a slip of paper with the name of some café that you realized, to your horror, was an hour's drive away.

"Wait—this is in another city." "I know." He didn't even look up from his desk. "Be quick about it." You wanted to scream. Was this some kind of punishment? Clearly, yes. But like the professional you prided yourself on being (even though you were currently drowning in humiliation), you'd complied. You got in your car and drove, cursing yourself—and Jeonghan—the entire time. By the time you got back, it was already afternoon. You placed the coffee on his desk, glaring at it because, of course, it had long since gone cold. He didn't even glance at it. "Is there anything else you need?" you asked, keeping your tone as even as possible, though your patience was fraying like a worn thread. "No." He didn't even look at you. "Okay." You turned on your heel, jaw clenched, heart pounding with a mixture of frustration and guilt. This coldness of his—this distance—was suffocating. You wanted to apologize, but how could you when he wouldn't even give you a chance? A text wouldn't cut it. That would be way too insincere. Apologies needed to be face-to-face, with your pride laid bare. But Jeonghan wasn't letting you anywhere near his walls. The day dragged on. The tension between you two was thick enough to slice through, and every interaction felt like walking on shards of glass. You were used to his teasing, his sly remarks, even his annoying requests—but this cold, indifferent Jeonghan was something you weren't prepared for. You only had yourself to blame. By the time the clock struck 6 PM, you were ready to collapse. Still, you lingered by your desk, scrolling mindlessly through emails, hoping he'd say something—maybe even address the elephant in the room. But he never did. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This is hell. Finally, you mustered the courage to approach his office door, knocking lightly. "Jeonghan?" "Come in," came his voice, detached as ever. You pushed the door open, stepping inside. He was seated at his desk, looking over some paperwork, his expression unreadable. "I..." you started, but your throat tightened, and the words caught. His gaze flicked up to you, sharp and expectant, and suddenly, every ounce of bravery you'd scraped together began to crumble. You swallowed hard, your palms sweating. "About last night... I—" "Don't." His voice cut through the air like a knife. Your breath hitched. "I just want to—" "Forget about it." His tone was final, the authority in his voice leaving no room for argument. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something unspoken, something unreadable—that gave you pause. You clenched your fists, nodding stiffly. "Fine." And with that, you turned and left his office, your chest tight and your mind spinning. If he wanted to play this cold war game, then fine. Two could play at that. But deep down, you knew this was far from over.

By the time you finally got home, you wanted nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and forget the entire day. But the universe had other plans. Your phone buzzed with a message from your mom:

Mom: I sent the caretaker home early today, so I'm alone. Could you visit, dear?

You didn't hesitate. Dropping your bag by the door, you grabbed your jacket and started toward the garage. But when you saw your car keys, you frowned.

The bus schedule was unreliable at this hour, and taking the car felt like a hassle. Your gaze drifted to the motorcycle in the corner—a sleek, black machine that hadn't been touched in months. Your chest tightened. The sight of it brought back memories you weren't ready to unpack. Nights spent speeding down empty streets, trying to outrun emotions you didn't want to face. Moments of reckless abandon that had cost you more than you wanted to admit. But tonight, practicality outweighed sentiment. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed your helmet and swung a leg over the bike. The engine roared to life, the sound reverberating through the quiet garage.

When you arrived at your mom's house, the familiar warmth of the porch light greeted you. It was comforting, in a way that made your chest ache. But just as you were about to head inside, your phone buzzed with another notification. Mingyu had posted something on X—formerly Twitter—and tagged you. Against your better judgment, you opened the app. There it was: a group photo from last night's event. Mingyu had captioned it, "Last night was one for the books. Kitsunya, you killed it." Killed it? You wanted to scream. If by "killed it," he meant your dignity, then sure. Perfect phrasing. As if that wasn't enough, Seungkwan had chimed in with a reply: @/pledis_boos: Killed it?? She was on another planet with all that alcohol, LMAO. Your blood pressure skyrocketed. Of course, the chaos didn't end there. Your Discord server was in shambles with nonstop teasing:

[#general] min9yu: Streaming hangover queennn ho5hi_kwon: Who's taking bets she skips streaming again?? pledis_boos: After that karaoke performance? definitely. kitsunya: i hope you all die a miserable death

You clenched your teeth, heat flooding your face. Slamming your phone shut, you muted the server before they could fire back. You were already frustrated beyond belief, and their antics weren't helping. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into your pocket and turned your attention to the house. You were here for your mom, not for these idiots.

Stepping inside, the familiar scent of lavender and warm spices immediately wrapped around you. It was as though time had stopped in this house. The same photos lined the walls, the same throw blanket draped over the couch. For a moment, the weight on your shoulders lifted. "Sweetie?" your mom called from the kitchen. "Yeah, it's me!" you replied, slipping off your shoes and making your way toward her. She was seated at the kitchen table, a teapot in front of her and her usual serene smile on her face. "You didn't have to come all this way." "Of course I did," you said, leaning down to hug her. "How are you feeling?" "Better, now that you're here." Her words were simple, but they hit you hard. No matter how chaotic your life felt, being here always reminded you of what mattered most. For the first time all day, you allowed yourself to breathe. You sat down beside her, letting the conversation flow easily, her calm presence grounding you. Maybe the rest of the world could wait. For now, you were just her child, sitting at the kitchen table, finding solace in the only place that had always felt like home.

The hum of the studio buzzed around you as you took a long sip of your coffee, letting the warm bitterness steady your nerves after dealing with the overly flirtatious model. His incessant chatter had been more of a hindrance than a distraction, dragging out a task that should've taken half the time.

You needed a moment to breathe, so you leaned against the far counter, watching the set come to life as photographers, assistants, and models swarmed like bees.

Your brief peace was interrupted by the chime of your phone. A notification lit up the screen, and your heart sank as you saw it was from X. Another tag. Another random mention. You opened it, eyebrows knitting together as you read the tweet. @/kitsunya is lowkey hacking, I've watched her gameplay on her streams. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you hesitated before clicking the attached video. It was a screen recording of someone playing League of Legends, supposedly you. The movements in the video were eerily familiar to your own, down to the champion choices and gameplay style. But something felt... off. The clip showed a flawless streak of kills and maneuvers you didn't recognize. At one point, the screen glitched, a strange overlay flashing briefly—something that screamed "hacking" to anyone who didn't know better. "That's not me," you muttered, the words a mix of disbelief and annoyance. Your fingers swiped down to the comments, and your heart sank further at the sea of responses.

- "She's so fake. always knew she was too good to be true" - "Imagine trying this hard to be relevant. Cringe." - "cancel her, wtf."

You bit the inside of your cheek, scrolling further to find a glimmer of reason among the mob.

- This doesn't even look like her gameplay. I've watched all her streams—this never happened. - "Bro, this is so edited. Look at the glitching when has she ever used a cheat?" - "She's bad at LOL sometimes, lol"

A small, bitter laugh escaped you at the last comment. The defender wasn't wrong. If anything, your League skills were average at best. Shutting your phone, you exhaled slowly. This wasn't the first time someone had tried to drag your name into some petty drama, but this? Accusations of hacking? That was new—and exhausting.

Calm. Professional. Handle it later, you told yourself. Your hands tightened around your coffee cup, knuckles whitening.

The scandal didn't disappear as quickly as you'd hoped. By the time you wrapped up at the studio, your socials were flooded. Notifications pinged relentlessly, and your Discord server wasn't any quieter. Mingyu and Seungkwan, of course, had chimed in.

[#general] min9yu: Saw the scandal. Want me to 'accidentally' leak your bad League stats? Clear your name instantly. pledis_boos: Fr tho, why would they say hacking when you literally suck at dodging skill shots kitsunya: shut up

You slammed your phone into your bag, groaning as you walked toward your parked motorcycle. Their teasing was harmless, but the noise around the whole situation was eating at you.

You didn't even realize how tense you were until your phone buzzed again—this time, a DM from Wonwoo.

everyone_woo: Saw the video. Want me to handle it?

You blinked at the message, unsure how to feel. Wonwoo wasn't exactly warm—his jokes often toed the line of annoyance—but he wasn't a liar either.

kitsunya: handle it how? everyone_woo: Show proof it's fake. Or just flame them in the server. Your pick.

You rolled your eyes. The image of Wonwoo in your server flaming trolls was ridiculous—and oddly tempting.

kitsunya: thanks, but ive got this everyone_woo: Sure. Just try not to cry about it on stream later.

You glared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard as your blood boiled.

kitsunya: fuck you, jeon.

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

everyone_woo: You wish.

You groaned, shoving your phone back into your bag as you straddled your motorcycle. The engine roared to life, drowning out your spiraling thoughts for a moment.

Focus on fixing this later, you told yourself again. But as you sped through the streets, the frustration churned in your chest, mixing with a spark of determination.

Whoever thought they could drag you down with a cheap, fake video clearly underestimated you. And if Wonwoo and the others had their way, they'd probably make sure the trolls regretted it too.

You didn't know what the next stream would bring, but one thing was clear—you weren't going to let this slide.

As the hours dragged on, the noise surrounding the scandal only grew louder. You had tried ignoring it, but your notifications were relentless. Your phone buzzed with messages from fans, haters, and even a few friends teasing you. After scrolling through the endless comments, you decided enough was enough.

Opening X, you navigated to the original post causing the uproar. The video was still playing, and the comments section was an absolute battlefield. Some were trashing you, while others valiantly defended your honor. You smirked to yourself.

