#having mixed feelings about what just happened

[muqingslover]

Hii!! Love your writing!!

I wanted to ask if you have any hc about the lads men as fathers? For example, my hc was that Xavier is a boy dad that makes sure his kid will not end up listening to those "alpha podcasts" because he sets the example of a gentle yet "i slayed over 70,000 wanderers", kind yet assertive man. HOWEVER, since the level 175 affinity interaction came out, I'm 100% hes a girl dad raising his daughter to be a strong and independent woman (like the MC he loves dearly). What do you think?

[ my first ask! yahooo! thank you, pookie! I'll give you my thoughts in general (a big mix of everything) but if anyone wants one of the boys in more detail then feel free to ask because I have more to share! ]

Xavier

Alright maybe this is a hot take but I don't think he wants children, like at all.

Xavier does NOT like sharing. He's literally jealous of himself for goodness sake and he really, reaaaally, does not want to share you, especially not with clingy children that would take almost if not all of your attention and also his sleep.

In-game he's also shown to not be super fond of children in general which I find hilarious.

He's lived a long life, sacrificed everything and everyone for you, and spent the rest of his years searching for you. He believes he has the right to be a bit selfish and keep you to himself. Let's be honest, he's earned it.

Zayne

He does want children, but he is the type to plan for it. And I mean *plan*.

Out of everyone, he understands the best what it means for both your body and mental health the changes pregnancy would bring (including the chance of postpartum depression and other complications) so there would be a looooong discussion before anything happened.

When putting together the nursery it's like he's preparing for the apocalypse and not a baby "We might need this" (you won't be needing it), "This was made with [chemical], it could be toxic for you or the baby." "Zayne, it's just a plastic spoon."

Absolutely not as cool as he leads you to believe. You have this man stressed™ but he is so, soooo patient.

He'd be very serious about follow-up appointments and he'll make time for the both of you no matter what.

GIRL DAD ! GIRL DAD ! GIRL DAD !

100% victim of waking up covered in silly drawings and bows in his hair but he says before him than his poor white walls.

You have your hands full monitoring these two that love to sneak around and stuff their cheeks full like hamsters with sweets.

Sylus

Now this man wants a whole LITTER if you'll let him.

Hear me out: TRIPLETS. Oooor, twins with a younger sibling right after. Maybe one more if you are really brave.

This was not planned at all, but when you tell him he's so happy he'd be in actual tears while hugging you.

Luke and Kieran are over the moon about it too. They'd be so cute with the children because they get to be big bros now and they take their role very seriously.

Sylus would pull out his phone or coat and it would be covered in cute stickers. He takes no action in getting rid of it though because he loves it.

Those children are S P O I L E D. You have to take the role of saying no otherwise he'd take over the world just because his baby asked to be queen of the world on a random Thursday.

Rafayel

I think he's on the same boat as Xavier but for different reasons.

I have some...perhaps...controversial takes on this little guy in general so I'll leave it open for your interpretation hehe

love him though<3

Caleb

I know I know everyone says he'd be the best girl dad but PLEASE pleaaaase give this man a little boy.

If you think women's baby fever are bad just wait until you see Caleb's

He would draw on your belly bump where he thinks the baby is and talk to him even while you're asleep

This guy is taking lessons about pregnancy, how to support you during birth and he is 100% in one of those moms group chat.

"Caleb we do not need another onesie—" "But look! Look how cute it is! Oh, and the little hat? C'mon angel, please?" (Ban him from shopping by himself because he comes back with WAY too many things you do not need)

He loves and I mean LOVES matching clothes. From silly costumes, to pajamas and outside outfits.

So. Many. Pictures. He takes pictures all the time to keep them as memories because if something were to happen where you or he lost their memories again then they'd forever be preserved :(

[ I have so much more to say about this but maybe I'll just make a separate post for each of them ]

[stxrsniolo]

𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑡𝑜 𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝒍͟𝒊͟𝒎͟𝒊͟𝒕͟𝒔

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : alright, babes, heads up because this is about to get filthy, and I’m talking full-on smut, no filter, no shame; if you can’t handle the heat, bounce now, because i’m not holding back .ᐟ

you’re stark naked in matt’s room, sprawled across his messy bed, the sheets crumpled and smelling like him; a heady mix of sweat, expensive cologne, and that earthy scent that’s purely him.

the air’s thick, buzzing with tension, and your eyes are locked on him while he’s just as bare, leaning against the wall with that lazy, cocky vibe he always carries, his body’s on full display: a light dusting of dark hair across his chest, that tummy you loved to kiss, and his cock, half-hard already, resting against his thigh, thick, veined, and tempting as hell.

you’d made this dumb bet: see who could hold out longer without touching. no touching each other, no touching yourselves. just teasing, torturing, breaking the other down. and fuck, you’re both playing it to the edge.

you bite your lip, letting your legs fall open a little wider, giving him a clear view of your pussy already glistening, slick with arousal under the dim glow of his bedside lamp. your skin’s heating up, your nipples stiff and aching, your breath coming faster.

you catch his gaze and flash a challenging smirk.

“what? you're gonna crack already, matt?” you say, voice low and taunting, your fingers hovering near your thigh, teasing the boundary but not crossing it.

he lets out a rough chuckle, his blue eyes darkening with lust, pinned on you. “nah, m’so good at this, y’know? but y’lookin’ like y’bout t’help yerself,” he drawls, that lazy slur in his voice hitting you right where it hurts, stirring the heat pooling in your core.

he shifts, his hand resting just beside his cock not touching, but close enough that you see it twitch, hardening further, the tip flushing a deep red, a bead of precum glistening at the slit.

he’s killing you with it, and he knows it, the bastard.

“fuck, matt, you're playing dirty,” you mutter, your voice wavering as you lean back on your elbows, letting your tits lift, nipples hard as rocks, begging for attention. the heat between your legs is unbearable, your clit throbbing, screaming for relief, but you hold firm.

“my little tease, huh? so wet f’me already, i can see it,” he says, leaning forward now, his breath heavier, eyes glued to your pussy like he’s starving for it. his cock’s fully hard now, jutting out, thick and heavy, the veins bulging like they’re about to burst. he licks his lips, slow and deliberate, and you swear you almost lose it right there.

“shut up,” you snap, but your hips twitch involuntarily, a desperate little movement chasing something you won’t let yourself have. the room reeks of sex even though nothing’s happened—sweat, arousal, the raw scent of you both mixing in the air. your skin’s hot, sticky, and every breath makes that pulsing ache between your thighs worse.

he moves closer, getting on his knees on the bed, near enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, but still not breaking the rules. his cock’s inches away, bobbing with every shift, the precum dripping now, a thin, shiny trail sliding down the shaft.

you can smell him: the musk of his arousal, sharp and primal, and it’s driving you insane.

“y’lookin’ at it like y’wanna suck it,” he teases, voice husky, his hand flexing like he’s dying to grab himself but won’t. “bet y’thinkin’ ‘bout how it’d feel, huh? s’cold out here, but m’so fuckin’ hot f’you.”

“you’re such a dick,” you groan, your resolve slipping as you spread your legs wider, letting him see how soaked you are, your folds slick and swollen, your clit practically begging for him. your whole body’s trembling now, every nerve on fire, and you can feel the wetness dripping down to the sheets beneath you.

“m’so close t’winnin’ this,” he mutters, but his voice cracks, and you see the sweat beading on his forehead, the way his chest heaves with every ragged breath. his cock twitches again, more precum leaking out, and he shifts closer still, the tip so near your thigh you can feel its heat without contact.

“fuck you,” you hiss, your hands gripping the sheets, knuckles white, as you arch your back just enough to make your tits bounce, taunting him. your pussy clenches around nothing, the emptiness maddening, and a whimper slips out before you can stop it.

“y’gonna cave first, sweetheart,” he growls, his eyes wild now, his control hanging by a thread. he leans in, his breath hot against your neck, not touching but so close you feel the ghost of it. “s’wet, s’ready f’me—y’can’t take it no more, can ya?”

you’re shaking, your whole body screaming at you to give in. your pussy’s dripping, a slick puddle forming beneath you, and your nipples are so hard they hurt. every word from him, every move, is pushing you closer to the edge without even a touch. you can see it in him too, his cock’s rock-hard, pulsing, the head an angry red, precum pooling at the tip, sliding down in slow, obscene streaks.

“matt, i swear—” you start, but your voice breaks into a whine as your hips buck again, involuntary, desperate. you’re losing it, and he’s right there with you, both of you teetering on the brink, suffering in the best, worst way.

“‘was s’bad, huh? y’gonna give up f’me?” he whispers, his voice raw, his face inches from yours now, his breath fanning over your lips. his cock’s so close to your pussy you can feel its warmth, and it’s torture. pure, agonizing torture.

you don’t know who’s going to break first, but you’re both fucked, drowning in the heat of it, the game stretching you both to your limits.

╭ ❝ my dears, i truly cherish the affection you show through your reposts, and for that, i’m grateful; however, let us be unequivocally clear: my narratives are my sacred domain, not to be borrowed/reshaped without my consent 

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒ㅤ: ㅤ @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol @sturn777 @whore4mattsturniolo @mattchalattee @madifilipowiczisthebest @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo101 @ivysturnss @mattsatellite @sturnsblogs @izzylovesmatt @allisonclairee @m4gz-png @mr-wrinkleton @bluestriips @surprisecurlyfriesbackup

╰ ★ in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist. 

[lyn31]

Aftercare

Summary:

What happened after that explosive sex?

Ao3 link

Notes:

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader

I saw a post about there's just not enough fluff and I was like "hey I have fluff!" So here's another fluff 😂

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By the time Zayne finally pulls his mouth back, you’re sprawled across his desk, breathless and spent. The last aftershocks still tremble through you, your skin flushed and tingling as he presses a lingering kiss to your inner thigh.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, your limbs heavy, barely able to lift a finger. “Seven,” you murmur, voice dazed. “That was seven.”

Zayne hums, trailing lazy kisses up your stomach. “Impressive counting,” he muses.

You huff a breathless laugh. “No, I mean… seven.” You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with a mix of awe and exasperation. “No wonder I can’t move.”

A smirk ghosts across his lips. “Perfectly well-placed exhaustion, then.”

Then, slowly, he trails his lips higher—soft kisses along your ribs, the curve of your collarbone—until he reaches your lips.

He hovers for a moment, his breath fanning over you before murmuring, “Anything you want to add?”

You’re too dazed to think, let alone tease, so you simply exhale, “Perfect.” And because you can, you brush a lazy kiss against his cheek before letting your head drop back onto the desk.

A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Not bad for a loss,” he muses, fingers tracing the delicate straps of your lingerie.

You smirk without opening your eyes. “Your win is my win.”

He huffs, amused, before scooping you up with ease, settling you into his lap as he leans back into his chair. His fingers massage gentle circles into your hips, as if already checking for any lingering strain.

“You’re fine?” His voice is low, familiar. A quiet sort of care beneath the question.

“Mm.” You curl into him, nuzzling against his shoulder. “Satisfied. Thoroughly.”

He hums, pleased, but his hands don’t stop their slow, grounding touches. “Your hips?”

“Still attached,” you tease, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw.

Zayne exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed by your lack of concern. His grip shifts, more firm now as he gathers you fully into his arms. “Come on.”

You don’t protest as he carries you out of his office and into your shared bedroom. The dim lighting, the familiar scent of him in the sheets—everything settles around you in quiet warmth as he gently sets you down.

He makes sure you’re comfortable first, slipping one of your softer, looser tops over your head, brushing his fingers through your hair before tugging the blanket over you.

“Tea?” he offers. “Or water?”

You shake your head. “Just stay.”

When he doesn’t move immediately, you tug at his wrist, coaxing him down beside you. He doesn’t resist, but there’s a beat of hesitation in the way he settles against the mattress—like he’s not quite ready to let go of the night just yet.

You sigh, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against his chest. “You’re not planning on going back to work, right?”

Zayne exhales, his grip flexing slightly where his hand rests on your waist.

“No,” he finally murmurs, though it sounds more like he’s convincing himself than answering you.

You hum, satisfied, and curl closer, nuzzling into his warmth. He stays quiet, but when his arms tighten around you, pulling you fully against him, you know he’s already let the thought go.

“Not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

You smile against his skin, already drifting. You’ll both sleep soon—you know it, and so does he.

But deep down, you hope it’s more than just sleep.

You hope that, for once, his dreams will be quiet. That the moment he closes his eyes, he won’t be pulled back into shadows and memories that refuse to let him rest.

He rarely talks about them, those nightmares that keep him tethered to wakefulness, that make sleep feel more like a battle than a refuge. But you feel it—in the tension that lingers in his body even as he holds you close, in the way his fingers ghost over your skin like he’s grounding himself in the present.

So you hold him tighter, tracing slow, absent patterns against his chest, as if you can chase the ghosts away with just your touch.

“Sleep,” you murmur, a quiet plea wrapped in warmth.

Zayne exhales, his grip around you firm but gentle. He doesn’t answer right away, but then—so soft you almost miss it—

“…I will.”

And this time, you think he just might.

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Notes:

I can write a short one this time because this is technically the last chapter from Game on it picks up right after the second chapter, so I don't need to write an intro so to speak ahahaha 😂 well hopefully y'all enjoy it!