With a deep breath, you typed your response. Calm, composed, with a pinch of playful sass—your signature style.

@/kitsunya: Wow, I didn't realize I got a skill boost overnight. Wish I had this kind of gameplay in real life. But hey, next time you edit, try not to glitch the screen, it's giving 'rookie hacker.' 🥰 Stay safe, everyone! 💕

You hit post and shut your phone off with a smirk. That should shut them up for now.

Later that evening, you fired up your stream. The usual intro music played, and the chat instantly exploded.

Chat: - "OMG, she's here!!! 🔥" - "HANDLE THEM!" - "say the word and we'll roast them for you!" - "So you're a 'hacker' now, huh? XD"

You leaned back in your chair, your trademark fox ears headband perched snugly on your head. "Alright, alright," you began, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Let's address the elephant in the room—or, in this case, the poorly edited League of Legends gameplay."

The chat erupted with laughter emojis.

"First of all," you continued, "if you're going to accuse someone of hacking, at least make the footage look convincing. I mean, come on! That glitch was so bad, even my grandma would've caught it. And she doesn't even know what a mouse is, okay?"

Your playful tone had the chat spamming "LOL" and "QUEEN ENERGY."—You've never really liked being called that (queen), it was a bit cringe but if that's what your fans would call you, you'll gladly let them be. Besides, they just knew how you hated it, too.

You quickly pulled up the clip in question, dissecting it for your viewers. "Look at this," you said, pointing out the glaring inconsistencies. "That's not even my interface. I use a custom overlay, so nice try, but not quite. And these moves? Yeah, I wish I was that good, but y'all know I play like a bronze-tier gremlin on most days."

- "NOT THE GREMLIN LMAOO" - "She's roasting herself and the haters at the same time 💀" - "Petition to make 'bronze-tier gremlin' a merch line."

You shrugged, smirking at the chaos you'd stirred. "Anyway, to the person who made this... next time, put some actual effort into your smear campaign. This was embarrassing—for you, not me." You ended the segment with a wink before transitioning to your usual gameplay.

Throughout the stream, you maintained your signature IDGAF attitude, brushing off the drama like dust on your shoulder. As the games went on, the chat buzzed with renewed energy, rallying behind you with jokes and support.

By the time you ended the stream, you felt lighter. The haters had nothing on you, and your fans? They reminded you why you kept doing this in the first place.

As you signed off, you left one final remark. "To anyone still doubting me, feel free to stick around. You might just learn what real gameplay looks like. And to my fans—love you guys. Kitsunya out."

With that, you clicked the end-stream button, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. Let the haters try again. They'd never win against you.

The aftermath of the "hacker" scandal didn't deter you—it only made you sharper. Your streams saw a spike in viewers, curious to witness the alleged "cheater" in action. Meanwhile, your usual gaming circle hadn't changed much, except for one small, persistent annoyance: Wonwoo.

It started innocently enough during a group stream with Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Wonwoo. You were all queued for a round of Valorant, and as the match loaded, Seungkwan's voice filled the mic.

"Alright, team, let's get this W. Kitsunya, you got my back, right?"

"Always, Boo," you replied smoothly, earning a groan from Mingyu.

"Can you two not flirt on comms?" Mingyu teased.

"Jealous, Mingyu?" you shot back. "Don't worry, you can watch and learn how it's done."

But before Mingyu could retort, Wonwoo's dry voice cut in. "Can we focus on the game instead of this middle school banter? Some of us actually want to win."

"Relax, Jeon," you quipped. "You'll still bottom frag no matter how focused you are."

The chat exploded with laughing emojis and "OOF" comments as Seungkwan cackled. "Oh my god, she really said that!"

"Funny," Wonwoo replied evenly, his tone calm but with a hint of sharpness. "At least I don't need an entire fanbase hyping me up to stay relevant."

The mood shifted slightly. Mingyu let out a low whistle, and Seungkwan muttered, "Yikes, is it getting warm in here, or is that just me?"

Your grip on your mouse tightened. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said, feigning sweetness. "Is my relevance bothering you, Jeon? Don't worry, I'm sure someone out there appreciates your minimalist personality."

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Big words for someone who spent the last week crying over an edited gameplay clip."

"Okay, timeout!" Mingyu cut in. "Can we save the passive-aggressive flirting for later? We've got a match to lose."

"I'm not flirting," you and Wonwoo said simultaneously, which only made Seungkwan laugh harder.

Chat: - "WHY DOES THIS FEEL LIKE A KDRAMA?" - "Enemies to lovers speedrun when???" - "Wonwoo is spicy tonight, ngl"

As the matches continued, the banter between you and Wonwoo escalated. When you missed a critical shot, he chimed in, "Nice aim. Were you aiming at the sky for inspiration?"

"Bold of you to assume you'd know anything about aim," you shot back after watching him miss an easy shot of his own.

Seungkwan and Mingyu had a field day moderating the chaos.

"Guys, if you kill each other, can I have your streaming setups?" Mingyu joked, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Not unless you learn how to aim first," you and Wonwoo snapped in unison, which made everyone lose it.

Chat: - "They're SO ANNOYING TO EACH OTHER I LOVE IT." - "Can someone clip this toxic energy? I'm obsessed." - "seungkwan is the only one holding this team together lol."

After the stream ended, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. Fighting with Wonwoo was mentally exhausting, but you had to admit—your streams were a hit whenever he was around. The audience loved the dynamic, and a small part of you found it... entertaining, in a frustrating way.

Still, you were determined not to lose to him, whether it was in gameplay or banter. If Wonwoo wanted a war, you were more than ready to bring it.

Little did you know, Wonwoo was thinking the exact same thing.

Absolutely, the unresolved tension between Jeonghan and MC is still lingering in the background, simmering beneath all the chaos of gaming streams and playful (or not-so-playful) fights with Wonwoo. Here's how that thread can weave into the story while keeping it naturally integrated:

The banter between you and Wonwoo was in full swing during a round of Valorant. Jeonghan, ever the observer, stayed quiet for most of the game, only chiming in occasionally with sarcastic one-liners that set the group laughing.

However, every so often, you caught him cutting in with comments that felt pointed, though they were disguised under his usual casual tone.

For instance, when you accidentally botched a round by peeking too early, Jeonghan couldn't resist.

"You're usually so composed, Kitsunya," he remarked, voice smooth. "Guess all this stress is getting to you."

Your throat tightened for a moment, but you didn't let it show. "Or maybe it's because I'm carrying half of this team. Can't relate, though—I wouldn't know what it's like to sit back and let everyone else do the work."

Mingyu wheezed into the mic. "Oh my god, she went there."

Jeonghan only chuckled. "I must have touched a nerve. Relax, it's just a game, sweetheart."

The word hung heavy in the air, and the chat exploded.

Chat: - "sweetheart? HELLO???" - "Did anyone else feel that dagger???" - "Kitsunya is DONE WITH HIM LMAO."

You stayed professional, though your grip on your mouse tightened. "Relax? I'm so relaxed," you shot back. "It's not like I'm the one stalking people's streams to stir the pot."

The silence that followed was loud. Wonwoo laughed softly. "Alright, that was savage."

Jeonghan let out an amused hum but didn't respond directly. His lack of a comeback only added fuel to the tension.

You ended the stream with your usual closing remarks, ignoring the way your heart still raced from Jeonghan's presence. The moment you were offline, you leaned back in your chair, letting out a groan of frustration.

Why was he still getting under your skin? Why couldn't you just forget what happened? It wasn't like he'd even acknowledged it outside of these subtle, cutting moments.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. A message from Jeonghan:

Jeonghan: You've been sharper lately. Don't let it ruin your aim.

You stared at the text, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or throw your phone out the window. Instead, you settled on typing a curt reply:

You: thanks for the unsolicited advice, boss. ill try not to let your words haunt me.

You hesitated before hitting send. Was that too much? Too little? The overthinking was exhausting.

No reply came. Typical.

Jeonghan continued to act as if nothing had ever happened. He still handed you ridiculous tasks—like picking up coffee from the other side of the city—but now, there was an added layer of... something. Whether it was tension or amusement, you couldn't tell. At one point, while delivering a report to him, you accidentally brushed past his desk. The proximity made your pulse quicken. Jeonghan looked up, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Careful," he said smoothly. "You're spilling your coffee." You glanced down, realizing you'd almost tipped the cup in your hand. "Right. My bad." His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. "You're distracted. Anything on your mind?" You shot him a glare, but it lacked your usual fire. "Nope. Just trying to make sure you get your perfectly brewed coffee without having to lift a finger." Jeonghan hummed. "Good. Keep up the hard work, sweetheart." There it was again—that word. It set your teeth on edge, but you refused to let him see how it affected you. Instead, you plastered on your best fake smile and left his office without another word.

Jeonghan reclined in his sleek office chair, the dim glow of his second monitor lighting his face as he watched the stream playing out in front of him.