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s February ficrec frenzy

Hi everyone, just under two weeks to go until we're so so back, and it's time for February's rec post of all the fic that I've read and loved over the last month! Basically I've been rolling around in delight at all the interpretations of the behind the scenes hug fic, so you may sense a theme. As always you can find previous rec lists here.

22 February 2025

It’s a good thing we’re so normal and well-adjusted and could never fall in love with each other! by @luckshiptoshore my dear friend wrote her first Buddie fic, and it's a delight. Posing the question, what would happen if Buck and Eddie had an ongoing fwb arrangement, and hadn't thought any deeper about it than that because they're both straight right, so it's just blowing off steam? Coupled with Buck's canonical bi awakening...that makes him reassess what exactly has been going on all this time. Witty and so much fun, bless these idiots, they have but one braincell between them but boy does it spark when rubbed together.

there is no road by @ghostlandtoo such a gripping take on Eddie moving to El Paso and Buck in LA missing him, this is a dual POV in which Buck is striving to be fine, and Eddie is struggling to adjust, and they're both missing each other. When Eddie is injured on the job, Buck drops everything to come to his side, and together they heal and slowly start to unpeel the layers on their feelings. Really fantastic examination of how to be there for each other when you know what you feel but not how to unblock obstacles in the way. I especially loved the Eddie POV and myriad family dynamics in this one.

so make the best of this test (and don’t ask why) by @littlefreakbuckley oh this one took me by surprise in the best way! Buck 1.0 wakes up in the marriage bed of future Buck and Eddie. Adjusting to learning he's into guys too now, and reckoning with the realisation that he's built a family since his early season 1 pre-Abby relationship days, what unfolds is both flirtation to the max and a beautifully introspective journey of acceptance. And one VERY intrigued Eddie. Hot and sweet, their idiosyncrasies and banter were so on point, with such a lovely subtle characterisation shift between 1.0 and Buck that still made them both feel distinctly them even with the gap in wisdom and growth: just gorgeous. Also hot, did I say hot? Hot! 

crying after sex by @eddiebabygirldiaz I'm always here for an ren's fics, and oh hello, this one is a stunner! After a hook up following the Risky Business scene, Buck and Eddie have kissed...but they've yet to define anything, and before they can have that conversation, one or the other bolts. When Eddie moves to Texas, Buck spirals and has a lot of sex and spirals some more. They miss each other terribly, and through their discussions, they find their way to each other, but not without a few speed bumps. I really love the self reflection they both go through here, and the structure which means we get to see so much of how they cope, love, and grow together.

his indecision's bugging me by @peachino a beautifully written contribution to the 'Eddie moves out and without telling him, Buck moves in' speculation. The language and descriptions in this one are so gorgeous, with Buck's head being a delightfully messy, tangled place to inhabit. There's paint metaphors, Buckley sibling conversations, and an Eddie who is gently accepting and amused. I love you squatter Buck!

crash test anthem by @clytemnestraaa part two in gear shift harmony, Buck is not having a great time in LA, and the firefam are concerned for him. Really diving deep into his abandonment issues and his less than healthy ways of dealing with them, this is putting him in the torment nexus.

tailspinning by @doitgently taking Buck spiralling to the extreme...this is that one time Buck snooped on Eddie's fridge calendar to the extreme! With a mix of location tracking and memorised schedules, the codependency is off the charts and yet remains somehow incredibly sweet and charming - such a fine line and executed so well. Buck knows what he's doing is insane but god help him, he just needs to know.

slaughterhouse by @kithmet 'Buck has resolved to be the greatest friend ever. He’s handling this move so well. And not at all being abnormal about Eddie’s house. Or Eddie’s belongings. Or, well. Eddie.' In which Buck accidentally starts magpieing Eddie's belongings in a reaction to him moving away and feels very guilty about it but just can't stop himself....and Eddie's reaction might not be what you expect. This one tickled me so much, lovely little klepto.

oh brother, I see (you burn like me) by canadadry SISTERS!!!! Oh oh how I loved this...chapters split between Adriana and Maddie, this is a third person POV to Buddie, from the eyes of their siblings. What Adriana witnesses coming in fresh contrast to poor Maddie's slowly boiled frog experience of the two. Lovely characterisation and just so much fun, I really loved that they bonded over the insanity.

We're Overdue for a Revival by @bespectacledbunnys in which Chris agrees to come back to LA but he has one condition....Eddie must marry Buck. The only problem? Buck and Eddie are totally platonic? Right? I love the comedy of errors sensibility to this fic, along with the marriage of convenience trope wielded by teenage melodrama. Chris is brilliantly given agency here, allowed to be a messy and contradictory and hurt teenager just trying to be okay. Love Buck's easy acceptance and the firefam's incredulity. So much fun, and a delightful ride.

Okay let's leave it there for now, with Eddie perpetually in El Paso and Buck perpetually Not Okay About It. So excited to be back with more canon informed fics soon, happy reading everyone! 12 days until 8b!

[heavy-swing]

(Hope you don't mind I wrote a little in character reply to this along with my own thoughts at the bottom!)

---

“My memory for this thing has always been a bit shite, but I think I've got at least one answer for ya.”

“It was in the middle of the campaign in Doma. We hadn't found Hien yet, but we'd just managed to disrupt some of the local Imperials who'd had the nearby farmers under their boot. Yugiri and I’d been talking a lot back and forth by this point: about our homes, our lives, our purposes. I hadn't exactly sorted out my feelings yet, but I did know she was a friend who I always liked seein’ around.”

“Anyroad. She'd spotted an Imperial airship that appeared to be the Crown Prince’s, and despite pretty much everyone making a fuss about it, she insisted on trying to kill him, then and there.” Aelita lets out a sigh. “I tagged along when I realized she was going no matter what, but needless to say, things didn't go great. Just seeing her lying there, having given absolutely everything for a world she might not see, it was the most heroic thing I'd ever seen.”

She laughs, the kind of laugh that only ever comes with hindsight. “It was also the dumbest thing I'd ever seen. And the saddest. I remember holding her as we ran away, just prayin’ and prayin’ to anyone that was listening for her to wake up. After all the rage had worn off and I had time to think I… I realized I didn't want to live in a world without her. And I was so gods-damned scared I'd missed the chance to tell her that.”

“Thank the Navigator she did pull through and I got to say my piece.” Aelita scratches the back of her neck and breaks into a guilty smile. “I was lucky then, and I continue to be lucky now.”

“Y'know, I suppose luck was always part of our relationship. I just happened to be in Horizon on some other business when she arrived with the first contingent of refugees. I'll always remember that first time I saw her: a gorgeous violet gemstone against the barren sands of Thanalan.” She focuses hard for a moment, trying to recall the name of the mineral she's visualizing. “Chrys would absolutely know… it's not quartz, it's the purple kind… Amethyst! That's the one.” She smiles, proud of herself for remembering. “I think she was the only thing I remembered about that trip. Absolutely zero memory of what it was I was there to do. But there was just this aura she had. Didn't matter that I couldn't see what she looked like, I just knew that I wanted to meet that person again someday. And someone somewhere must've overheard me, cause I not only got to meet her again, I got to know her and help her and her people, too.”

---

(As for why me, the person behind Aelita, found Yugiri so interesting: I knew I wanted to make a hrothgal and have her be a refugee, and I was idly thinking about possible characters she might click with as someone with a bigger, louder personality and a background as a tank that gets into the fray, and the more I thought on it, the more I saw them as a couple! They've got a good mix of shared experiences and goals alongside some differences in personal philosophy and battle strategy that makes them fun to write. If you're interested in more, check out A Star Hidden In The Clouds for a bit of pining, Horizon for that chance first meeting, and What Goes Unsaid and Hackneyed for the big pre- and post-Zenos-confrontation moments :3)

fellow wol x npc shippers- If applicable, what was the "oh" moment for you and your oc falling for their love interest? Was yours seperate from your WoL's?

[mashtatosworld]

Can I request some Seunghyun x Fem!Reader where she’s his personal assistant and absolutely, completely and deeply in love with him. She’s been his best friend for years, terrified that if she tells him how she feels, it might not only ruin their friendship but also their work dynamic. They’re incredibly touchy and comfortable in each other space, not even noticing that they’re doing things that could be considered couple-y: She’s on her phone while standing next to a seated Seunghyun? He’s absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of her shirt while she’s carding her fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp gently. He makes a lame dad joke that no one really laughs at? She’s giggling and giving him a sweet little forehead kiss as she walks by. The rest of the band can see they’re made for each other but too chicken to admit it. So the boys cook up a plan to get Seunghyun to finally tell her how he feels. What could possibly go wrong? 😂😂

how you get the girl

summary: in which things between you are safer left unspoken

You’ve been by Seunghyun’s side for years.

First as his best friend, then as his very unqualified personal assistant. It started because he didn’t want to lose you - his career as an idol meant constant travel, but he wasn’t about to let life pull you apart. So he hired you, despite your lack of organisational skills and tendency to leave things until the last minute.

Not that he really minded. He liked having you around. More than liked.

Some may say too comfortable together. For colleagues at least.

You’re always touching - his fingers pulling at the hem of your shirt absentmindedly. Or sharing glasses of wine - his mouth pressing against your lipstick stains without complaint.

And neither of you ever question it.

Because sometimes things were safer left unspoken.

But the rest of the band? Oh, they see it. And they’re tired of waiting for you two to figure it out.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It starts with you forgetting to book his hair appointment.

He’s supposed to go on stage tomorrow with pink hair. Only, his roots are still dark, and there’s no way to get a stylist this late.

Which is how you end up in his hotel bathroom at midnight, wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, sitting on the edge of the bathtub - him on the floor between your legs - whilst you're armed with box dye and gloves, carefully working through his hair.

“You know,” he muses, casually toying with one of your anklets, “if I had a professional assistant, this wouldn’t be happening.”

You scoff. “If you had a professional assistant, you’d be miserable.”

He hums in consideration. “Maybe.”

Definitely.

He closes his eyes when your fingers start massaging the dye in properly, his body relaxing under your touch. It’s warm in here, the scent of hair dye mixing with the faint smell of his shampoo, and there’s something oddly intimate about it - his head in your hands, the steady rhythm of your movements.

And then he feels a smear on his cheek.

His eyes snap open.

"Oops."

“No. No, oops. I know you, you did that on purpose.” He turned his head around, eyes narrowed on your amused figure.

Before you can react, his hand moves fast - swiping a glob of dye across your arm.

“Hey!” You yelp, grabbing at him in retaliation, and suddenly it’s a war. He gets your cheek; you streak pink across his neck. He reaches for your platinum dyed hair - “Oh don’t you dare - ”

Too late. A bright pink handprint ends up in your hair.

By the time you’re done both of you are breathless, pink-stained, grinning at each other like kids who just got caught. You don’t realise how close you are. How he’s staring at you, just for a moment, something soft in his expression.

You clear your throat, "You better hope there's enough dye in that box for me too."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

“You two do realise you look like a couple now, right?”

The next morning, you both enter the dressing room - late of course - to see Jiyong in the make-up chair, grinning like the devil himself.

“Uh-huh," you brush off, striding past the boys as they all eyed your new matching locks.

Seunghyun watched you flit around the room, trying to find your stage pass whilst he draws closer to his bandmates, a watchful eye remaining on you.

“Matching hair? That’s basically a soft launch,” Daesung chuckles as he snacks on a banana.

Seunghyun tilts his head, raising a curious brow. “Do we… really look like a couple?”

Jiyong smirks. “You sound pretty happy about that, hyung."

The way Seunghyun pauses - no defence, no annoyed huffs, just considering - tells them everything they need to know.

And just like that, the plan is set in motion.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Seunghyun handles your work phone. It’s separate from your personal one, and since you’re a little too… relaxed about answering emails and checking schedules, he’s taken it upon himself to do it for you.

Which is exactly why the band sends the message there.

He’s scrolling through your unread messages as the team sits in the dressing room, cooling off after a tiring performance.

Then the phone pings.

[unknown number] Hey beautiful! I had so much fun on our date. Let me know when you can meet again. Can’t wait to see you soon candyfloss xxxxx

His fingers tighten around the phone.

His stomach drops.

The fuck?

A sharp wave of irritation rises in his chest. He looks at you - you’re on your personal phone, completely unaware, smiling at something on the screen.

Is this why you’ve been distracted?

Before he even realises it, his voice comes out clipped. “Is this why you’ve been such a terrible assistant?”

You blink, confused. “What?”

He stands from the sofa, uncaring for the way he draws attention to himself. He was heated. “You’ve been messing things up constantly - I thought you were just forgetful, but no, you’re busy running around with some secret boyfriend instead of doing your job?”

Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me?” You push off from the wall, moving to stand before him.

“If you’re so distracted, maybe I should fire you.”

The room goes dead silent.

The guys - who were at the far end of the room - exchange panicked looks.

“Oh shit,” Jiyong mutters. “Did we just -”

“Ruin everything?” Youngbae whispers back. “Yeah.”

Inside, you’re outraged. “If you think I’m so terrible, fire me then!”

“I should!”

“Then do it!”

“I will!”

“Fine!”

There’s a beat of silence. Neither of you move.

Then you narrow your eyes. “Wait... What are you even talking about, Seunghyun? I don’t have a secret boyfriend.”

“Oh sure,” he scoffs, waving the phone in front of your face. “You just forgot about the guy you went on a date with?”

You lunge to snatch the phone from him. “Give me that!”

He dodges you - holding it high above your head, and dials the number instead.

And then -

Daesung’s phone starts ringing.

The silence is deafening.

Jiyong smacks Daesung upside the head. “Aish, put it on silent next time!”

You and Seunghyun slowly turn to them.

Daesung clears his throat. “Uh. Surprise?”

Youngbae attempts to smooth things over, “Hyung, y/n... It was just part of the prank war. You know... payback.”

"Payback?" Seunghyun is fuming. “You idiots nearly made me lose my girl.”

Your heart stops.

“…Your girl?”

It takes him a second to realise what he just said.

Oh.

You’re both frozen, eyes locked, the entire world narrowing to just the two of you.

Seunghyun swallows, his entire demeanor shifting - still intense, but no longer angry. Just... raw.

The others take that as their cue to get the hell out.

Once they’re gone, you continue to stare at him, heart pounding. “I'm your girl?”

His jaw clenches. “…Of course you are.”

You frown. “You've never told me that.”

He exhales. “Because I didn’t want to ruin what we have.”

You stare at him, then laugh breathlessly. “You mean our very professional assistant-client relationship?”

He couldn't help a smile, running a hand through his pink hair.

Seunghyun hesitates a moment, and then he steps closer, cupping your cheek, and murmurs, “I thought I could live with that. But when I thought I was losing you, I hated it.”

Your breath catches. “I'd hate that too.”

“I'm going to kiss you.”

You whisper, “Yeah. You should.”

And then he does.

It’s slow, warm, and so overdue it makes you dizzy. His hands tighten around you, pulling you impossibly close.

When you finally break apart, you smirk. “So, do you really think I’m a bad assistant?”

He nods. “Oh, absolutely.”

You swat at him, but he just grins, catching your hands and pulling you back in.

“But I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

And then he kisses you again.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

thank goodness there's no HR in fantasy land

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk

[justgigity]

First Time with bf kento ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Cw: smut (obviously), p in v, oral (f receiving)

Summary: you’ve been dating kento for quite some time and you’re finally ready to take the next step. One problem, he’s completely oblivious.

“How the hell do you- ow!” You winced as your friend tightened the corset to your new lingerie set.

“Like that.” She grinned at you through the mirror before stepping back, admiring her work.

“Think it’ll work?”

“If it doesn’t, dump him.”

Truth is, you’d been trying to tempt your boyfriend for weeks. He’s a gentlemen, really. He’s careful and doting, opening doors and spoiling you till his wallet lacks its usual weight. But there’s just something missing-

“Sex?” Your boyfriend stands before you with a raised brow.

“Y-yes…I’m asking for sex, is that so hard to believe?” You look away in a mix of shame and arousal. Standing in front of him in this lingerie is something you’d never imagine would happen when you two first met.

“I just- wasn’t sure you were ready..” and it’s his turn to be embarrassed, maybe for the first time since you’ve met him. He’s usually so composed..

“You weren’t sure? The other day I nearly deep throated a popsicle in hopes you’d get the fucking hint!-“ you stop yourself, you’re getting too riled up over something so trivial.

“Sorry- sorry I just…I was-“

“Too scared to tell me directly what you needed?”

“Hey- I’m not the one who’s been acting all dense!” In one swift movement, he pushes you against your dresser.

“Do you know how long I held back?” He grips your chin.

“W-what..?” Before you can question him any further, he’s crashing his lips against you.

“Mm!- mm…” you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him down to your level. He pulls back, disconnecting your lips with a small ‘pop!’ And picks you up, rough calloused fingers digging into your thighs.

“I think I got the hint now.”

“Oh- really?” You roll your eyes, sarcasm filling your voice.

“Don’t get bratty, or I’ll hold out on you much longer.”

“As if- you look like you’re ready to devour me. No way you can hold back any longer”

“You wanna test that theory?” He retorts quickly

“…no.”

He chuckles

“Good girl..” he leaned down, peppering kisses on your inner thighs

“This is cheap material…not good for your skin” he mumbles as his hands run over the corset

“Be grateful-“

“Shh, let me take it off for you. I’ll buy you something of higher quality…can’t have my girlfriend wearing cheap lingerie.” You want to roll your eyes, if only he wasn’t so fucking hot like this. His fingers tug at both sides of your lacy sheer panties, tugging them down and carefully folding them off to the side.

“Seriously?” You raise a brow and a smile tugs at his lips.

“I’m messing with you..” he takes no time tearing the rest of the lingerie off you like a kid rushing to rip open his presents on Christmas morning. His eyes seem to soften as they scan over your body. he gently cups your breast, kissing the skin as if you were made out of glass. His delicate actions make you soften too.

“Nanami..”

“Shh baby…let me worship you, let me give you everything I’ve deprived you of..” with that, he leans down. Now face to face with your pussy.

“Hi.”

“…are you talking my pussy?-“

“Shh, baby. Don’t be rude..” he continues the greeting with a kiss to your clit, causing you to tense. He gently runs his tounge up your slit and once again to meet your clit. Keeping your thighs spread with his hands, sure to leave crescent indents from his nails. He leans closer, his mouth connecting to your entrance as his nose bumps against your clit, and you’re sure you’ve never seen the man so desperate. You’re his new favorite meal, and he’s oh so hungry. His tounge pressing into your hole, feeling the warmth envelop him. It only takes him about 7 minutes before your squeezing your thighs around his head, squealing.

“Nanami! c-cumming!” You throw your head back, gripping the sheets under you as you yell out his name like a prayer. He continues his movements for moments after, letting you ride it out till you’re pushing him away in desperation.

“W-where the hell did you learn that…?”

“I read a lot.” He pulls back. He gently adjusts the two of you, he strips his own clothes off. You swear you’re in heaven, because he looks just like an angel right infront of you. His body looking jaw droppingly handsome in the dim llight of your bedroom. But just wait till he wips it out. The sound of his zipper and pants dropping is followed by a somewhat dramatic gasp. He’s around 6 inches. And he’s oh so pretty. His girth is enough to make you contemplate calling off work tomorrow. The tip is already leaking beads of precum down his cock. You can only assume he was that way the whole time he ate you out. You reach out, and he allows you to stroke him, precum glistening on your hands now. He pulls your hand away.

“It’ll feel better somewhere else.” He lays you back down, aligning his glistening tip with your needy hole.

“Can’t believe I’ve waited this long..” he slowly moves his hips, watching your reaction until his pelvis is flush against yours.

“Are you…ok?” He groans out. He doesn’t know how he’s deprived himself of such bliss. You almost want to laugh, but decide against it in hopes of not ruining the atmosphere he’s created for the two of you.

“I’m fine just…give me a second or two” you smile up at him. You can feel the stretch of his cock filling you, even without moving he’s managed to press against spots you weren’t even aware existed.

“Now.” You speak up, holding his hand tightly. Nanami slowly pulls his hips back, and forth…setting a slow pace, speeding up little by little as he examines your face for any signs of discomfort.

“You feel so good, my pretty girl…so- fucking good..” he groans, his cock already twitching inside you. His tip rubbing against your g spot, fat cock stretching you so good.

“Nanami- right…right there, please” you whine.

“Here?” He angles his hips.

“Y-yes! Oh fuck- yes, please” he grins at your pleading. You’ve never seen him so..devious. He’s fucking into you at a faster pace now, the sound of your whines and skin slapping against skin fill the room. You clench around him as you feel a familiar tingle.

“W-wait I think- think I’m gonna-“ you can’t even finish your sentence before you’re a moaning squirming mess, nanami follows suit not longer after.

“Oh fuck- fuck- I love you so much” he groans as his cock twitches, leaking ropes of cum one after the other into your pretty pussy. He slowly pulls back to watch it drip from your leaky hole.

“So pretty…you’re so pretty..” he collapses next to you, going limp as he clings to you. You smile, moving his hair out of his forehead to plant a kiss there. You contemplate something before whispering to him with a mischievous grin.

“I love you too…one more round?”

[drdemonprince]

sorry if this is too long but i really appreciate your perspective and would love some advice

i have a mixed gender friend group irl, however i am the only transmasc in the group (the rest of the group is queer transfems, queer cis women, and our token cishet guy) and ive run into a little issue in that im quite close to one of the cis girls of the group, and we occasionally have deep chats about our queer identities (we're both aro, im ace, shes bi) . these chats are great and i really appreciate her as a friend but one thing shes always bringing up, even in unrealted conversations is how much she hates men .

im not a transandrobro so this isn't gonna be one of those "im one of the good ones" or "i feel guilty for being transmasc" asks dw. the issue came up when i was discussing how i was going to start T pretty soon (i pass decently well without it already but as more of a butch/androgynous type look) and as we were talking about the changes she was acting... genuinley scared and disgusted??

especially when i talked about how i will likely grow more body hair, and how T affects scent and stuff. she was almost horrified. "yeah but you dont want that right? youll shave it?" . i already dont shave my body hair (she does) and i cant help but feel scared that one of my closest friends is going to find me revolting once i start transitioning medically.

i didnt even mention bottom growth after that because i was so scared of what her reaction to that would be.

idk if you have any experience or advice for this? or any reading on the subject? ive found that its only the cis women in my friend group who are acting this way as well. i feel like maybe its because theyve secretly been viewing me as "just" a masculine woman this whole time. i id as nonbinary with the group, but secretly i really do think im a trans man, but based on the disgust with those things im reluctant to come out again.

Honestly this is a really common way that cis women microaggress against trans mascs! Those two identities have competing privilege/oppression intersections and a lot of really wild shit can play out as a result, as well as due to the projection that can happen because both groups have shared a social identity at some point (whether we liked it or not). It may not be fixable, but I think you need to set the tone that this kind of negative commentary on your transition and body is NOT acceptable, and to do so EARLY, so that you are establishing ground rules for how you will be treated.

Example conversation:

You: So I started getting some hair on my neck around my Adam's apple.

Her: Ewwwww, but you're going to shave it right?

You: (pause and look at her seriously). Gender transition is something I'm very excited about and that's very good for me, you know. I am happy about everything that's happening and I hope that as my friend you would be happy for me too.

Let's say that she continues to be somewhat shitty about your transition multiple times. Here is how you might escalate without totally blowing your lid.

Her: Wow, your [voice is so deep/your acne is getting so bad/your hair pattern is changing/whatever thing she is being shitty about].

You: (stop whatever task you're doing if any to give this full attention. lock eyes with her, maybe even sigh). I have told you multiple times not to comment on my appearance. It makes me very uncomfortable. I don't enjoy spending time with people who comment on how I look.

I think your focus should be not on correcting her feelings, which she needs to go like stare at a pond and reflect about on her own, but instead reign in her shitty commentary completely -- and if she won't do that for you, then you will need start ending conversations/walking away/not inviting her to things/whatever other boundary setting strategy you like. I would prioritize nipping the personal comments in the bud over the "men are so disgusting and evil" kind of commentary, because I think that matters more and seems to bother you more -- but if it were me? I would also be pissed that she wasn't including me in the category of "men" when she was talking about them, and would say things like "I'm a man too, you know." Or "Yeah, WE can be kind of annoying/boorish/smelly sometimes." This isn't some transandrobro NOT ALL MEN thing, it's an anti-transphobia don't misgender me thing. And perhaps by taking accountability for all that manhood is -- the good and the bad, the euphoric and the just neutral, you will influence her in a positive way to think about these things more neutrally. If not, well, that's her fuckin loss.

[lisalamona]

Lay All Your Love On Me

. Pairing: rockstar! Poseidon x gn! Reader . Summary: You're a photographer for the band Natural Disaster. There's been tension between you and Poseidon for months. Zeus thinks you two should just fuck. (I don't have enough brain power to make a proper summary, I'll edit it when I get the cnahce) . Warnings: I would say this oneshot is 16+. It gets kinda spicy towards the end. There's mentions of sex and swear words. . Notes: The voices... They told me to write this I feel like I could've done better with this but, you know what's done it's done, I know that If I don't put it out now I'll never be actually content with it poseidon divider made by @vibeswithrenai and taken from this post

Lights pulsed in a chaotic symphony, a swirl of blues, greens, and yellows swallowing the entire arena. The energy in the air was electric, thick with anticipation, the kind that pressed against your skin like an oncoming storm. If the massive speakers weren't rattling your bones, the roar of the crowd more than made up for it—a deafening wall of sound that left no doubt about the spectacle unfolding before them.

People had traveled from all over just for the chance to witness this moment, to see Natural Disaster live in the flesh. Thousands packed together, a sea of bodies moving as one, their cheers blending into the pounding bass that vibrated through the floor, creeping up your legs and settling deep in your chest. Some fans screamed the lyrics at the top of their lungs, others clutched onto each other, overwhelmed by the sheer energy of the night. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with an almost tangible force.

Even after nearly a year of touring with the band, you were still struck by the sheer magnitude of their audience—passionate, relentless, utterly devoted. You almost regretted not knowing about them before; it felt like a missed opportunity. But at the same time, maybe that ignorance had been a blessing in disguise. It had brought you here, given you this chance—an opportunity most fans could only dream of.