Seungcheol was supposed to be live, but the man was nowhere to be seen, and instead, Jeonghan found himself once again on your stream. He didn't know how or why he ended up there, but he wasn't about to click away now—not when you were in the middle of what seemed to be an increasingly fiery exchange with Wonwoo. "You call that a headshot, Kitsunya?" Wonwoo's voice cut through the audio, calm and sharp as always. "Maybe you should stick to being a cheerleader for the team." Your scoff came out quick and biting. "And maybe you should stick to solo play since clearly you don't know what teamwork means. What are you, allergic to assists?" The chat exploded with laughter and emotes, and Jeonghan couldn't help the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. You were quick, sharper than most, and he hated how entertaining it was to watch you put Wonwoo in his place. Wonwoo's response was dry, but there was a hint of amusement. "Big words for someone whose accuracy is about as consistent as Mingyu's cooking skills." "Oh, that's rich coming from the guy who got sniped by a bronze player last week," you shot back effortlessly, the grin evident in your tone. Jeonghan's jaw tightened. He should have closed the stream. He should have focused on his work. But instead, he found himself gripping the edge of his desk, irritation bubbling under the surface. Since when had you and Wonwoo gotten so... close? "Sweetheart, don't you think you're taking this roasting thing a little far?" Wonwoo said casually, the pet name clearly meant to get a rise out of you. You didn't skip a beat. "Don't call me sweetheart. I'm not your sidekick." Jeonghan's smirk vanished. He'd been calling you that for weeks now—using it as a way to get under your skin—but hearing it from Wonwoo suddenly made it feel... wrong. Why did it bother him so much?

Jeonghan sat in his office, staring blankly at the report in front of him. The words blurred together, meaningless against the din of his own thoughts. He clenched his jaw, shoving the papers aside as his mind betrayed him yet again, wandering back to the stream last night. To you and Wonwoo, bickering with that effortless chemistry that felt so... natural. Too natural.

The knock at the door startled him. He straightened, a carefully neutral expression slipping into place.

"Come in."

You entered, your movements brisk as you carried a stack of documents. "Here's the draft you asked for," you said, your tone cool.

Jeonghan's eyes lingered on you for a fraction longer than he intended. "Morning, sweetheart," he said, the words coming out smoother than he felt.

You froze for a split second before shooting him a glare. "Don't call me that."

He smirked, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. "Why not? You didn't seem to mind when Wonwoo called you that last night."

You blinked, confusion flickering in your expression before it hardened into annoyance. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replied, his tone calm but biting.

"Jeonghan," you snapped, crossing your arms as you stared him down. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" He tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. "I don't have one. Just an observation. You looked... comfortable with him."

The tension in the room thickened, but you didn't back down. "So what if I was? Are you keeping tabs on me now?"

His smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something darker, something raw. "I don't need to keep tabs. It's obvious."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. "Obvious?"

"You're distracted," he said, his voice softer now but no less cutting. "Is it him?"

Something inside you snapped. "If you have something to say, Jeonghan, say it. Stop with the mind games."

His expression flickered—anger, frustration, guilt?—before it settled into something unreadable. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he looked at you with a rare vulnerability. "You've changed," he murmured, almost to himself. "You're different around him."

You inhaled sharply, his words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. "Don't act like you care," you said, your voice shaking with suppressed emotion.

His eyes darkened. "And what if I do?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss. Finally, you turned on your heel, your heart pounding as you headed for the door.

"You kissed me," his voice stopped you cold, low and quiet but filled with an edge that cut through the air. "And then... you act like it meant nothing."

You froze, your hand hovering over the doorknob. When you turned back to him, your eyes were blazing. "You think I don't know that? You've been shutting me out ever since, Jeonghan. So don't you dare act like I'm the one who walked away first."

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, taut and trembling.

Jeonghan stared at you, his carefully crafted mask crumbling. "Maybe I thought it would be easier," he admitted, his voice rough. "If I pushed you away. If I let you go."

Your throat tightened, but you refused to let him see you falter. "Well, congratulations. It worked."

Before he could respond, you turned and walked out, slamming the door behind you.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping back as he stared at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, his thoughts a mess of regret and longing.

What the hell am I doing?

He was the one crossing that barrier, when he has been pushing you away on the past few weeks. Over and over again.  

The week had been chaotic, as usual. Between balancing work, streams, and trying to ignore the mess of emotions that had been haunting you since that damn drunken kiss incident with Jeonghan, you barely had time to breathe. Friday rolled around, and you were finally looking forward to a weekend of peace—just you, your PC, and maybe a new game to dive into.

That was the plan, at least, until Seungcheol called you earlier that week.

Monday

"Hey," his voice was casual, but you could hear the grin behind it. "I'm throwing a party this weekend. Just a small thing, you know, close friends and streamers. You in?" You hesitated, already knowing what your answer would be. "Thanks for the invite, Seungcheol, but I've got plans this weekend. Sorry." "Come on," he replied smoothly. "It's been a while since we all hung out. You could use a little break, don't you think?" "No can do," you said firmly, giving a polite laugh to soften the rejection. "But have fun." He didn't push further, just chuckled and left it at that. You thought that would be the end of it. You thought wrong.

That should've been the end of it.

It wasn't.

By the time Wednesday came around, Seungkwan and Hoshi had picked up the torch where Seungcheol had left off.

Wednesday  

The VC comms were alive with chatter as you queued up for another Overwatch match.

"Okay, but seriously," Seungkwan's voice broke through the din, incredulous and a little too loud in your headset. "Why aren't you coming to the party?"

"Yeah," Hoshi chimed in, just as exasperated. "What's so important that you're ditching us?"

You groaned, adjusting your mic as you loaded into the game. "I told you. I have plans."

"Plans to do what? Sit at home?" Seungkwan asked, disbelief coloring every word.

"And what's wrong with that?" you shot back, your tone clipped as you lined up a headshot on an enemy.

"It's antisocial, that's what," Hoshi said, as though he'd just diagnosed you with some grave illness.

"You're turning into Wonwoo," Seungkwan added, laughing.

"Leave me out of this," Wonwoo's voice cut in dryly, though you could hear the faintest hint of amusement.

"Listen," you interrupted, your patience thinning. "I've already said no, like, a million times. Can we drop it?"

But they didn't drop it. Of course, they didn't.

Thursday

By the next evening, their campaign of peer pressure had reached ridiculous heights.

You were halfway through a stream, your chat buzzing with energy, when Seungkwan's voice came through the VC again.

"Alright, hear me out," he began, his tone taking on that wheedling edge that set your teeth on edge. "What if we make a deal?"

"No," you said flatly, sniping an enemy with practiced precision.

"You didn't even hear the deal!" Hoshi whined, sounding genuinely offended.

"I don't need to," you retorted, eyes locked on the game. "The answer's still no."

"Okay, fine," Seungkwan said dramatically, as though he were deeply wounded. "Then I guess we'll just spend the whole party talking about how lame you are for not showing up."

"Seriously?" you muttered, incredulous.

"And maybe," Hoshi chimed in, "we'll tell everyone about that time you ulted yourself into a wall."

"Will you shut the fuck up?" you snapped, finally losing your cool.

"Fine," Seungkwan relented eventually, though the grin in his tone was unmistakable. "But we're not done with you yet."

In the middle of your stream that evening, as you queued for an Overwatch match, their voices rang out over the VC comms. "Okay, but like, seriously, why aren't you coming to the party?" Seungkwan started, his tone incredulous. "Yeah, what's so important that you're ditching us?" Hoshi chimed in, sounding equally offended. You groaned, adjusting your headset as you focused on loading into the game. "I told you, I have plans." "Plans to do what? Sit at home and stream?" Seungkwan pressed. "And what's wrong with that?" you shot back, your tone clipped. "It's antisocial, that's what," Hoshi said. "You're turning into Wonwoo." "Hey, leave me out of this," Wonwoo's voice cut in from the other side of the comms, calm but with a hint of annoyance. "Listen," you interrupted, trying to steer the conversation away. "I've already said no, like, a million times. Can we drop it?" But they wouldn't let up.

Thursday Night By the next night, their persistence had reached new heights. As you streamed another late-night session of Overwatch, the VC comms lit up once again with Seungkwan and Hoshi's relentless chatter. "Okay, hear me out," Seungkwan started, his voice taking on a wheedling tone. "What if we make a deal?" "Absolutely not," you replied instantly, sniping an enemy on-screen with precision. "You didn't even hear the deal," Hoshi whined. "Don't need to," you said, eyes locked on the game. "The answer's still no." "Fine," Seungkwan said dramatically. "Then I guess we'll just spend the whole party talking about how lame you are for not showing up." "Seriously?" you muttered, your tone dripping with disbelief. "And maybe we'll tell everyone about that one time you accidentally ulted yourself into a wall," Hoshi added with a snicker. "Will you two *shut the fuck up*?" you snapped, your patience wearing thin. "It's been three fucking days of this. Take a hint." The chat lit up with laughter and emotes as your viewers enjoyed the chaos.

Chat Highlights: - "LMAOOO THEY'RE SO RELENTLESS 💀" - "Poor Kitsunya can't catch a break." - "I stan the peer pressure."

"Fine, fine," Seungkwan said finally, though his tone suggested he wasn't done. But for the rest of the night, they managed to keep the nagging to a minimum—at least, until the match ended.

Friday Morning

You woke up to your phone vibrating on your nightstand.

[#general] - 8:13 AM pledis_boos: [image attached of your Overwatch avatar] Look at this, Hoshi. Doesn't this remind you of someone? ho5hi_kwon: Yeah, someone who doesn't know how to have fun. pledis_boos: Right??? ho5hi_kwon: Definitely not naming names though.

You groaned, burying your face in your pillow before tossing your phone aside.

DM from [fuckass bitch dickhead] - 8:30 AM  Wonwoo: You're coming to the party, right?