As the song swelled toward its chorus, you found yourself mouthing the words, the melodies, the slight inflections of the singer's voice etched into your mind like second nature. It had become instinct, like breathing. More than once, you'd caught yourself humming their songs during your downtime, the tunes slipping from your lips before you even realized it. Who knew how many other times it had happened unnoticed?

Your attention snapped back to reality, and you quickly readjusted the lens of your camera, bringing it to your eye once more. The three figures on stage seemed like they were having the time of their lives—energy radiating from them in waves. Or maybe that was just the way the bright stage lights mixed with the sweat glistening on their skin, making them appear almost otherworldly. The music pulsed through the air, vibrating in your chest, while the crowd around you swayed, screamed, and reached toward the performers as if they were divine beings descending from Olympus itself.

One of the three, the vocalist, turned his head in your direction, and the moment his gaze swept over the crowd, the volume of the screaming behind you somehow surged even higher. You silently thanked your past self for remembering earplugs.

Still, despite the chaos, his eyes found yours—and stayed there.

For a second, the world shrank, the lights dimmed, the crowd melted away. He was stunning, almost ethereal, as if the entire setup of the concert existed solely to highlight him. The glow of the lights framed his features in a halo of brilliance, while the deep, inky black of his hair shimmered faintly with a bluish outline, reflecting the colors behind him. His eyes—what little you could see of them through the moving lights—held something you couldn't quite place, but whatever it was, you knew it was something good. Something electric.

Your lips stopped moving. Lyrics left right on the tip of your tongue unsaid. He had you in a trance.

Then, as if sensing the spell he'd cast, he smirked.

The moment shattered, and your instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, you snapped a photo. Candid shots were always great, but this? A direct look, caught in time—that was something different. That was raw. That was real. It communicated things you couldn't quite explain.

Lowering your camera just slightly, you peeked over it—and there he was, still smirking, still looking directly at you. And worst of all, you knew, without a doubt, that smirk was meant for you.

You rolled your eyes, playful but unimpressed. His smirk widened, eyes glinting with amusement before he finally turned away, shifting his gaze to some unseen point in the middle of the audience, continuing with the performance.

You exhaled, glancing down at the screen to review the shot you had just captured.

Perfect.

The crowd behind you erupted again, their voices blending into one thunderous chant—one name over and over, rising like a prayer to the heavens.

"POSEIDON! POSEIDON! POSEIDON!"

The stage lights flickered in response, casting the entire scene in a fleeting, shimmering blue, like moonlight on crashing waves. And for a brief moment, you wondered if this man was just a performer—or something far more.

──────📸──────

"I think tonight went great."

The four of you made your way out of the arena through a dimly lit back alley, slipping through the heavy metal door that slammed shut behind you with a dull thud. It wasn't the most glamorous exit, but you had to stay humble somehow, right? In all seriousness, it was one of the safest ways to leave venues like this—without the risk of being swallowed by a screaming crowd.

Still, you had a feeling you could have walked right through the front doors if you wanted to. Considering how late it was and how long ago the concert had ended, the majority of fans had already cleared out. It was Zeus' fault, really. If anyone ever arrived late or left late, he was somehow always to blame. In this case, though, you silently thanked him for it.

"Yeah, we got to end it with a bang!"

You had been told you'd need to wait a few hours before getting back on the tour bus—the crew still had things to pack and prep before hitting the road again. You weren't too thrilled about the downtime, but it wasn't like you had a choice.

"What did you think, [Name]?"

Three heads turned toward you in perfect synchronization, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They always asked, and you always gave the same answer. So this time, you decided to switch it up.

"Eh, it was fine."

You waved a dismissive hand, fighting to keep a straight face as the three of them froze in place.

"...Fine. Fine?"

Zeus, the blonde, looked as if you had just personally insulted his entire bloodline. His mouth hung open slightly, his brows furrowing before he lurched forward and clamped a hand against your forehead.

"Are you okay?" He demanded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

You laughed, batting his hand away. "Yes."

"You never say it's fine. You're always all like—" Zeus suddenly slung an arm over your shoulders, lifting his hand like a talking puppet, bringing his voice higher in what you assumed was a terrible impression of you. "'Oh, well, I think it was splendid! Absolutely brilliant! Poseidon is divine! A true gift to the stage!'"

You barely heard the last part, too caught up in the sheer audacity of how he made you sound—like a tiny English orphan boy from some old timey novel.

"I don't sound like that!"

You turned to the other two for support, but Hades merely shrugged, and Poseidon... Well, he smirked, looking far too entertained.

Over the past year or so, you'd grown close to them—not just as colleagues, but as friends. Real friends. The kind that could spend hours together on the road without wanting to kill each other (well, most of the time). You had late-night conversations about nothing and everything, inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else, and a ridiculous amount of shared memories in different cities across the country. They had become your people. And, judging by the way they always included you in everything, you knew they felt the same.

Poseidon was the next to step beside you, his presence effortlessly replacing Zeus as he shoved the blonde's arm off your shoulders and draped his own there instead. Zeus scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured toward you and Poseidon, looking to Hades for support, but Hades merely shrugged again.

You stiffened slightly at the unexpected touch, but when Poseidon looked at you, the tension faded. His scent—something faintly salty, like the sea after a storm—washed over you, strangely familiar and oddly comforting. It was strange, really. You hadn't ever seen him anywhere near a large body of water, except for the few times the band stopped in coastal cities for a break. And yet, he always smelled like the ocean.

"Well," Poseidon drawled, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. "I think it's a good thing. Helps us improve, doesn't it, angel?"

His gaze lingered just a second too long. Neither of you looked away.

For a fleeting moment, the rest of the world faded.

Then—

"I heard of this one bar from a friend," Hades interrupted, breaking the spell as he glanced up from his phone. "We could go there while we wait. He said it isn't usually busy."

Poseidon turned to him, giving his brother a thumbs up. "Sounds good."

Just as you began heading in the direction of the bar, a small group of lingering fans spotted the band and rushed over. They weren't overwhelming—just a handful of excited people eager for a quick interaction.

"Could we get a picture?" One of them asked breathlessly, eyes darting between them in awe.

Poseidon shifted away, dropping his arm from your shoulders.

You instantly missed the warmth. The weight of it.

Still, you smiled, already holding out your hand for their phones. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. You didn't mind taking pictures—it was part of the job, unofficially.

But then, one of the girls stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked at Poseidon with a giddy, almost shy expression.

"Can I get one with just you?"

Poseidon, ever the charmer, gave her an easy, lopsided grin. "Of course."

You raised the phone, framing the shot, but something about it made your stomach twist.

The way her hand lightly grazed his arm. The way he leaned in just a little closer for the picture. The way she bit her lip slightly before giggling.

Nothing inappropriate. Just too familiar.

You quickly snapped the picture and handed the phone back, forcing a neutral expression.

It wasn't a big deal. It shouldn't have been a big deal.

And yet.

Poseidon caught your eye as you handed the last phone back, something flickering in his expression. Maybe amusement. Maybe something else.

You watched as the small group of fans disappeared into the night, their excited chatter fading into the hum of the city. Zeus and Hades, meanwhile, had gone back to squinting at a map on Hades' phone, quietly bickering over which turn to take next, determined not to get lost.

"Jealous?"

Poseidon's voice was sudden, low, and far too close, making your heart jump just slightly. You recovered quickly, schooling your expression into a smirk as you glanced up at him.

"Not at all. Just tired." You stretched your arms lazily before dropping them back to your sides. "How far did you say the bar was?"

"Three blocks over... there!"

Hades finally lifted his gaze from his phone and pointed in the direction of a warmly lit bar sign down the street before taking the lead, Zeus following close behind.

Poseidon, however, didn't budge.

His sea colored eyes stayed fixed on you, expression unconvinced. He saw right through your excuse—probably already had some remark lined up about how your face definitely told a different story.

But before he could get the words out, you moved.

In one quick motion, you grabbed him by a belt loop and gave a firm tug, pulling him closer. The unexpected action made him stumble slightly, his face shifting in surprise—then, just for a moment, his ears burned red, his breath hitched, and his heart skipped a beat.

You didn't give him the chance to recover. With an innocent smile, you simply turned, still holding onto his belt loop, and started pulling him along toward his brothers.

That seemed to shut him up.

For now.

──────📸──────

By the time you finally made it to the bar, the four of you had settled into a secluded booth toward the back. It was a snug fit but comfortable, the kind of space that made it easy to sink into conversation without interruption. The atmosphere was calm—almost homely—an intimate contrast to the chaotic, electric energy of the arena.

The warm glow of dim lights reflected off polished wooden surfaces, casting soft shadows across the walls. A low hum of voices drifted around the room, but no one was loud or disruptive—just small groups of friends talking in hushed tones, likely regulars who had carved out this space as their own. The only other sound was the faint murmur of a football game playing on a small TV mounted in one corner, though judging by the lack of interest from anyone in the bar, it was probably a rerun.

You sat with your arms stretched out toward the center of the table, your camera resting in your hands, its screen illuminating the dim space as you scrolled through the night's captures. The three of them leaned in, watching as you flicked through the images.

Comments were thrown around—some admiring the shots, others laughing at the more unflattering ones. Zeus, of course, was the loudest, making sure to poke fun at Hades' stone faced expressions and his own occasional ridiculous poses. But as the slideshow continued, one comment, in particular, caught you off guard.

"Why are most of these Poseidon?"

Your fingers froze mid scroll.

Zeus had a raised brow and an infuriatingly smug smirk, leaning forward with one arm propped on the table, hand supporting his chin. Before you could even process how to respond, his expression flickered—just for a second—as if he had been struck with sudden pain. Someone had clearly kicked him under the table.

You weren't sure who.

"I just want to know!" Zeus protested, rubbing his leg and throwing an accusing glance around the table.

Your face heated up, your mind scrambling for an excuse.

"He's the main vocalist," You stated matte of factly, shifting in your seat. "If you have a problem, take it up with the people. It's what they want to see."

Zeus' smirk only widened.

"Are you the people?" Before you could formulate a response, another thud sounded beneath the table—this time louder, sharper. Zeus flinched, hissing in pain as he immediately bent down to rub his leg. "Stop that!"

You fought back a grin, quickly glancing at Poseidon, whose face remained neutral—too neutral.

But the glint in his eyes?

Yeah.

You had a pretty good idea who was responsible for the second kick.

Still, you quickly drowned what was left in your glass and stood up. You needed a second to breathe—to shake off the lingering embarrassment sitting heavy in your chest. It wasn't anything serious, nothing you couldn't handle, but still, your skin felt a little too warm, your pulse just a little too quick. A short walk to the bar and back would be enough to compose yourself.

"I'm going to get a refill. Anyone want anything?"

A chorus of no's and I'm fine's met your ears, so you simply nodded and made your way to the counter.

As you waited to be served, another patron leaned against the bar beside you—a guy, about your age, casually dressed, clearly waiting for his drink too. It wasn't long before you exchanged a few words, just friendly conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. But across the room, someone else seemed to think otherwise.

Poseidon sat stiffly in the booth, his drink untouched, his jaw just slightly clenched. His deep blue eyes locked onto the guy at the bar like a predator watching potential prey. It was almost laughable how intense his stare was—if looks could kill, that man would've dropped right then and there.

Zeus noticed. With a slow, knowing smirk, he leaned toward Poseidon, voice dripping with amusement. "You keep glaring like that, and he might actually drop dead."

Poseidon exhaled sharply, tearing his gaze away and taking a slow sip of his drink, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn't working. "I'm not glaring."

"Oh, shut up." Zeus leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to keep it between them. "You've been pining for months. Months. Even Hades can't take it anymore."

As if on cue, Hades, who had remained mostly quiet, reached across the table and grabbed the camera still sitting open in the center. His sharp eyes flicked to the screen—a clear shot of Poseidon, captured in perfect lighting, an almost ethereal glow around him. He turned the screen toward his younger brother.

"It's a sign." Hades stated simply.

Poseidon frowned. "A sign?"

"They like you too. And if you need more proof, let's talk about the unbearable tension between you two." He sat back, crossing his arms. "Honestly, it's getting exhausting to watch."

"And those stupid braids! You let them braid your hair like some kindergartener every night!" Zeus threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

Poseidon instinctively glanced down at the braids you had done for him earlier that night. They weren't anything elaborate—just a few loose ones scattered through his hair, with two framing his face. You'd woven small trinkets into them, mostly ocean themed charms—tiny seashells, beads shaped like starfish, a silver wave. He had reminded you of his domain, and you had made it very clear in your choices. And he wore them with pride, he wasn't about to let his brother take it away.

He absentmindedly reached up, running his fingers over one of the charms before looking back at his younger brother, expression almost offended. "They're not stupid. I like them."

Zeus snorted. "You look like a hippie."

Poseidon arched a brow. "Did you look at yourself in the mirror before stepping out?"

Before Zeus could fire back, Hades sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, enough." He muttered, effectively cutting through their bickering. His gaze shifted to Poseidon. "They won't be there forever for you to tell them and you know that. It's clear that you want to. Stop being the Poseidon that puts everyone at an arm's length and just do it."

Poseidon rolled his eyes, but the lightest hint of pink dusted his cheeks. He brought his drink back to his lips.

Zeus, of course, had to make it worse.

"Or, in better words—just fuck already."

Poseidon nearly choked on his drink.

"Shut up." His voice came out more flustered than threatening, especially with the way he quickly glanced around to see if you had heard that. His blush deepened when Zeus waggled his brows at him.

"I'm just saying—" Zeus continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. "You need to quit staring like some lovesick fool and do something about it."

Then, suddenly, his focus shifted. A girl had just walked into the bar—a striking one, by the way Zeus' gaze immediately locked onto her.

"For example..." He tapped the table once before standing up. "Watch and learn, brother. You'll get to experience it firsthand."

And just like that, he was gone, striding toward the girl with all the confidence of a man who had never once been rejected, not that it was true.

Poseidon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Hades turned the camera toward him again, this time slowly pushing it to him, expression unreadable.

"You know he's right."

Poseidon groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Great. Just what I needed—you agreeing with him."

Poseidon huffed, leaning back against the booth with his arms crossed.

Hades, ever composed, simply shrugged. "I'm not saying you should rush into things and have sex straight away." His tone was dry, amused. "But you do need to tell them. It's going to eat you alive if you don't." He met Poseidon's gaze evenly. "You'll know the right moment. And if you don't take it when it comes, you're going to regret it."

Before Poseidon could argue, Hades' phone buzzed against the wooden table, cutting through the conversation. The screen lit up, and Poseidon caught a glimpse of the contact photo—his sister in law's familiar face.

Persephone.

It was almost a ritual at this point. Every night after a show, without fail, she called to check in. Maybe to ask how things had gone, maybe just to hear Hades' voice. Either way, Poseidon had lost count of how many times this exact moment had played out.

Hades barely glanced at the screen before reaching for the phone, a rare, almost imperceptible softness passing over his usually sharp features.

"It worked for me." He murmured before standing up and making his way toward the exit. The door swung shut behind him, the cold night air swallowing his voice as he answered the call.

Poseidon glanced around the nearly empty table, a quiet exhale slipping past his lips. It was as if the universe was mocking him—one by one, everyone had slipped away, leaving him the last one standing. Hades had stepped outside, deep in conversation with Persephone. Zeus had all but disappeared, wrapped up in a flirtatious exchange with the woman who had just walked in. And then there was you.

His eyes found you at the bar, where you exchanged a friendly wave with the man you'd been talking to as he returned to his table. You didn't seem particularly invested in the conversation—just polite, casual—but it still made something coil uncomfortably in Poseidon's stomach.

Before he could think too much about it, his hand instinctively reached for your camera, making sure no one else would take it in your absence. Then he pushed himself up from the booth and walked straight toward you, not hesitating for a second.

"What are you having?"

His voice was low, close—closer than you expected. Before you could react, one of his arms slipped around your waist, the sudden contact making you jump slightly. His touch was cool, his fingers settling almost too naturally on your hip, as if they had always belonged there.

It wasn't just a fleeting touch, either. His thumb moved in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your clothes, sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. Your mind short circuited for a moment.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. "Just some water."

Poseidon raised a brow. "Nothing else?"

"Yeah, not in the mood to let you guys drink me under the table again." You finally turned to meet his gaze, expression playfully accusing. "I've learned my lesson."

"It was one time!"

"It was embarrassing."

"It was adorable."

The bartender slid your glass of water toward you, and you took a sip, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves. Glancing back toward the booth, you realized how empty it looked.

"Where are the rest? Are we leaving?"

Poseidon followed your gaze before checking the clock on the TV screen. "We probably should." He took out his wallet and paid the bartender what was owed.

You downed the rest of your drink, letting him guide you toward the entrance.

As you passed Zeus, still deeply engrossed in conversation with the stunning woman from earlier, Poseidon didn't even slow his pace.

"He's married."

The words were spoken so casually, as if it was just an offhand remark. But they landed like a thunderclap. The woman stiffened, her expression shifting in an instant. Without another word, she stood up and left.

Zeus groaned dramatically. "Oh, come on!"

Poseidon, still not sparing him a glance, only smirked.

──────📸──────

The bus was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine as it rolled down the darkened highway. Most of the others had already settled in for the night. Hades, ever the responsible one, had turned in first, slipping into his bunk with a final check of his phone before muttering a goodnight. Zeus, on the other hand, had collapsed onto his bed with all the grace of a fallen tree, his snores already filling the small space.

Poseidon, however, was still awake—still thinking.

Zeus and Hades' words from earlier refused to leave his head, circling like vultures. You need to tell them. It's going to eat you from the inside out. He scoffed softly to himself. Like it was that easy.

And now, with the bus lights dimmed and the world outside nothing but a blur of passing headlights, he found himself glancing toward your bunk, where the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated your face.

You were sitting cross legged, laptop propped on your thighs as you transferred the night's photos from your camera. Your bunk was the top one—you had fought tooth and nail to get it, determined not to settle for anything less. What you didn't know was that Poseidon had let you have it, even if he'd never admit it.

As you carefully checked the last of the transfers, Poseidon walked by, already dressed for bed—pajama pants hanging low on his hips, a tank top clinging to his frame in a way that made it impossible not to look. When his eyes landed on you, there was no surprise. Of course you were still awake.

"You still up?"

You hummed in response, not looking away from the screen, even though you really wanted to. "Making sure I don't lose any pictures."

He lingered for a moment, then, with a casual air masking something deeper, asked, "Can I see them again?"

You turned to him, surprised by his genuine interest. "Of course."

With effortless strength, Poseidon grabbed the edge of your bunk and hoisted himself up, careful not to bump his head in the cramped space. You adjusted your laptop, angling the screen toward him as he settled beside you, shoulders almost touching.

The two of you scrolled through the images, laughter slipping between you as you pointed out ridiculous expressions and perfectly timed shots.

"You actually managed to look right at the lens," You mused, clicking through the images. "Which is wild because with all those lights, I'd imagine it'd be hard to spot it."

Poseidon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking from the screen to you. "It's hard not to look at you."

You froze.

He had leaned in to say it—so close, his breath brushed your ear, his voice deep and low. Your entire body tensed at the unexpected sensation. The space between you felt suddenly nonexistent. He was always cool to the touch, like the ocean breeze on a late night, but now—now he was warm. Too warm. His presence was overwhelming in the best way, his body radiating heat like a fire in the dead of winter.

Your hands stilled over the laptop. The moment stretched. You turned your head, searching his eyes, desperate to know if this was just more of the playful flirting he always threw your way, or if—

His gaze flickered downward. To your lips.

The air between you thickened, charged, pulling you forward before you could think better of it. His lips met yours—soft, warm, lingering in a way that felt certain. No hesitation. No teasing. Just him.

You supposed that was your answer.

Poseidon tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his hand drifting to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer. You melted into it. He tasted faintly of mint and something sweet, something him. When you finally broke apart, breathless, he hovered just inches away, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

Out of nowhere you had the courage to speak. "You put on this rough, brooding persona." You murmured, lips brushing against his. "But I know you."

Poseidon exhaled a soft chuckle, raising a brow. "Really?"

"Really."

A slow smirk pulled at his lips. "What do you know?"

You exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tank top. "...You want..."

Poseidon's voice dropped an octave. "What do I want?" His nose brushed yours, the tension crackling between you like a brewing storm. "Show me."

The next kiss was different—hungrier. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved over yours, stealing every breath you had to offer. Your laptop was an afterthought as Poseidon reached past you, flipping it shut before taking your camera and carefully lowering it to his bunk below.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Thud.

He hit his head on the low ceiling ledge, where the curtain rails ran.

You broke into laughter. "Oh, you're laughing?" He muttered, rubbing the sore spot, his expression both irritated and amused.

"A little bit." You teased.

Poseidon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. "Oh, I'll shut you up."

With that, he lowered you back onto the mattress, one hand gripping your thigh, kneading the muscle as he brought it up, pulling you against him. His fingers trailed upward, firm yet teasing, sending sparks down your spine. He tilted your head to the side, lips grazing your jaw, then lower, lower—his mouth settling at the delicate space between your jaw and neck.

When he pressed his lips there, you let out a soft whimper, barely aware you had done it. The warmth of his mouth against your skin, the way his breath fanned over the sensitive spot—it was dizzying.

He smirked against your neck. He barely had time to make a comment before—

"Hey!"

Zeus' voice shattered the moment. "If you're gonna have sex, do it at the next stop OUTSIDE the bus. I don't wanna hear you two going at it!"

Heat flooded your face. You let your forehead fall against Poseidon's shoulder, laughing softly in embarrassment.

Poseidon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Shut up, Zeus."

Zeus snickered. "You're welcome." It was revenge for what he had done before.

Poseidon muttered something under his breath, but as you glanced up at him—his face slightly pink, his lips kiss swollen—you just smiled.

You gave him one last chaste kiss on the mouth, slow and lingering, a quiet promise that this wasn't the end of whatever had just begun. Your fingers brushed over his arm in a gentle pat, grounding both of you back to reality.

"We should go to sleep." You murmured, your voice softer now, reluctant but firm.

His eyes, still hazy with emotion, softened at the sight of you. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made your heart clench just a little. But he didn't argue. He simply exhaled, slow and steady, before finally loosening his hold on you.

His fingers grazed your waist one last time as he pulled away, as if reluctant to break the connection.

"Yeah," He finally said, voice quieter now. "we should."

With one last glance, he eased himself down from your bunk, settling into his own below you. The space between you suddenly felt colder, emptier—but the warmth he left behind lingered on your skin. You couldn't help the smile that had formed on your face from ear to ear, you had to stop yourself from squealing, though.

And with that, the bus rolled on, carrying you both into the quiet of the night.

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower V

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, sexual/sensual content, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: She awakes in the role of being Caracalla's pet, but what does this mean to be this pet and what is expected of her? There is so much to remember for this Hellen, but soon the feelings overwhelm and it seems that gratitude takes on a whole new meaning for her and maybe even for the emperors.

Word count: 3.7K

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellas = the ancient greek name for ancient greece

I spent the whole evening thinking of Alexandra, watching Caracalla try to entertain himself. He was drunk on wine, so it was an easy job. I was still pained and somehow, he seemed to understand. He petted me lightly and had a separate room made for me, where I got to spend the night. Supervised, I laid afraid.

All night, I could hear moans.

Back in Hellas I never participated in rituals with ecstasy, because I was afraid of what I might do to me. All my life, I had gotten told how it ruined people’s moral compasses, and how they went wild. Men, women, boys, and girls. Some were even killed in the midst of the practice.

Once and only once I accidentally walked near a holy land, where a ritual was taking place. Their moans lured and so I looked. Never had I seen such a sight before. I was conflicted with feelings. There was blood mixed with wine, saliva with seed of life. They were hitting, slapping skin against skin, rolling across the grass like animals. A boy overpowered by men; a woman jumped. But they were enjoying it. I was aroused but filled with fright. I felt a need to join, but I never did. My mother told me to keep my distance.

The cult of Dionysus were people I never got to understand. Celibacy had taken a big part of my life as I was waiting for the hands of Apollo to feast upon me. No other man was allowed. I was kept behind walls like any other young girl of Hellas. The only boy, I had ever talked to, was my brother. He was younger than me, but his dreams were so much bigger than both me and him combined.

We were partners in crime as we would cause trouble around the house. We would misplace our mother’s clothes and pick the pretty flowers from our garden. Everything was right. Each night he would have me tuck him in and kiss him goodnight, just a peck on the cheek. I adored how he would look at me with such light in his eyes. He was the reason I believed the Gods were good - they had given me him.

One day he got the silly idea that he would be a soldier.

I never found out what happened to him, when he was at war, but something had truly changed him. There was no light left in his eyes.

At night when I was about to tuck him to sleep, he began speaking of horrors, but they were none of my understanding. He lost the ability to talk.

I found myself praying for his health every waking hour, but it never helped. Our parents started to blame me for the absence of his well-being. They started calling me names. They asked me questions like: what good am I, if not to help my brother? I was to be the oracle of Apollo after all.

The night before his death, I had tucked him in for the last time. I did not know at the time, but something tells me he did. He smiled at me for the first time in months. He spoke of my name. I was over-joyous.

When I finally fell asleep last night, I dreamt of him. He was smiling.

Then I was awoken by a servant who fed and dressed me like a child. It is as if they are accustomed to treat their masters in such manner. But I did not dare to tell her off as I was afraid of Geta hearing me speak.

It feels like his eyes never left my lips.

I am being summoned to a party – why? I do not know. The servant who told me seemed urgent and so I hurry, afraid that time might be fatal for the outcome of my punishment, if I were to be late. I don’t know what kind of punishment they give their pets, and as of yesterday I’ve decided to live till the day I’ve avenged by brother. I must flower. I must fulfill the prophecy.

Though I am also afraid of what I will meet. Who, I might meet. And what they will put me to - the moans of the night echoing my mind. I ache for peace at heart.

As we reach the doors that I can hear hold back a war of chatter, I get anxious once more. But still, I try to put it aside. All night up until my long-awaited slumber, I thought of all the outcomes. I have nothing to return to back in Hellas - I can only imagine how my home looks today. And so, if I must think of a future, it would be foolish of me to believe the thought, the lie that is “my family is waiting for me to return.” They are not. For that sole reason I must make my efforts last now; I must get close to the emperors so that I can strike them, where it hurts the most.