You blinked at the screen, caught completely off guard. Wonwoo never texted first unless it was something gaming-related or directly relevant to a stream.

You: why do you care?

It took him a full minute to reply, which in Wonwoo time meant he was probably rolling his eyes at your response

Wonwoo: I don't. Just figured someone should ask before Seungkwan harasses you into blocking him. You: hes not that bad Wonwoo:  Don't lie to yourself. I heard him last night practically begging you to show up. It was embarrassing. For you. You: why are you bringing this up anyway? didnt peg you as the party type. Wonwoo: I'm not

You waited, watching the three dots pop up, disappear, and then pop up again before his next message finally came through.

Wonwoo: I just think it'd be funny watching you try to survive a party without gamer brain kicking in. Bet you'd get the itch to stream mid-conversation and ditch. You: are you serious right now? Wonwoo: Completely. You: wonwoo i swear to god  Wonwoo: What? Did I hit a nerve? Can't handle the idea of touching grass for once? You: if this is your idea of convincing me its not working fucker Wonwoo: Good, because I don't care if you go or not. You: THEN WHY ARE WE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION???" Wonwoo: Because it's fun annoying you. Isn't that what friends are for? You: i fucking hate you you should just die Wonwoo: No, you don't

You glared at your screen, scrolling through your options for a witty comeback.

Wonwoo: Look, if it's about him, don't let it stop you. Your fingers froze mid-type. You: what are you talking about Wonwoo: Don't play dumb. You: im not Wonwoo: Sure. Anyway, just saying—if you're scared of seeing Jeonghan, you should just suck it up. You can always leave early if it gets awkward.

Your stomach churned at the mention of his name. So Wonwoo noticed? He's always been perceptive.

You: youre insufferable Wonwoo: I try. So, see you at the party? You: still not going :p Wonwoo: Liar.

And just like that, he went offline, leaving you with nothing but your reflection in the black mirror of your phone screen and the uncomfortable knot tightening in your chest.

By noon, after hours of fighting with yourself—and your growing suspicion that Wonwoo might actually have a point—you gave in.

DM to Seungcheol - 12:47 PM You: fine. ill stop by for a bit Seungcheol: Knew you'd come around. See you there.

You sighed, already dreading what you'd gotten yourself into.  

The Party - 8:30 PM

You weren't sure why you let yourself be talked into this. The thrum of music greeted you as soon as you stepped into the lavish apartment Seungcheol had rented for the evening. It reeked of overpriced cologne, faint perfume, and an energy you couldn't immediately name but recognized as too much.

Seungkwan was the first to spot you.

"YOU CAME!" he shouted, practically launching himself at you. He'd always been the overly enthusiastic type, but tonight, his excitement seemed to border on hysteria. "I knew you'd show up! You look so cute—who are you trying to impress?"

"No one," you muttered, brushing him off with a half-smile. "I'm here because I promised Seungcheol. Don't get weird about it."

"Sure, sure," Seungkwan replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He glanced over your shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "By the way, guess who's already here."

You kept your expression neutral. "Who?"

"Jeonghan," he whispered, his voice practically dripping with scandal. "And some girl."

Of course.

You scanned the room, your eyes immediately landing on him. Jeonghan stood near the bar, drink in hand, with a girl perched close, leaning into his space like she belonged there. He looked effortlessly put together in a dark button-up, his signature smirk in place as he responded to something she said.

"Why do you even care?" Seungkwan teased, following your gaze. "Wait. Don't tell me—"

"I don't," you cut him off, turning away sharply. "I need a drink."

Seungkwan giggled, but he let you go. You made your way to the kitchen. The faint sound of laughter and conversations faded as you poured yourself a drink and leaned against the counter, hoping no one would bother you.

"Called it."

The voice came from behind you.

You didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Wonwoo," you sighed, turning just enough to glare at him. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark hoodie and jeans making him look out of place among the more dressed-up crowd.

"What?" he asked, sipping his drink. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Against my better judgment," you muttered.

Wonwoo raised a brow. "And yet, here you are, pretending you're not dying to check if anyone's noticed you."

Your cheeks heated. "I wasn't—"

"Save it," he interrupted, smirking. "You're bad at lying."

You rolled your eyes, taking a long sip of your drink. "Why are you even here? Didn't think parties were your thing."

"They're not," he said, shrugging. "But someone's gotta keep you from self-destructing."

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned.

"You're welcome."

Later That Night

You thought you were doing a decent job of avoiding Jeonghan until he appeared out of nowhere, stepping into your path as you tried to slip away from the main room.

"Leaving already?" His voice was smooth, a little too casual, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something sharper.

You froze. "Jeonghan."

He tilted his head, studying you. "Didn't think I'd see you here."

"Didn't think you'd care."

"Touché." His lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You've been avoiding me."

"I've been busy."

"Busy avoiding me?"

You glared at him. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Maybe." He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the drink in your hand before returning to your face. "Someone thinks you're trying to prove a point by showing up tonight."

"Let them think whatever they want," you said, your tone colder than you intended.

Jeonghan smirked. "So it's not about her?"

"Not everything is about her," you snapped, your frustration bubbling over. "And if you're just here to play games, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."

For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned in, his voice dropping low.

"You think you know the game we're playing," he murmured, "but you don't. Not yet."

Before you could respond, he stepped back, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your mind spinning.

From across the room, you caught Wonwoo watching, his expression unreadable.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every time you turned your head, it felt like someone's gaze lingered a second too long—whether it was Jeonghan's cryptic smirks or Wonwoo's occasional glances, like he was trying to piece something together.

But you didn't have time for either of them. Not tonight.

Not until Wonwoo found you again.

"Drinking alone?" he teased, appearing in the hallway where you'd gone to catch your breath.

You scowled at him. "Are you stalking me now?"

"No," he said easily, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. "Just thought I'd find you sulking somewhere. You're predictable."

"And you're annoying," you shot back.

"Funny. Didn't stop you from talking to me."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost teasing tone. "Let me guess. He said something to piss you off."

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb," he said, tilting his head toward the party behind you. "Jeonghan. You've been dodging him all night, but I saw the way you tensed up earlier."

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of how close he was. "It's none of your business."

"I know," he said, his gaze sharp, searching. "But it's entertaining. Watching you flinch every time he's near."

"Go to hell, Wonwoo," you muttered, turning away.

You barely made it two steps before his hand caught your wrist.

"Let go," you hissed, yanking your arm, but he didn't budge.

"Why do you let him get to you like this?" Wonwoo asked, his voice calm but cutting.

"He doesn't," you snapped, though even you didn't believe it.

Wonwoo's grip loosened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smirked. "You're such a bad liar."

Something about the way he said it—like he knew exactly which buttons to push—made you snap.

You shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. "Why do you care, huh? You don't even like me."

"You're right," he said, recovering quickly, his smirk widening. "I don't. But that doesn't mean I can't have fun messing with you."

"Oh, screw you—"

Before you could finish, he closed the gap between you, his hand cupping your jaw as he kissed you.

It wasn't gentle.

It was heated, rough, and full of the frustration you both seemed to carry whenever you were around each other.

You didn't even realize you'd kissed him back until your back hit the wall, his hands on your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

The kiss was deep, his tongue licking at your bottom lip, seeking for entrance to your mouth. Without even thinking to process things, your mouth responded almost too immediately while his tongue explored yours to a rhythm.

He kissed you good, and you can't even deny it right now. Your heart was beating fast—faster than you'd ever imagine. 

Make-out sessions like this was never a problem to you, but why are you feeling something different now? 

This damned man. 

And just like that, you were out of breath. With Wonwoo leaning his face closer as if he doesn't want you to get away just yet, you didn't mind. You were too into the kiss that you weren't even trying to pull away.

The kiss was messy, electric, and entirely unexpected.

"Wonwoo," you managed to gasp when he pulled back just enough to let you breathe. Your lips glossed with both of your salivas. 

"What?" he murmured, his voice low, his lips brushing yours. His eyes locked to yours then dropped to your swollen, plumped lips. He looked at you differently—at least now.

"This—" You shook your head, trying to gather your thoughts. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Obviously," he said, smirking again. "But that didn't stop you, did it?"

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, silencing whatever protest you might've had.

Wonwoo pulled you into a nearby room—thank god it was even vacant. The whole time, he didn't even lean away from the kiss. He kissed you as if he was trying to swallow you whole. But then again, it was hot as hell.

"So fucking sweet," Wonwoo thought to himself as he carries you on the hips and places you on the nearby table. He stood in between your legs.

Screw it, you can't even think right now—not when his hands keep roaming around your hips. It sent a shiver to your spine. It's like his hands were touching you through your dress. Is that even possible?

The way your tongues swirled, entangling to each other was felt incredibly good. 

"So soft," he murmured in between the kiss. And he's doing it again. His head kept pushing towards you when you're not even trying to move away. 

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, while your legs found itself encircling his waist. You swore you can feel Wonwoo's smirk that always made you want to punch him in the guts for. But now, you find it attractive for once.

Feeling his bulge like this, you're soaked. Fuck, you're so wet it felt like you were pissing through your underwear. It's been like this since he placed you on the damned table.

After what felt like an eternity, Wonwoo pulled away for you to catch your breath—partly to catch his breath. He stared at you, his eyes moving to your already swollen lips glistened with his saliva while you panted crazily.

"You're wet." Shit. He noticed? Yeah. He noticed

You couldn't reply. It's like the words got stuck in your throat. You wanted to retort. But it'll all be useless.