I could see the burdened’s eyes cry those sapphire tears, the sparrow fail to spread his wings. It hurt, but I am sure, I must succeed. I should not feel bad for them.

I calm myself as I embrace the change of atmosphere. The doors open and I am met with sunlight and song. Beautiful servants all around grabbing at men and women, seducing with their God-given charm. A table full of food and decorated with dead animals in all their lost pride. There’s a light breeze, pushing the delicious smell of wine to my nose. I must not. What is this longing for wine?

Remember my brother’s smile.

I continue to follow the servant as we make it through the crowd. Everybody is busy with each their form of lust, so we glide through smoothly, quickly, thankfully. There is so much life in here that I truly wish not to be a part of. So many deeds that I hope, I only will continue to hear the echoes of in the halls.

Suddenly the servant stops before a clothed table, pointing towards it.

She wants me to go under it.

At first, I am confused, but as I look down at the table, I see a foot slightly poking out. Cautiously, I bend down to slowly remove the cloth to which the foot disappears, scared. I pull my hand back, maybe equally as scared. I take one deep breath as I make my way beneath the table, once again unsure about what, I am about to meet. My heart racing with the beat of the crowd. The temperature rising just well enough, so I feel a small sweat break. I am shaking. But to my surprising, there is an unexpected calm which settles in my heart as I see Caracalla the burdened dressed in his own erratic attire. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, and shaking hands, he is holding around legs, hugging his knees. There are no tears in his eyes, only a biting fear, ill-suited for the occasion.

I had hoped that it was him.

He stares at me, processing, I think, and I just sit and look at him. I must not talk. Caracalla doesn’t move a single bit, but it looks as if his breath slows down. He is regulating himself, and I do the same. His eyes softening by the second as he slowly crawls over to me. “What happened, meus flos?” He looks so concerned. I almost can’t hear him over the crowd.

“…?” I must not talk, so I merely look at him, feeling my eyes lightly flutter. Does he see something I don’t? There was a switch.

He reaches out a hand to go to my throat, and instinctively I flinch, aching my entire being. I hit my head into the table leg behind me. Almost embarrassed, I try to cover it up with a weary smile, but that does not seem to fool him. Another panic grows, confused and fused together with curiosity. I suddenly feel like the one who’s out of her mind, like we’ve switched roles. His eyebrows furrow lightly. “Let me see. Come here.” His voice so soft, astray.

I was wrong, this is not Caracalla the burdened nor the erratic – this is a whole new side to him. What is he doing here? How has he deprived me of all my sense and taken it for himself? A prey and a predator with soft paws and no claws.

Caracalla’s hand reaches my throat and trails a pain all around. His fingers so kind. I look at him and see only worry. The fear is gone as if it never existed. The noise miles away, him so close in body, in mind. I try to pick the pieces together for the puzzle that is him, but I can’t. The same I do for me, but I cannot.

“Who did this to you?” He meets my eyes.

Eyes on my lips. A hand on my throat. The images of yesterday flashing, overruling my reality. Geta’s arm holding me up as if I am nothing, a strength unfit for his figure. An act so fit for his position, but not towards me – a mere nothing compared to him. Hatred, a pure desire in the eyes of a madman. The fire within. He burns.

Caracalla plays along and holds his hand there like Geta - but it’s not the same.

It’s like he dances with the flame, so it tires out. Caracalla knows and so he acknowledges. He might not know the whole truth, but he dares to see the pain which has been inflicted on me. His touch almost healing.

God, I long to be drunk on something.

I feel myself on the verge of eruption. I dare think, I want to tell him, in hopes he will help. Foolish. Remember my brother’s eyes.

“My emperoooor? Ceasar… Caracalla, where are youuu?”

And there I see the burdened return. He removes his hand quickly as he crawls back, further in, underneath the table. Seemingly, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. I yearn for them to be put back on my neck.

The cloth behind me moves as I feel a hand graze my shoulder. I yelp as it drags me out from underneath the cover with such brute force, throwing me up at my feet. Though the world slightly shaken, I am met by a man much taller than I with slobber hung from his lips, his eyes dark with lust, his breath drunk on desire. “You’re not him…”

I stare at him blankly, afraid to move. He seems thoroughly disappointed. At my ancle I feel Caracalla’s fingers nudge me, pulling me carefully to come down again as if he is warning me. The man lets his eyes wander all over me as he licks his lips.

Then I hear them again, see them in his eyes. The bodies from the cult all intertwining in a mess of ecstasy. It’s lust, a feeling so raw and vicious known for tearing even the best of man to his knees, to atoms. It’s a feeling that does not mirror in me yet something my curiosity won’t let me settle about. I feel repulsive and even more when admitting to myself that I am curious to hear this man’s thoughts - to figure out the mysteries of the Dionysus cult.

Caracalla nudges me once more, this time a bit more like a yank at my sandal.

“I haven’t seen you here before…” The man inspects my entire being inch by inch with a heavy gaze, seemingly finding an interest at my throat. I can only imagine what he must think. He talks some more from which I only understand a few of the words. “Let me see …, won’t you, …?” His hand reaches out for me to take while a grin spreads on his face, wine having colored his teeth red. It’s first now I notice the smell of opium that this man reeks of.

I blink. There is such a strong want inside my heart intertwining with my logical reasoning. For a moment I see him not as a man but as a ticket to the bottle, even if it just is a small drop. I long for the numbness. Have I lost my moral compass already?

“Quintus.” Another speaks.

Saved by chance, perhaps. I correct my back and look towards the voice.

“Emperor Geta!”

The sparrow wears new clothes but still the crown. “For how many times must I remind you not to attend these events?” Geta’s voice is stern.

“Well this servant-“

“Out.” He doesn’t let him finish. It’s not only a warning. Geta waves over some guards and they arrive swiftly.

They grab at Quintus and try to pull him away, but he gives them a fight. He dares to throw a punch, making one of the guards drop his helmet. A little victory, yet it is to no effort for his apparent escape, because four more guards gather up close. He fights until he is knocked out. A guard smashing his staff to his head, blood splattering from nose in front of and on Geta and I.

Solely, I stand shocked, perhaps even more scared. I seem to be watching it all happen before me, but I struggle to apprehend the reality. Dissociated. I feel as if I take blame of this man’s struggle. I blink again.

Geta stands unbothered, wiping the blood off as if it was dirt. However as soon as the man is out of the room, he switches just as Caracalla did just before. A puzzle piece unfit for the big picture of the emperors. “Where’s my brother?”

For a second I see myself reflect in his eyes. Reflect in him. Foolish. Perhaps I should ask, where is my brother, tyrant?

“Please.” It’s only a whisper.

The whole image I had put for Geta in shambles right in front me. I see how he wishes to have the courage to cover it by how it looks to pain him to say that word to me, to the woman he had threatened the night before. I see how the wine has settled between his lips and left its mark. Is this him without sense?

I point to the cloth, covering the table. I notice how Caracalla’s hand still lingers at my feet, his rings cold on my skin. I don’t want them to move away, but I see Geta and the ticket to the senselessness. Geta, the worried.

I might not understand him, but I think I understand this worry.

My brother dead in the sea. My own voice repeating in my head, praying: Hades, please lead him safely into death and let his soul perish but beautifully, carefully into your hands. The cold coin in his mouth, tugged under his tongue.

His gorgeous, gorgeous smile.

Geta pulls his brother out from underneath the table, both looking disarranged, but it’s not long before the sparrow puffs his feathers, his responsible-brother gown. They talk briefly, quietly, so that the crowd steal their words and throws them around. The only words I hear is Geta, speaking to me in my tongue: “Take him to his chamber.”

“Why are you speaking that language, brother? You know, I don’t understand.” Caracalla marks.

“Do not worry.”

I nod at Geta. Maybe out of fright or perhaps of a mutual understanding. The man who had me at the brink of death just yesterday now barely feels like a memory, more of a nightmare. A distorted depiction of the reality before me. I must not forget how he pained me. But… oh, how I understand. I am split in two.

I want to hate them so bad. I do; I must do. The Gods knows I must.

Caracalla looks at me with eyes so trusting. A fragile and troubled soul trapped behind a fancy façade. A will so unwilling. He holds my hand and walks off, dragging me along. Geta gaze follows yet he is frozen in place. A parade of pride waiting for him to perform before the party, I am sure. Intoxicated, incompetent of his role, I am sure.

But he stays, loyal to his duty, and here I hold Caracalla, incapable of the duty.

The Gods must know this empathy is only human. My brother must. Alexandra must.

What would they have done? I do not know. I am only human after all. Please, Apollo, bear over with my own fragile soul.

We make our way to Caracalla’s chambers. His eyes daring only to remove themselves from me to look ahead, to find his way. I try to take mental notes where and when to turn. He seems curious of my thoughts, but I know to not tell. I only wonder how it might shamble him to hear them, the truth of how I wish to be gone, and how I wish not to forget. Too much is already disappearing from my head.

My brother’s smile.

“Do you like wine?”

I look at him. I think I must not, I mustn’t. It will do no good for my mind, for my conscious. My guard will be gone; who knows what might happen?

The Gods know that I want to do well, when I nod.

I’ve had enough of these thoughts.

Caracalla calls over servants, handing me a glass as we enter through the ports of his chambers. The red poured almost to the top; they’ve been accustomed to do such. The drink of the Gods, I think, it must be good for something. Is it not?

I take a sip. Two. I can’t get enough of the taste that touches my tongue, the way it tingles as it goes down my throat. I feel it warm almost instantly, much more than the sun preying from outside. I feel Caracalla watching intensely as I do. His eyes on my lips. He takes a sip or two as well. He watches my lips just as his brother did - with such pleasure.

I calm my nerves with another sip or two, and it seems to spark a laugh for Caracalla.

“Careful now, meus flos! So eager…” He giggles and shakes his head. It’s like his earrings play a sweet symphony, glowing in the light of day. Playfully, they call to me. Caracalla says my name as he walks towards his bed, patting on the silk for me to sit.

My heart is beating so fast, yet my head is not flooded with thoughts. The sweet, sweet symphony flowing in my blood. I sit. “Good girl.” He praises me as his pet, flashing his golden tooth.

Those words do something to me. My cheeks heat. He chuckles and takes another sip. I watch how his finger holds the glass so delicately yet so possessively. How they grasp the neck softly, not letting go.

I go to take another sip, but before the sweet liquid reaches my mouth, he snatches it from me. I yelp, trying to get it back, making him hastily remove his hand from out of my reach. He laughs and drinks the rest. “You have to make yourself deserving of this drink, meus flos.”

He’s messing with my insides.

“Lay down.”

And I do so, my head on the pillow.

Caracalla puts down the glasses and crawls over to me, lowering himself to lay his head on my stomach. A feeling so odd crawling beneath my skin. Usually, my nerves would be alarmed, infected with filth, but I cannot deny this feeling that his touch feels good.

His hands crawling on the side of my legs, caressing and feeling on top of the fabric. The warmth of his touch and the wine keeping me from hesitating, from being frozen. Curiously, I let my fingers linger in his hair, watching as his entire body tenses but then relaxes. God, his hair is so soft beneath my touch. I take a joy in petting his hair, twirling it in between my fingers and pinching the ends. Sensation after sensation as his own hands wander from my hips to my waist, feeling the curves almost a bit too carefully, inspecting my body.

I notice a pit in my stomach that I never knew I had.

It’s like he inhales me as he breathes at a pace I haven’t seen before. It’s heavy as if he barely carries the heavy weight of it, so slow as if he is afraid of seeing the end of the next minute to come. I copy this manner and feel how our bodies flow into one, feel how his hair entwines and melts. I melt beneath his weight.

He starts banging his fingers to my side as if they were drums, tickling me to the point where I jolt - I feel a giggle escape my lips.

“no-“ A word escapes as well. I stop completely. Fright replacing every nice thought fluttering in the depths of my stomach.

But Caracalla looks up at me with such delight. Light shining from his eyes, endearing to look at. His smile is so wide, so bright, and pretty. It looks so pure. “I knew you could talk.” His voice like grains of sand falling through a strainer. Raw but so delicate. “I’ve thought of your voice from that night, every night.”

I blush. He chuckles once more.

“Keep it safe for me. I want it to be mine to hear. And mine alone.” The words are so sour but coated so sweet. There are sparkles all over the sea within the blue orbs. The alcohol starting to numb even further.

“Now. Hold me as I sleep.” He nods. “Will you do that for me, meus flos?”

I nod.

“Will you?”

“Yes.” I answer, quietly.

He smiles satisfied and lays his head back down, humming a joyous melody. My hands getting lost within his goldish locks.

A part of me feels as if I should be alarmed, warned even, remembering the harsh touch, the peeking which the sparrow threatened me with, but I do not. And I know, I shouldn’t take pleasure in this moment, but the Gods know. They know how a human must have its flaws. It’s how they intended it to be. Is it not?

I fear this new feeling in my stomach is far from done.

A/N: Okay... it's getting there guys... the tension. I am a bit nervous about this chapter, so I hope it's for your liking :,) Please do give me feedback as it helps me and motivates me! Any like, comment or question will do - it is all very welcome!! And I quite enjoy answering them/hearing your thoughts!!

Next chapter: 23rd of February (?)

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[gamblersdoll]

┗━━━━━━⊱ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏

CHAPTER 1a

you tend to forget you hated hospitals.. but its not like you were there all the time. its actually been several years since you felt a actual bed, smelled the hospital’s deeply cleansed and medicinal remedies that reeks of latex gloves.

you hadnt even awaken yet, but you smelled it.. hence why you were starting to wake up. with a flutter of your eyelashes and a groggy mind, you looked around briefly before—

“oh my god, shes awake!” some girl with brown tresses and big, doe eyes started to shout. but you had to remember her name, because she looked awfully familiar.. was it like.. ochacko or something? if her fingers were visible, then yeah. “how do you feel? are you okay?” all the hurried questions started to aggravate you, but then others started to pile in.

they were all a mix of shock, fear, sorrow, but relief and happiness.

you remember a little bit more, the red hearts had abandoned you. the only ‘family’ that they claimed to be about to abandon their own.. for a bunch of people to abandon you as a highschool student.

“why am i even here..” you softly asked, looking down at what used to be red, bloodied hands.. but now they were clean, back to your color and movable.

“dont you.. remember us?” a yellow haired man piped up, with what seemed to be a zig zag of black across his hair.. denki was his name? he wanted to cry, but he just leaped over to hug you as tight as he could. “oh god, what happened to you?! we’re so sorry, tell us what happened—“

“get the fuck off me.” you snapped, eyes piercing and frantic. it was too.. early? late? you didnt know what time it was, but you know it was too soon to be touching anyone.

oh.

they all seem to be in a sour mood, but some of them were only happy they found you now than later. ironic isnt it? they took seven years to find you, and they think you were ‘saved,’ when in reality— they found you during a raid. no thanks to them, right?

the door opened, what seemed to be detectives and some heroes flooding in— you jumped out the bed to the nearest corner, but the heroes tried to calm you. “hey, its okay! youre not in trouble!”

“the hell are they doing here?” you growled to the chargebolt hero, and he short circuited out of frightened laughter. “fucking idiot—“

“chill out, its fine.” detective yamo— along with what used to be your teacher, aizawa , sigh and aizawa looks to you.. “are you okay?”

“do i look okay?” you snarled, seeing katsuki in the corner of your eye. “does this, look okay to you, hero?” your body seethed with venom.. because what kind of question was that? how could you okay after many years of suffering in the hands of villains, simply because of pure negligence.

“… i understand.” eraserhead says, but you didn’t believe that. “we just wanna make things right with you, and ask a few questions about the red hea—“

“you leave me to die at the hands of the league, and fail to come save me— and im supposed to do you fucks a favor?”

the room falls quiet, the tension becoming heavy and yamo sighs. “what do you prefer us to do?”

“leave me the fuck alone, is what i want—“

“thats off’a the table.” katsuki finally speaks up, eyes meeting yours in an awkward attempt to comfort. “we couldnt save you then, let us save you now.” he finally could get closer to you, trying to put his hand on your shoulder; for you to swat it away and scoff.

you rolled your eyes, biting your lip. “at least let me rest first.. then ill talk.”

“why couldnt we have gone back for her.” katsuki pressed, the hero society having no answer for the previous students of the class. “you all made an effort to get me, but not her?—“

“you also had a choice, dude.” kirishima replied, because he was right. they all had a choice.

“we were fuckin’ children, you doughnut.” he snarked back, and aizawa had enough.

“the timeline of when the kidnapping of you both and the war was too close, and unfortunately— it no longer became a priority. thats all there was to it.” he said, how pitiful. for a teacher, youd expect him to protect his students from all hurt, harm, and danger, right? maybe it were for the students worthy, or for the students who had good quirks…

“what’s gonna happen to her? we just got her back!” ashido— poor girl, she was the only real person who you befriended long ago.

“well,” he started, shifting his prosthetic leg, “it’s going to be a long while before she can finally trust you, or any of us,” he started off strong, considering how it was when he and present mic had to try and get shimo to speak.. “but, either things can happen: she gets charged with murder, and theft, and be locked up—“

“we dont even know if she killed—“ izuku started, but aizawa stopped him.

“or, she may have to go through the rehabilitation process and get the help, thats the favored option.” he finished, rubbing his beard. “especially with her vampiric quirk; though, they suspect that she had some sort of secret relationship with the murders.”

class a falls silent, and katsuki sighs. “il take her in,”

“are you sure? i could help! its my fault that she got left, and i know that youre busy and—“ izuku wanted to intervene, but katsuki thwacked him upside the head.

“no, you idiot!” he shouted, watching as he rubbed his scalp. “i promised her id protect her, and i failed at that, so this is on me.. got it?”

interrogation rooms were something else, you felt like you had been here before.

no lawyer, no pot to piss in, and eyes all over you to see if youd break.

“okay,” yamo started, pulling the chair our and having the back of the chair pressed against his chest. “whos all apart of the red hearts?” he asked, offering you water— of course, you drank.

it had been months since you drank water.. how were you even here?

“they all go by aliases, i dont know their legals.” you deadpanned, and he nodded.

“okay,” he inhaled. “what were the main objectives for the theft?”

“undefined.” you reply monotone, folding your arms and chewing the inside of your cheek. this shit was boring, “they all had their own .. motives i guess?”

“this isnt helping our case, yamo—“ the interning detective spoke up, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning down to your level. “either you tell us what we need and you know, or you can rot—“

“i suggest you back the fuck up off me.” you growled, raising an eyebrow. “im telling you all i know.”

“sit down, yakka.” yamo ordered, pushing the intern down. “sorry, ahem—“ he coughed, his lungs damaged from the heavy smoker he was. “what about the murder portions? were you.. involved?”

“do you think i was?” you press, because they can think what they want.

“well, to be frank—“ he starts, crossing beefy thighs crossed over each other. “it all points back to you—“

“because of my quirk?” you guess, and he had to nod to that. “your coroner must not get paid enough.” you chuckled, the joke flying over their heads. “i only have two fangs.”

“so, you werent eating people?” yakka asked, and yamo had to smack him upside the head, too. “its an honest question!”

“i havent had blood in many years, my old teacher taught me to have discipline.. until i need it.” you remember, aizawa pulling you to his office and reminding you a very important lesson:

people will see your quirk, and assume the worst, only if you respond to it.

“any idea where the red hearts could be?” yamo asked, making sure to note everything. “where are they relocating to?”

“no clue, you saw how they dumped me there?”

yamo nods, sighing through his nose. “okay.. when did you join the red hearts, vampire?” he asked, already making a new nick name.. you hated it, you were more than that—

wait.. were you an equal to him? or was he toying with you?

“when they broke into the league of villains.”

behind the glass, your class was only mortified about your past.. and it only made katsuki more angry at himself, and obligated.

yakka and yamo come from the room, closing the door and signaling katsuki to go in— a swift motion for him.

your eyes meet, and you felt disgusted, disappointed, and confused. it didnt matter, you survived! or.. at least you convince yourself to think.

“hey,” he started, looking down at you and sitting on the table. “so far, yer’ looking at either you get thrown in’a cellar or i rehabilitate you.” he gives you your options, folding his arms. “i want to be able to—“

“you leave me there in the middle of a room alone with villains, and you cant even apologize for it?” you start, eyes piercing at him. “rehabilitation, my ass. thats just a code for you guys cutting me open to see what my insides look like.”

the room falls silent, katsuki turning to look at you with a blank face. and yet, behind the glass, were shocked faces. “no, id take you in, and get you into therapy to become a civilized woman.” he sighs, scratching at his stubble. “im trying to help you, i dont have to do this.”

you scoff and turn your head. “are you trying to be genuine?”

“i wouldnt waste my time, you know that.” katsuki said , but you cut him off.

“i thought youd be some number one hero to save me when we were teenagers, but i was wrong, so i dunno.” you say under your breath, and katsuki has to bite his tongue.

“so what say you.” he asked, leaning down to you, waiting for your answer. “ill take you in, we’ll get you food and you can get help, and you wont go to prison.”

you stare at him, seeing the small wrinkle lines on his forehead, the slight bags under his eyes— you wanted to take his help, but the pain was like no before. you huff, looking away from his face. “no funny shit, dynamight.” you grumble, and he frowned.

he hated you called him by his hero name and not his name.

taglist: @zennypiee @charlotterosea13

[s4nniebe4r]

dibs

pairing: rival! yunho x fem! reader

synopsis: somebody keeps stealing your favorite chair

wc: 4.2k 

tags: fluff, slice of life, light explicit language

etc: this is a major rework of a fic i wrote previously elsewhere, it’s been on my mind for a while… thinking about a potential part two, but i’ve got to work out the kinks and whatnot, as always not thoroughly proofread!

The library is quieter than usual when you step inside, it’s the kind of quiet that makes you hyper-aware of every little sound—your footsteps against the aged tiled floor, soft rustling of pages as students flipped through their overpriced textbooks, and the humming of a printer in the distance. You adjust the strap of your bag and exhale, already sorting through the mental checklist of everything you need to get done for this session. 

It’s a lot. Too much, honestly. You’ve got a paper due, an exam to study for, and some general note-taking, a headache was already starting to form, and a general sense of dread was setting in. 

But it’s fine. It’s fine. Because at least you have your seat. 

The one by the window. The one where the light filters in just right, making the otherwise dull atmosphere of the library feel a little less draining. That seat made you understand just how a cat feels curling up under the sun taking a nap; so cozy, so at ease. And it was comfortable—more than the others, anyways—cushioned, in a way that doesn’t make your back regret ever meeting it. From where that chair was, you were perched over and away from the vast majority of the library, but you were easily able to people-watch as they came. It’s a small comfort in a long day, and you’re holding onto it. You always do. 

Or at least, you did. 

Because when you rounded the last bookshelf, ready to collapse into your little area of familiarity, you see him. 

Sitting in your chair. 

Some guy, completely absorbed in whatever’s on his laptop screen. His body was in your chair. He wore a loose-fitted crew neck, and jeans, his hair tucked lazily under his beanie… his outfit portrayed how he looked in your chair; far too comfortable. His fingers were lazily tapping against his coffee cup, so carefree, like he has nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. Like he belongs there. Which, of course, was far from true. 

So you stop, standing there longer than necessary, waiting for some kind of divine intervention, or universal fixture to this. Maybe, just maybe he’ll look up, and sense your suffering in silence, and move along with his life. Maybe he’ll realize that this chair was not his to sit in. 

But, neither happens. Nothing happens. 

Instead, he stretches a little, shifting like he’s settling further into his seat, and you feel an actual physical reaction—something between the lines of heartbreak and bitterness, maybe a little irritation mixed along. Irritation with yourself, maybe? You don’t own the chair, obviously… you know this. But, it’s yours. 

It’s yours. 

For a second, you debate saying something. You could ask if he plans on staying for long. Maybe drop some passive aggressive hint? There was always the seat across, but that felt too cruel, like salt rubbed into your already stinging wound. 

You were lost in thought, but then his eyes flick up—just for a second, barely long enough to register your presence—before he goes right back to whatever it was that he was doing. There’s a light sprinkle of pink that appears on his face after a second. And his lips purse into a straight line, before the tug upward ever so slightly. 

And that’s when you realize. 

He knows. 

There’s something about the way his lips are twitching, like he’s trying not to smile, and it’s enough to tell you that he’s fully aware of what he’s done. Like he’s waiting to see what you plan on doing about it. 

A small heat courses through you, enough to make you pull out the chair from beside you without much of a second thought. So, without any other choice, you sit. You sit in the only other available spot at the table—that godforsaken, awful wooden chair across from him. The one that’s stiff and unforgiving, it’s everything wrong with seating. And you’re sure he knows that too, because now he really does smile, just barely, as he takes a slow sip of his iced coffee. 

You don’t look at him, as much as you want to, you don’t. You just open your laptop with a little more force than necessary, and start typing. You have no idea what you’re writing, but your fingertips tapped away at your keyboard. 

And so, you sat. Staring at the screen as you mindlessly wrote as the minutes passed. You figure at some point you’d write something useful. And then—because the universe just wasn’t done with you—somebody spoke up. 

“That chair’s not so bad, is it?”

With your fingers halting their motions, just hovering over the keyboard now. You slowly lift your gaze, and there he is, watching you over the rim of his coffee cup as he takes another sip, his eyes full of amusement. 

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. “It’s awful actually,” you deadpan. “And you’re in my seat.”

He hums lightly, shaking his head as he sets his cup down. “I wasn’t aware we called dibs here. And I didn’t see your name on it.”

Oh, you hate him. Instantly. Viscerally. 

“Didn’t realize I needed to,” you reply. “Considering I sit here every time I come here.” 

“Ah.” He nods, like the information is new and groundbreaking. “Well, I'm sitting here now.” He said it so casually. 

Your jaw tightens, almost locking into place. “Yeah. I gathered that.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, head tilted slightly, a slow, insufferable smile forming. It was almost to the point where you could describe it as shit-eating. And just as he grins, he reaches for his laptop, shifting it slightly—just enough to make it painfully clear that he has no intention of moving. 