"...Fuck you." Really? That's the best you can say? You earned a smug scoff from Wonwoo that's for sure.

He just stared at you with a somehow teasing look on his face. But you were too embarrassed to even speak again. So why the fuck did you speak again. 

"H- help me..." You mumbled, eyes turning away and cheeks heating up.

Wonwoo's smirk widened, but he raised a brow, looking at you with innocence as he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Help you with what, exactly?" He knew exactly where to push your buttons.

"Such a fucking tease," you muttered under your breath. He knew that. 

"I can't help you if I don't know what it is."

"F- Fuck me.. Wonwoo." Your words came out in a stumble. You went from fuck you to fuck me, that's a revolution.

Wonwoo chuckled, but then his gaze darkened. You couldn't quite point what is. A look of lust? Or is he teasing the fuck out of you again? "Come again?" 

"Wonwoo, please.." You sighed, head dropping to his shoulder with frustration. You're so wet you want to start touching yourself. It's like your pussy is on damn fire. 

But Wonwoo won't budge until you state exactly what you're asking for.

The heat of your body radiates his when his lips found your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin that sent electric waves through your body. That was your final test. 

Your hand moved under your dress and you started rubbing your wet clit through your underwear. 

Wonwoo leaned back just a little, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. You swore you'd kick his balls after this.

Your fingers moved under your underwear and that's when you insert one finger in. You held back the moan, biting your lower lip.

"Shameless slut. That's hot," he says kneeling down as he looked up at you with the same gaze he had earlier. "Need help?"

"P-please..." You replied, tears rolling down your cheeks. You were so frustrated you can punch his damn handsome face right now. 

"You're really ruined." He unzips your dress from the back and removed it. Fuck he found your bra really cute. He spread your thighs open before he starts working on it, his lean fingers entering your slippery, glossed pussy. "What the fuck? It swallowed right in, babe." You couldn't tell if the pet name was to annoy you or what. Doesn't matter, cause your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The same fingers he used for typing on his keyboard were inside you right now. 

This shit feels too good to be true. 

"So wet for me, huh?" he started moving his fingers deeper. You were so wet that his finger slipped in your pussy almost too easily. 

Wonwoo reached that one spongy texture. "Fuckk.....!" You moaned out, panting crazily.

His fingers fucked your pussy so well with his thumb running circles on your clit, you squirted. He's moving his fingers in and out of you so fast that you almost reached the depths of heaven. 

You came. His hand soaked with your fluids. He pulled out his fingers and licked it. "So pretty seeing you like this. You're sweet, Kitsunya."

Before you can even get back from pleasure, his head was in between your thighs, already licking your pussy clean. And he received a harmonious moans out of you. He loved the sounds you made. He can listen to it all day.

Then his tongue entered your pussy. 

"Wonnie... S- so good.. Don't stop." You panted, the sudden nickname making him throbbing hard below. While your fingers entangling through his soft locks, pulling his head so he could reach deeper. And then you came again, on his face, moaning like crazy.

He licked all your fluids before pulling away, licking his lips as he stood up again to look down at you.

"You taste so fucking sweet." He held your chin—making you look up at him as he captures your lips again, tasting yourself. 

Wonwoo was devouring you at this point. His tongue working in your mouth. While his hand went to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, and the other already unclipping your bra.

Then he carried you onto the bed, dropping you on the mattress without pulling away. He started taking his hoodie off while you messily unzips his pants. He helped you pull it down. 

He was fucking huge. You knew it already when you felt his bulge earlier, but didn't imagine a length like this.

He pulled away, his cock throbbing with pre-cum. You stared at him, panting, cheeks fucking red.

"Safe word?" He asked, his hands massaging your breasts. You forgot to think for a moment.

"Fox." You replied and he smirked. 

With that settled, he spread your legs open—leaning in between your things. His fingers prepping your pussy.

Once wide enough, his tip was placed on the entrance of your pussy, rubbing your clit. he was leaking already.

"F- fuck me rough, Wonwoo." You said, begging like you never usually do. 

And that was his last straw. He slammed his cock but entered you slowly, your moans filling the room. "So fucking tight, the hell?" 

"Y- you're too fucking big," you muffled, tears of pleasure running down at the stretch.

He pulled his cock and slammed it in you again, this time, it felt good it already reached your g-spot. He was huge.

After a few slow thrusts, Wonwoo felt you adjusting to the stretch, and that's when he started roughly fucking your pussy. You held onto him for your dear life, moaning loudly this time. 

"Your pussy is swallowing me so fucking well." He muttered, grunting when he felt your walls clenching around his cock. "Don't fucking cum until I say so."

He took it out before you can even come. You cried. 

Then just like that, he slammed his cock in you again—hardly that the sounds of your skin slapping to each other filled the room. 

He thrusted in and out so fast you were begging to cum with tears running down your cheeks at the frustration. 

"Wonwoo, please..!" You moaned out, head going back as your fingers dug onto the flesh of his shoulder. 

Wonwoo didn't stop entering you fastly, his hips moving crazily fast, his cock reaching your g-spot. "Don't fucking.." he grunted out. "..cum yet."

You squirted. You were sobbing, not because it hurt, but because it felt too good yet frustrating at the same time.

But the way he's ramming into your pussy was enough to cloud all the frustrations away. 

He shut you up when he captured your lips—tongue kissing you too well. He felt your walls clenching around him again. "Cum all over me, baby." 

"I'm cumming!" White fluids almost pushing his dick off. And not long after, he took out his cock and his hot load went all over your stomach. You were panting crazily, covering your face with your hands.

Wonwoo patted your head. He didn't call you names anymore either.

Being called "slut" never made sense to you. He didn't repeat it either.

You went in the shower first, your vagina and legs were so  sore you felt numb. And when you finally went out—the room smelled like sex and his faint cologne. You didn't look at him until he threw your dress to your face.

You glared at him, covering your body with the towel you were holding as Wonwoo enters the bathroom next.

In the bathroom, Wonwoo was still hard. He just couldn't help it. When you came out of the shower smelling good as fuck, shit... You were even prettier without make-up on. Thinking of it makes him want to fuck you again.

But now, he just had to settle back. This was nothing. And yet he's fucking his hand at the thought of you.

When Wonwoo emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead, he looked entirely different. The stark simplicity of his black t-shirt and sweatpants did nothing to diminish how effortlessly good he looked. 

His glasses caught the faint light of the room as he fixed them, his expression unreadable as he walked toward the bed and sat at its edge, towel slung lazily over his shoulder.

"Jerk," you muttered under your breath—though not quite loud enough for it to sound like a challenge.

He arched an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. The silence stretched, the air between you heavy.

He looks hot. 

The thought crept in uninvited, but you shoved it down quickly, pretending to fiddle with the zipper at the back of your dress.

It wasn't cooperating.

Wonwoo noticed. He stood silently, his presence looming behind you. Without a word, he reached for the zipper, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pulled it up smoothly. 

You caught his reflection in the mirror—the sharp lines of his face, the faint furrow of his brows, and the way his eyes lingered, just for a moment, before he let go.

"You didn't have to," you mumbled, your gaze dropping to the floor.

"I know," he replied simply, stepping back. His tone was devoid of sarcasm, yet it felt loaded with unspoken meaning.

He handed you an oversized jacket without waiting for you to ask. "Here."

You took it wordlessly, slipping one arm in, then the other, the fabric engulfing you like a shield. As you turned back to the mirror, fixing your makeup and on  attempting to dry your hair as quick as you can, you felt his eyes on you.

Your gaze flickered up to the mirror, catching him already staring.

He didn't look away.

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, and you quickly broke eye contact, muttering something incoherent as you turned toward the door.

"Wait," Wonwoo said, his voice low, stopping you in your tracks.

You barely had time to react before he closed the distance between you, his hands bracing lightly on either side of the doorframe, trapping you.

"What?" you asked, your voice wavering more than you'd like.

He didn't answer right away. His gaze flickered over your face—your swollen lips, the faint color in your cheeks, the way your breath hitched as he leaned closer.

"Nothing," he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Just wanted to see if you'd leave without saying goodbye."

"I should've," you shot back, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice betrayed you.

"Maybe."

And then he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower, deliberate, as though he was testing just how far he could push you. His hands slid to your waist, tugging you closer, and you melted against him despite every voice in your head screaming at you to stop.

You didn't know how long you stayed like that, lips tangled, the world outside fading into irrelevance. 

The kiss involved your tongues again, your head hitting the door behind you—while Wonwoo was pushing his head closer to you again. 

But eventually, reality crept back in.

"I—" you started, putting hands on his chest to push him slightly away just enough to catch your breath.

"Yeah," Wonwoo said, his voice equally quiet, though his smirk lingered.

You didn't bother finishing your sentence. Instead, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding and your mind racing. 

The oversized jacket he'd given you hung loosely over your dress, a silent reminder of whatever had just happened.

The noise of the party hit you like a wall, jolting you back to your surroundings. You avoided eye contact with anyone as you wove through the crowd, heading for the kitchen in search of water—or an excuse to keep yourself busy.

But then you felt it.

A pair of eyes.

When you glanced up, there he was.

Jeonghan.

He stood near the bar, leaning casually against the counter, a drink in hand. His expression was unreadable, but the slight tilt of his head and the glint in his eyes told you he'd noticed something was different.

Your lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, your pulse racing.

Wonwoo stayed behind, leaning lazily against the doorframe. His hair was still damp, his smirk a little too self-satisfied.

He watched the closed door for a moment longer before turning back toward the bed, dropping the towel onto the chair in the corner.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he checked the time.

A message popped up from Seungkwan in his DM.

Seungkwan: Bro, where tf are you? Jeonghan keeps asking about Kitsunya. Says she's acting weird. Did y'all fight or smth?

Wonwoo stared at the message, his smirk fading into something more contemplative.

"No," he murmured to himself, tossing his phone onto the same bed you two had sex on. "We didn't fight."

The party could wait. For now, he needed a moment to think—or to figure out why he'd let himself care.

You had barely taken a sip of water when a voice interrupted your solitude.

"Long night?"

You froze, clutching the glass tighter. Turning slowly, you met Jeonghan's gaze. He stood a few feet away, his usual confident demeanor wrapped around him like a second skin.

"What do you want?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He stepped closer, his expression soft but his eyes sharp. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I don't follow."

Jeonghan tilted his head, studying you. "You're wearing someone else's jacket."

Your stomach dropped. "So?"

"So," he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile, "it's not like you to borrow things. Especially not from... whoever it is you've been sneaking around with tonight."

Your cheeks burned. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Jeonghan's tone was light, teasing, but his gaze pinned you in place. "You've been avoiding me all night. And now you're practically running from the room. It's not hard to connect the dots."

"Drop it, Jeonghan," you snapped, your voice low.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, stepping closer, he leaned down slightly so his face was level with yours.

"I will," he said softly, "when you stop looking like you've just been caught."

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he straightened and walked away, leaving you alone with the weight of his words.

Back in the room, Wonwoo debated rejoining the party. The chaos didn't appeal to him, but the lingering hum of your presence in the space did.

He'd kissed you twice.

Three times, if he counted the one that had blurred into more than just kissing.

And now, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

When he finally pushed himself off the bed and headed back into the main area, the atmosphere was heavier than before.

The music was loud, but the tension in the room was louder.

He spotted you almost immediately, standing near the kitchen entrance talking with Woozi. Jeonghan was a few feet away, talking to someone else, but his attention kept flicking to you.

Wonwoo's jaw tightened.

Woozi excused himself by patting you on the head. "I'll be over there with Hoshi if you ever need me."

And you hummed, nodding as he walked away.

"Having fun?"

Your eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a party," he said dryly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What do you think?"

You glared at him, but before you could retort, Jeonghan appeared.

"Wonwoo," Jeonghan said smoothly, his smile as sharp as ever. "Didn't expect to see you hanging around here."

Wonwoo shrugged, his gaze steady. "Didn't expect to see you keeping tabs."

Jeonghan's smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Just looking out for my friends."

The unspoken implication hung in the air, and you felt yourself shrinking under the weight of it.

"Sure you are," Wonwoo said, his tone light but his posture tense.

You couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going to get some air," you muttered, brushing past them before either could stop you.

The cool night air hit you like a slap, cutting through the heat that had built up inside.

You leaned against the railing, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Running away again?"

You turned to find Wonwoo behind you, his hands in his pockets and his expression unreadable.

He's been around you since the night had started.

"Don't you have better things to do?" you asked, your voice sharp.

"Probably," he said, stepping closer. "But this seemed more interesting."

You sighed, turning back to the view. "What do you want, Wonwoo?"

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. "You tell me."

You frowned, glancing at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, his voice soft but firm, "you've been acting like I'm the problem when you're the one running circles around yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, stepping closer. "You're mad at Jeonghan, mad at me, and probably mad at yourself. But you're not doing anything about it. You're just... stuck."

His words hit a little too close to home, and you hated how right he sounded.

"So what?" you snapped. "What do you want me to do? Forget everything and pretend like it doesn't matter?"

"Maybe," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Or maybe just stop pretending you don't want something different." 

Your breath caught as he closed the distance between you.

How can he see right through you? it was unfair.

"Wonwoo—"

He kissed you again, cutting off whatever you were about to say. This kiss wasn't rough or teasing—it was deliberate, almost careful, like he was testing a boundary he wasn't sure he was allowed to cross.

You didn't even try to pull away. Allowing him like you both were a couple or something. 

This wasn't even anything to begin with. And that's exactly the problem.

His hand went to the back of your head, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with delicate kisses. 

You were kissing him back, deepening the kiss.

He tilted your head a little to the side to get a better angle of the kiss, while your hands hesitated if you should wrap it around him or not. 

Screw that, you did anyways. Something felt different. The same feeling hit you like a truck.

Maybe it's because you were in the public, making out with the same man for the past few hours. It was electric—the way he kissed you.

When he pulled back, his gaze searched yours.

"You can keep running," he said quietly. "But I'm not going to chase you."

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone under the stars.

He kept saying that, then why is he always around you? You sighed. 

This was an unknown feeling you never had when you were around him or his circle

When you returned to the party, Jeonghan was waiting.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze too sharp to be casual.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

He stepped closer, his smile softening. "You know, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks," you said quietly, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

But as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, you couldn't help but wonder if he'd seen more than he was letting on.

And if he had, what would he do about it?

a/n: writing 10,000+ words every other day is not as easy as i thought. i feel stupid for even thinking that. balancing school, work, and life is exhausting tbh. BUT i hope i can make it up by updating a chapter ! might take me a while to write a new one but i swear i wont leave this work unfinished. (its exam week so yeah i've been really busy)

i will be posting (if i can by this week) the req actor jeonghan x actor reader i swear it'll be worth it. im battling writers block and due homeworks with my sucked up job.

if you want to be added to the taglist, reblog / comment on this post / teaser / part-time lover masterlist and you'll automatically be tagged on every chapter.

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere (thankyou for reblogging !)

[dearlenore]

⁺ ♱ .ᐟㅤㅤ──────── 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 masterlist

“The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.” - Edgar Allan Poe

(Ⅰ) spencer reid ;;;

“She’s the boss” - fluff! | gf!reader

the team is stunned when their boy genius accidentally reveals that he’s dating a woman with a child while discussing an unsub, leaving them reeling from the unexpected revelation.

partners in crime - fluff? | rich!reader

Spencer Reid is your partner in crime—though the BAU might call you a liability. With powerful connections, effortless charm, and a knack for bending the rules just enough, you always get what you want. Spencer should know better than to get involved, but he trusts you more than he should. When a case tests that trust, he starts to wonder—has he been enabling you, or have you been pulling the strings all along?

arrest me but make it sexy - fluff? | agent!reader

The team successfully arrests a murder suspect—only to realize they’ve just taken down a highly respected FBI agent from another unit. Furious that they’ve blown her undercover mission, she decides to make their mistake their problem. After all, if they’ve already ruined her op, she might as well have a little fun with it.

bed chem - fluff | singer!reader

the team is watching a video detailing Penelope’s concert experience when they notice you talking and singing about a certain boy genius on stage

bed chem pt2 - fluff | singer!reader

despite spencer’s better judgement, he takes you up on your offer to bring the team to a concert. In return they have to promise to stop teasing him, however you definitely made no promises.

popular - fluff? | bimbo!reader

when college students begin to go missing at a near by campus, the Bau are immediately called to investigate, finding you at the center of it all. The problem? You were incredibly popular and insisted you were on good terms with everyone….

popular pt2 - fluff | bimbo!reader

you and spencer finally go on the long-awaited date after the team successfully catches the unsub. Unsure of where to take a girl like you—elegant, charming, and effortlessly captivating—he turns to his coworkers for advice. Unfortunately, they’re just as stumped as he is. Defeated, he decided to take you out for a walk around a nearby town where you’re right at home

the way things go - angst | surgeon!reader

after a video of you and Spencer on a date—one he had taken—gets sent to the BAU along with a threatening message about taking your life, Spencer knows he must make a heart-wrenching decision: break up with you to keep you safe.

the way things go pt2 - comfort | surgeon!reader

breakups are never easy, they don’t get easier with time either. You’re a wreck after Spencer leaves but thankfully he comes back to pick up the pieces.

just like daddy - fluff | surgeon!reader

most people are delighted when their children take after their spouses, however none of them had a child with Spencer Reid. In your case, having two smart asses around is giving you a headache. A very adorable, sweet, headache.

daughter in law - fluff | nurse!reader

after Spencer gets out of jail, he is determined to find the perfect caregiver for his mother. However, to his surprise, she seems to have already found the ideal nurse herself.

miniskirt - fluff | idol!reader

against his better judgment, Spencer spends his Saturday at a concert with Penelope, who won front-row seats (likely by hacking the raffle) and insisted he join her. How could he refuse?

the first, first love complex - hurt | fem!reader

when a serial killer obsessed with Spencer sends threatening letters to the BAU, they uncover mentions of a mysterious first love the unsub vows to kill. Confused, the team questions Spencer — wasn’t Maeve already dead? Left with no choice, Spencer is forced to confess the truth.

the first, first love complex pt2 - comfort | fem!reader

after revealing the shocking truth of Spencer Reid’s first, first love, the team does as the unsub instructs, retracing his steps all the way to Las Vegas.

his other girlfriend - hurt/angst | ghost!reader

Highschool wasn’t Spencer’s proudest year by far, let alone college where he continued getting bullied for being so intelligent for his age, still, there was one girl who showed him kindness, his first girlfriend. However, with her recent passing he begins to see things…

his favorite doctor - comfort | doctor!reader

when Spencer realizes just how serious his diuladid addiction has become, he requests the help of his favorite doctor to get through the withdrawal process.

juliet and romeo - fluff | fem!reader

boring days in spencer’s apartment are suddenly becoming more interesting when he spots a woman who lives in the building across from him reading in the window by her fire escape

a comprehensive guide to loving you - fluff | fem!reader

after Spencer attends his first support group meeting, he discovers an odd girl who recently relapsed after using the same drug he did. Weirdly enough, he sticks around to see her reckless behavior

you never asked - fluff | rich!reader

when the team requests additional funding from Strauss to upgrade their equipment due to multiple accidents related to their function, you reveal a secret they never would’ve guessed. Over the weeks following they

crawling back to you - fluff | fem!reader

when Spencer finds himself back in his hometown on a case, he never expected to run into you, his Highschool sweetheart.

nasty dog - fluff | bombshell!reader

sometimes spencer can’t help the impure thoughts he has about you…

lacy - hurt/comfort | insecure!reader

when Spencer starts talking to your new co worker ‘Lacy’ like she’s the only woman in the world, you can’t help but feel jealous…

calico critters - fluff | fem!reader

You’ve wanted a baby for weeks, but the fear of Spencer saying no has kept you silent. You can’t imagine life without him, so what happens if this is the one thing you can’t agree on? Well you decide a miniature model might help.

チョコミント　よりも　あ･な･た♡ - fluff / comfort | idol!reader

Spencer Reid attends an idol convention.

over the fence - fluff | country!reader

Spencer meets a reckless farmer’s daughter

daddy’s girl - fluff | sugarbaby!reader

Spencer can’t stop spoiling you

te amo means I love you - comfort | brazillian!reader

Spencer doesn’t want you to feel homesick

(Ⅱ) tim bradford ;;;

espresso - fluff | fem!reader

when Tim Bradford finds himself needing coffee before work due to nightmare influenced insomnia, he goes to a local cafe and stays for a certain barista…

hello baby - fluff | sahm!reader

Tim comes home to an unexpectedly motivated reader, cleaning, building and painting the nursery for their little girl

caught red handed - fluff | fem!reader

when you begin sneaking around secretly to receive painting lessons to paint your perfect boyfriend, he can’t help but grow suspicious…

now or never - comfort | police!reader

Life is too short for Tim Bradford not to propose

sunshine state - fluff | TO!reader

Tim Bradford struggles to accept his new TO

(Ⅲ) luke alvez ;;;

late night baby cravings - fluff | pregnant!reader

Luke struggles to accommodate to all your cravings

(Ⅳ) aaron hotchner ;;;

coconut milk - fluff | bimbo!reader

Aaron can’t look away from your chest



[jhyoos]

REBEL GIRL

Chapter 5: Pose For Me

rockstar!sevika x influencer!reader

summary: caitlyn and sevika tags along with (y/n) for a lingerie shoot.

mentions: sevika being a perv and a asshole, modern au, fame au, swearing, touching, kissing, angst

notes: thank you guys for over 100 followers! also the next five chapters are gonna be so good you guys I promise. this is lowkey a filler.

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six

When you arrived in Las Vegas, you were hit with the dazzling neon lights and the chaotic energy of the city, but all you could think about was crawling into bed and shutting out the world. Unfortunately, rest wasn’t on the agenda.

Your manager, Lauren, had set up a last-minute photoshoot with Skims to promote their newest lingerie line. The shoot was scheduled downtown, right in the heart of the bustling city. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to work with a brand like Skims and maybe even brag a little about being handpicked by Kim Kardashian herself—but not after a grueling seven-hour bus ride.

The ride had been less than ideal. The band, as much as you loved them, had been in full chaos mode. Between Vi’s questionable playlists, Jinx’s random outbursts, and Sevika constantly finding ways to tease you, it was a miracle you hadn’t lost your mind.

And now, with your stomach growling and a headache forming, you had to somehow look flawless in a shoot that demanded nothing less than perfection.

“You okay?” Caitlyn asked as you slumped into one of the hotel lobby chairs while waiting for your room key.

“Yeah, just need a nap before I can even think about being seductive in front of a camera,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

Caitlyn smirked. “You’ll be fine. You always pull it off.”

Sevika, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait—you’re doing a lingerie shoot? In Vegas?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of intrigue.

“Yes,” you sighed. “And no, you’re not invited to watch.”

Sevika chuckled. “I wasn’t asking to. Just… interesting timing.

“Tell me about it,” you replied, rolling your eyes as the front desk finally handed over your key cards. You made a beeline for the elevator, desperate for even a moment of peace.

When you woke from your nap and dragged yourself out of the hotel room, you were surprised to see Caitlyn and Sevika waiting by the lobby entrance.

“What are you two doing here?” you asked, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“We’re coming with you,” Caitlyn said, arms crossed. “You’ll need moral support, and I figured it would be nice to see how these shoots work.”

“Sevika doesn’t seem like the type for moral support,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at her.

“She’s just curious,” Caitlyn said, giving Sevika a pointed look.

“Curious about what?” Sevika asked, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes but secretly appreciated the company. “Fine. Just don’t distract me.”

The photoshoot location was stunning—a sleek, high-rise building with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dazzling Las Vegas Strip. The studio was set up with luxurious props: velvet couches, golden lighting, and a team of stylists buzzing around like worker bees.

Lauren greeted you as soon as you walked in. “You’re late,” she said, glancing at her watch.

“I needed a nap. You took a first class flight. I had a 7 hour ride with annoying children that know how to play instruments,” you said unapologetically, pulling off your jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”

You were ushered to the dressing area, where racks of silky, lace-covered lingerie awaited you. The stylists worked their magic, curling your hair into soft waves and giving you a glowy makeup look that felt effortless yet glamorous. You slipped into the first set—a sheer black bralette and matching high-waisted bottoms with delicate floral embroidery. Paired with a silky robe, the look screamed elegance with a hint of edge.

As you stepped out of the dressing room for the Skims shoot, the atmosphere shifted. The sleek black lingerie hugged your figure perfectly, highlighting every curve and giving you an air of effortless confidence. You adjusted the straps slightly before walking onto the set, where Caitlyn and Sevika stood in the corner, watching. Caitlyn gave you a supportive smile, while Sevika leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

The photographer directed you into the first pose, asking you to stand tall with your hands on your hips and your chin tilted slightly upward. The bold stance exuded power, and you felt the lights warm against your skin as the camera clicked. You risked a glance toward Sevika, catching her staring a bit too hard. Her sharp eyes were locked on you, and when she noticed you looking, she didn’t even bother to look away.

You quickly returned your focus to the shoot, deciding to let it slide. The next pose required you to sit on a plush velvet chair, crossing your legs and leaning forward slightly, your hands resting delicately on your thighs. You caught Caitlyn whispering something to Sevika out of the corner of your eye, her expression one of thinly veiled disapproval. Sevika shrugged, muttering something back, but Caitlyn’s brow furrowed even more.

The photographer asked you to stand and turn your back to the camera for the next shot. You glanced over your shoulder, giving a sultry look that would sell the new lingerie line effortlessly. The camera flashed again and again, and with each snap, you felt Sevika’s gaze burning into you. Caitlyn nudged her at one point, whispering something that made Sevika roll her eyes and look away briefly—though not for long.

Finally, the photographer directed you to lay across a chaise lounge, your arm resting above your head while your other hand trailed lazily along your side. The pose was elegant but daring, and you couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. The energy in the room felt heavy, especially with Sevika’s lingering presence.

When the shoot wrapped, you thanked the crew and headed back to the dressing room to change. Caitlyn and Sevika stayed behind, but you could hear their hushed voices just outside the door.

“She’s doing her job,” Caitlyn hissed, her voice sharp but quiet. “Don’t make this weird.”

“I’m not making it weird,” Sevika shot back, her tone flat but defensive.

“You’re staring at her like she’s the only thing in the room,” Caitlyn countered. “It’s disrespectful.”

Sevika didn’t respond immediately, and you could imagine her shrugging nonchalantly. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

You rolled your eyes at their typical behavior. The photoshoot had been beautiful but exhausting. You were more than ready to get out of the lingerie set and back into something comfortable. Shrugging off the silky robe, you reached behind to unclasp the delicate lace bra—only for the door to open.

“Sevika, what the hell?” you exclaimed, quickly clutching the robe to your chest.

She stepped in and shut the door behind her, leaning back against it with that signature smirk. “Relax. I just came to check on you.”

“Check on me? Really?” you asked, arching a brow as she moved closer.

“Fine,” she said, her voice low as she towered over you. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your heart from racing as she reached out to tuck a loose curl behind your ear. Her fingers lingered against your jaw, and before you could process it, her lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow at first, like she was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, Sevika deepened it, tilting your head back to claim your mouth fully. Her hands moved to your waist, gripping you with enough force to make your breath hitch. The kiss was electrifying, full of tension that had been building for far too long.

Her lips left yours, trailing hot kisses along your jawline and down your neck, her hands moving over the silky fabric of the lingerie. “You look so damn good in this,” she murmured against your skin.

You gasped softly, her words sending a shiver down your spine. Her lips returned to yours, hungrier this time, as she pulled you closer, her fingers brushing over the delicate lace of your outfit.

“Sevika…” you managed to whisper between kisses, your hands gripping her jacket as if to steady yourself.

She hummed in response, her lips traveling back to your neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. One hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against her, while the other ghosted over the strap of your bra.

“Wait,” you said breathlessly, pulling away.

Her grey eyes met yours, full of heat. “What?”

“You’re gonna ruin the lingerie,” you said, trying to catch your breath. “I have to return this… I can’t exactly hand it back with lipstick stains and stretched straps.”

She smirked, leaning in as if to steal another kiss. “You don’t need to return it. You could just keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”

You pressed a hand against her chest, stopping her. “Sevika, I mean it. I can’t… not like this.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, her brows knitting in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because…” You took a deep breath, your voice softening. “I can’t keep doing this—letting things get carried away. I don’t want this to be about… just pleasure. It’s getting too complicated.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her gaze searching yours. Finally, she nodded, stepping back with her hands raised in surrender. “Alright. I’ll behave.”

“Good,” you said, exhaling in relief as you moved toward the mirror to finish undressing.

But when you noticed her still standing there, watching you with an amused grin, you turned back to her, pointing toward the door. “Get out. You’re not seeing anything else, ma’am.”

She chuckled, raising a brow. “You sure about that?”

“Out!” you said, shoving her toward the door.

Sevika opened it, still laughing under her breath as she stepped into the hallway. “You’re fun to tease,” she called over her shoulder.

You slammed the door shut and locked it this time, leaning against it with a groan. “She’s impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head as you finally managed to get changed.

When you emerged from the dressing room in your hoodie and sweatpants, tugging the hem of the oversized top down, Caitlyn was already seated on the lounge chair outside, arms crossed and an unmistakable look of disapproval on her face.

You frowned, running a hand through your hair. “What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Caitlyn arched a brow and gestured toward the hallway Sevika had disappeared down minutes earlier. “Sevika said she’s gonna take a Uber back. Vi called her to make some last minute changes to the set tonight. Sevika was in there for quite sometime…”

Your eyes widened slightly before narrowing in mock irritation. “Seriously?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Caitlyn didn’t blink. “Well?”

You sighed, sitting down in the chair opposite her. “Fine, yes, I kissed her. But that’s it. Nothing else happened.”

Caitlyn leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as her expression softened. “And why didn’t it go further?”

You hesitated, staring down at your hands. “Because… I don’t want to keep doing this back-and-forth thing with her. It’s fun in the moment, but I’m starting to feel something real, and I know Sevika isn’t the type for… whatever this is turning into.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, her voice calm. “Have you told her that? Or are you just assuming what she wants?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… no, I haven’t said anything directly. But I don’t need to. I know Sevika. She’s not a relationship person.”

Caitlyn gave you a pointed look. “People can surprise you, you know. And Sevika might not be as closed off as you think. It wouldn’t hurt to at least talk to her about it.”

You leaned back, pulling the hood over your head with a groan. “Why are you making this sound so simple?”

“Because it is simple,” Caitlyn said. “You’re overthinking it. If you feel something, say something. If she doesn’t feel the same way, at least you know where you stand.”

You peeked out from under the hood, your gaze skeptical. “And what if she just laughs in my face?”

Caitlyn smirked. “Then I’ll let you borrow one of my guitars to bash her over the head with.”

You snorted, finally cracking a small smile. “Thanks for the moral support, I guess.”

Caitlyn stood, brushing off her jeans. “Anytime. Now, are we grabbing food, or are you going to sit here overthinking for the next hour?”

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the chair. “Fine, food. But I’m not promising I’ll do any of that talking stuff you’re suggesting.”

“Baby steps,” Caitlyn said with a grin as she slung an arm around your shoulders.

The two of you headed for the hotel’s restaurant, the conversation lingering in the back of your mind. Talking to Sevika felt impossible, but Caitlyn’s words had planted a seed of doubt. Maybe it wasn’t as complicated as you were making it out to be.

And maybe—just maybe—Sevika wasn’t as unreachable as you thought.

Later that evening, after dinner with Caitlyn, you found yourself lounging in your hotel’s room. Caitlyn had gone back to her room, claiming she wanted an early night, and the others were scattered between the casino floor and their rooms. You were scrolling aimlessly on your phone when Sevika walked in with a spare room key. Her presence was commanding as always, but there was a subtle edge to her expression—something unreadable.

She didn’t say anything at first, just grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge and sat across from you on the couch. The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy.

Finally, she broke it. “So, about earlier,” she said, her tone flat.

You tensed but kept your eyes on your phone. “What about it?”

Sevika leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You stopped me.”

You hesitated, glancing up at her. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

You sighed, setting your phone down. “Because I didn’t want it to go further.”

Sevika frowned slightly, her dark eyes narrowing. “Why not? Didn’t seem like you wanted to stop at the time.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” you said, your voice softer now. “I just… I can’t keep doing this with you.”

Her brows furrowed deeper, confusion and frustration flickering across her face. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever it is we’re doing. Hooking up, fooling around… it’s fun, Sev, but it’s starting to mean something to me. And I don’t think it means the same thing to you.”

Sevika’s expression hardened instantly, her features locking into something cold and unreadable. She leaned back, her jaw tightening.

“Wait a minute,” she said, her voice tinged with incredulity. “You’re catching feelings?”

Your stomach twisted at the way she said it, like it was absurd. “Yeah. I am.”

For a moment, she just stared at you. Then she scoffed, shaking her head. “I thought we were having fun. I didn’t think this was supposed to be anything serious.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and you swallowed hard, fighting the sting in your eyes. “Of course you didn’t,” you said quietly. “Why would you?”

Sevika exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… not that kind of person. I don’t do the whole ‘serious relationship’ thing. I thought you knew that.”

“Yeah, I do know that,” you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your effort to stay calm. “And that’s exactly why I can’t keep doing this. I’m not built for… whatever this is. I can’t just turn off my feelings, Sevika.”

She stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps away before turning back to face you. “So what, you’re just done? That’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” you shot back, the frustration and hurt spilling out now. “Keep hooking up with you while I pretend I’m fine with it meaning nothing to you? That’s not fair to me.”

Sevika’s jaw clenched, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I never promised you anything.”

“I know,” you said, standing up too. “And that’s the problem. You didn’t promise me anything, and you don’t want to. So I’m doing the smart thing for once and walking away before I get hurt worse.”

She didn’t respond right away, her gaze fixed on you like she was trying to find the right words. But whatever she wanted to say, she didn’t. Instead, she just nodded stiffly.

“Fine,” she said, her voice colder than you’d ever heard it. “Do what you gotta do.”

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving you standing there with your chest aching and tears threatening to spill.

You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where Sevika had just been. Her words echoed in your mind—"I thought we were having fun. I didn’t think it was anything serious."

The tears that had been welling up finally spilled over, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting anyone to walk in and see you like this. You sank back onto the couch, your mind a storm of emotions. Anger. Sadness. Embarrassment.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen this coming. You knew Sevika’s reputation. You knew she wasn’t the type to settle down or make commitments. And yet, you let yourself fall anyway.

You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Caitlyn walked into the lounge, her brows knitting together as she took one look at you.

“Hey, what happened?” she asked, sitting down beside you.

You shook your head, brushing off her concern. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Caitlyn wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms and gave you a pointed look. “You look like you’ve been crying. Did something happen with Sevika?”

Her name was enough to make your chest ache all over again. You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah. I told her how I felt… and she basically told me it’s not mutual.”

Caitlyn winced, her face softening. “I’m sorry. I know that must’ve been hard to hear.”

“It’s my own fault,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I knew what I was getting into, Cait. I knew she wasn’t serious about me. But I let myself believe, even for a second, that maybe she could be.”

Caitlyn placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You can’t help how you feel. And Sevika… she has her own issues. You shouldn’t beat yourself up for wanting more than she can give.”

You looked at her, appreciating the comfort in her words. “Thanks, Cait.”

She gave you a small smile. “Of course. Look, why don’t we get out of here? Clear your head a bit. There’s a café downstairs that makes great coffee, and you could use a break from… all of this.”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that sounds good. I just need a minute.”

Caitlyn patted your shoulder before standing. “Take your time. I’ll be in the lobby.”

Once she was gone, you took a deep breath and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. You wanted to be mad at Sevika, but deep down, you weren’t. She had been honest about who she was. You were the one who had hoped for more.

Still, it didn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

Later that evening, Caitlyn returned to the room, already dressed for the concert in her sleek, edgy ensemble. She looked at you, still curled up in your hoodie and sweatpants, and frowned.

“I thought you’d be getting ready by now,” she said.

You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest. “I’m not going tonight. I just… I’m not feeling it.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, concern flickering across her face. “Are you sure? It might be a good distraction.”

You shook your head firmly. “No, I’m sure. I was going to record a vlog or something, but… I don’t even feel like doing that. Would you mind recording it for me? Just some clips from the concert?”

Her expression softened. “Of course. Anything specific you want me to get?”

“Just the usual—crowd shots, the band playing. Maybe a bit of backstage stuff if you can. Here.” You reached over to the desk and grabbed your camera, handing it to her. “I trust you with it.”

Caitlyn took the camera with a small smile. “I’ll make sure it’s perfect. Are you sure you’re okay staying here by yourself?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just… bring me something sweet after the show. Chocolate or something.”

She chuckled softly. “Deal.”

As Caitlyn left, the quietness of the room enveloped you. For now, you had to focus on picking up the pieces.

You could deal with Sevika—and your heart—later.

-

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