Fine. That’s just fine. You weren’t about to let some bratty stranger ruin your day. 

You refocus onto your screen, posture stiff no thanks to the chair you were forced upon, fingers aggressively typing out something—anything—to keep from glaring at him. But your mind is already racing, planning every possible way you could reclaim your rightful spot without actually asking. 

You could get here earlier tomorrow. Beat him to it.

It wouldn’t be that hard. So, you let the thought settle, a slow petty satisfaction creeping in. You continue writing whatever it is that you are, and think of tomorrow. 

You walk into the library, this time with a little bounce in your step, a satisfied little smirk tugging at your lips as you take a slow, victorious sip of your drink. It’s sweet, something fruity with just the right amount of tartness; a perfect mix, like the universe was apologizing for yesterday.

Today, you were winning, and you made sure of it. 

You left earlier than usual, cutting through campus like you were a woman on a mission, and you did sacrifice your usual few minutes of mindless rotting on socials just to be here. Before anyone else, but especially before him. If yesterday was an unfortunate twist of fate, today is divine justice. That chair is yours, and you’re going to sit in it. Reclaim it. 

And so, with the extra pep in your stride, you weave through the aisle, your fingers tightening around your cup, anticipation creeping up on you. The closer you get, the more your confidence builds, your mind already savoring the feeling of sinking back in your spot, watching the light filter through the window, so perfectly onto your back. The thought of stretching out into the space that’s so perfectly yours that you could, well you could nearly—

And then, the world stops. 

You see it. 

Rather, you see, him. Sitting in your chair. Again. 

You come to a dead stop, nearly choking on your own drink in disbelief. 

He’s there, again, stretched out in your chair. His laptop is already open, positioned at just the right angle, his fingers yet again lazily tapping away against the keyboard like he has all the time in the world. His iced coffee—which frankly, he doesn't deserve—sits right beside him, condensation trailing down and onto the wooden table. An easy sign that he’s been here for a while. 

Like he planned this. Like he knew. 

He looks up. 

His eyes meet yours, just for a second, and then, the slowest, most insufferable grin spreads across his face. The same shit-eating grin from yesterday. It makes your stomach twist in a way you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. 

He raises his cup slightly, like a toast. 

“Morning.”

You can’t pull yourself to say anything. So you just blink at him. 

He knows. He absolutely knows. He knows that you know, that he knows. 

“Are you,” you exhale sharply through your nose, tightening your grip on your cup, almost to the point of spilling. “Are you serious?”

He just shrugs. “What? You didn’t call dibs.”

With every fiber of your being, you absolutely hate him.

“You—” you glance up at the clock on the wall, you are scrambling to process this. “What time did you even get here?”

“Earlier than you,” he replies smoothly, taking a slow sip of his coffee. 

You grimace. 

He just looks at you. Calm and amused. Infuriatingly so. He seems the type to enjoy watching people unravel. But you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that this has genuinely thrown you off. 

So, instead, you gather everything together in you, lift your chin ever so slightly, and step forward. 

“Fine.”

You grab the same god-awful chair from yesterday—the chair that has no business even existing—and sit across from him. 

And him?

Still wearing that same stupid smile. 

The third day comes around, and you’re prepared. 

You don’t just leave early, you have a clear cut plan. Perfectly executed. 

And now, here you are, victorious.

Sitting in your rightful spot, drink in hand, soaking in the warmth of your cozy little chair. The sunlight filtering through the window, hitting just the right angle on your back, and you lean into it, savoring every single second. It’s sweet, really. You won. 

It honestly should feel a little embarrassing how smug you feel about it, but you didn’t mind too much. He did have it coming. If he thought he could steal your chair two days in a row, then he clearly had you grossly underestimated your willpower to be petty. 

You’re mid-sup, indulging in your well-earned satisfaction, when you hear the footsteps. The presence. The slight pause in movement, like someone just registered something unexpected, just as you had the days prior. 

You glance up, and there he is. 

He stands a few feet away, his bag slung over his right shoulder, his iced coffee in his opposite hand. His head tilts slightly as he takes in the scene before him. 

Then, the slowest, most ridiculously amused smile spreads across his face, leaving you curious. 

“Oh, wow.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You really wanted that seat, did you?”

You set your drink down, crossing your legs, leaning back into the chair like second nature. “What can I say? Everything returns to how it should be. This is universal justice.”

His lips twitch, brows furrowed, like he’s holding back a laugh. “Right. And by justice, you mean beating me here by, what? A few minutes?”

“Not my fault you slacked today.” You say, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve lost your edge.”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly. Not in an irritated way, more like he’s intrigued. He studied you for a second longer, then—

“Well.” He exhales once more, tapping his fingers against his cup. “Guess I’ll just have to take the seat across from you then, won’t I?”

And your smugness falters, just a little. 

Because of course he would. 

You shift, sitting up slightly as he moves, pulling out the chair across from yours—the very same god-forsaken, uncomfortable, completely cursed chair that you suffered in for the past two days. Except, unlike you, he doesn’t seem remotely bothered, not in the slightest. He just sets his drink down, slides into the seat, and looks right at you, as if this is all completely normal. 

You narrow your eyes. “You’re really going to sit there?”

He lifts a brow. “Did you call dibs on this too?”

Your jaw tightens at the audacity this man has. 

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, mockingly slow, before setting it down. “Besides,” he muses, tilting his head slightly, “it’s kind of nice sitting across from someone. Good company and all.”

You blink. “...We’re not company.”

“Sure we are.” 

“No, we’re not.”

He hums, unconvinced. Then after a beat he speaks again. “So, what’s your name, then?”

You pause, skeptical. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Figured if we’re gonna keep stealing seats from each other, we might as well know what to call one another.”

You study him for a moment. There’s something genuinely amazed in his expression, like he’s been entertained by you this entire time. Like this has been fun for him. 

Before you can answer, he glances at your cup, then gives you that familiar shit-eating grin. “Y/N.”

Your eyes widen. “How do you—?”

He nods at your drink. “Your name’s on the cup, genius.”

You glance down, and sure enough, there it is, scrawled in black marker across the side of your cup. 

“Oh,” you blink, feeling a little ridiculous. “Right.”

He chuckles softly, turning his own cup slightly so you can see the name written on it. 

Yunho. 

Your eyes trace over the letters as he leans forward, just a little, barely noticeable, and rests his forearms on the table. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, voice so smooth, almost like he was teasing. “I’m Yunho.”

You roll his name around in your mind. Yunho. It suits him, somehow. 

You take a moment to clear your throat. “Well, Yunho,” you say, meeting his gaze. “Just so we’re clear—this seat is mine.”

His grin only widens. “We’ll see.”

The fourth day, you tell yourself, is going to be different. 

Not because you’re going to get all worked up over a chair again. No, you’ve got things to do. Things a collegiate student has got to do; assignments to complete. You’re here for a productive study session.

Except, when you round that last corner again, Yunho is already there. 

He’s sitting in your seat and is wearing his signature smirk when he sees you approaching. 

“You’re slacking,” he says, sipping his iced coffee. “I expected better.”

You exhale through your nose, leveling him with a look. “I’m not here for games today.”

He raises an eyebrow, acting surprised. “Oh? Then what brings you to these parts?”

You wordlessly pull out the infamous chair across from him and sit down, dropping your bag onto the table. “I have work to do.”

Yunho leans forward, his hands cupping his chin as he looks up to you. “How tragic.”

You ignore him, taking out your laptop and flipping it open. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even pretend to do anything productive. Instead, he stays in the same state he was, his cheeks pressed against the palms of his hands. He just stays there for a minute, and then, his pen clicks.

You don’t acknowledge it at first. 

His pen continues to click. 

But you keep typing. 

And so does the clicking. 

You pause. Inhaling sharply, forcing yourself to stay composed, and then resume your work. 

A thumb presses down on the end of his pen a few more times and the clicks practically echo through your ears. You can only take so much of it. You slap your hand down on the table, making the pen jump from his grasp. “Do you have an actual reason to be here, or are you just here to irritate me?”

Yunho blinks. Then he grins. “Oh, I definitely have work to do.”

“...Then do it.”

He shrugs. “I work better with background noise.”

You let out a short and dry laugh, almost sounding strained. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe that?”

He tilts his head, clearly entertained by what you had to say. “What, you think I just came here to mess with you, someone I met only three days ago?”

“Yes.”

He scoffs before placing a hand over his chest in dramatics. “I am appalled by your false ideologies.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to your laptop. “If you have actual work, do it. Otherwise, find someone else to annoy.”

“Tempting,” he says, “but no one else reacts quite as such as you.”

You make it a point to ignore him, willing yourself to focus on the assignment. For a few minutes, it works, it’s quiet, save for the faint sounds of typing and shuffling pages behind you. You start to think maybe, just maybe, you’ll get some work done today. 

Then he speaks again. 

“I think you should take a break.”

You don’t stop typing, you don’t even look up. “I’ve been working for ten minutes.”

“Exactly. I think you’re overworking yourself.”

Your lips pressed together in a straight, thin line. “You just want me to stop working so you can bother me more.”

“Maybe,” he admits. Then after a beat, “Or maybe I just think it’s a little unfair that we’re sitting here and not talking.”

You finally glance at him, skeptical, wary. “Why do you want to talk to me so badly?”

He sits and acts as if he’s thinking hard on the topic, going far enough to point a finger to his lips as his eyes furrow into each other, like he’s deep in thought. He seemed to enjoy this. Humming, he says “Maybe because you’re the only person in this library that looks personally offended by my being here.”

You scowl. “I’m not offended. Just… mildly inconvenienced.”

“Ah, so you do like me then.”

You scoff, turning back to your laptop. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Yunho.”

He hums, seemingly satisfied. “Oh, so now you’re calling me by my name?”

You don’t respond, instead pretending to type something important. Yunho chuckles softly before reaching for his coffee, taking a slow, deep sip as he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. 

Eventually, his eyes shifted from you, to your laptop, he appeared to be tuning into the sound of the keys clacking, one after the other. And from the laptop, his eyes followed to the drink you brought with. A sixteen ounce iced strawberry lemonade mixed with black tea and popping boba. The exact order stickered onto the side of the cup with your name scribbled to the left.  The exact same one from the days before. 

Eventually, he followed your lead and did his own studying, both of you working silently away. The minutes continued on as the two of you were engulfed in your academics, until eventually the library closed for the day, the two of you heading your separate ways. 

You’re already running late, which never happens. Usually, you’re the first one at the library, tucked into your usual spot before the place fills up. But today, Thirty minutes were stolen from you. You were in your sweatpants, and barely awake. And of course, as you rounded the corner, the first thing you see when you walk in is Yunho—leaning into the chair, looking up from his laptop.

“Thought I’d see you eventually,” he says, casually stirring his drink in his hand. “Here.” he continues as he pushes a familiar pink drink your way. 

You blink at him. “You- you ordered for me?”

Yunho shrugs, just pushing the cup even further across the table. “You’re never this late. Figured something tragic must’ve happened, like, maybe you overslept for the first time in your life.”

You narrowed your eyes, inspecting the label. Sure enough, it’s exactly what you would have ordered given the chance. “How would you even know what I get?”

“Habit of mine,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I pay attention.”

You let out a breath of air, sliding into the chair across from him and flipping open your laptop. “That’s a little creepy.”

“Oh definitely.” He takes a sip of his drink, then gestures at your outfit with an amused look. “Gotta say, sweatpants are a new look for you.”

You just groan. “Don’t start.”

“No, I mean it,” he says, leaning back, his grin only widening. “It’s a good look on you.”

You pause. Blinking at him again. He isn’t teasing—well, maybe a little—but there’s something fairly effortless about the way he says it that makes your face warm, just a little. It’s either the sheer confidence of it or the fact that it’s coming from him, of all people. However, you are determined not to let him get the upper hand, you roll your eyes and turn your attention to your laptop. “What are you pretending to work on today?”

“Same thing as you.”

Your lips pulled to one side, almost frowning. “What?”

“We’re in the same class, genius.”

Your brain practically stutters. “No we’re not—”

“East wing, big lecture hall, right? Got to be at least two hundred students? You sit near the front.”

You hesitate for a moment before you nod.”

Yunho raises a brow, looking a little too pleased with himself. “Exactly. I sit further back.”

You stare at him, trying to process this information. “You’ve been in my class this whole time?”

He nods, tapping his fingers against the table. “Guess you just never noticed.”

Your cheeks flushed a rosy color again. You go to open your mouth, then close it again in a hurry. You don’t know why you’re feeling so oddly flustered. “Well, sorry, but I actually pay attention to the professor, not the people behind me.”

Yunho chuckles. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Something about the way he says it—lighthearted, so amused, but also kind of observant—it makes your stomach continue to twist in a weird way. Has he been noticing you this whole time? Shaking the thought away, you change the subject. “Alright, so what’s the assignment this time?”

“The paper. The one due next week.”

You groan yet again, rubbing your temples in slight pain of the topic. “Right. That one.”

Yunho tilts his head. “Don’t tell me you haven’t started.”

Oh, I’ve started,” you mutter. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

He chuckles, nodding in a quiet understanding before he talks again. “Yeah, I get that. I’m still trying to wrap my head around half the material myself/”

You glance at him, curiosity now piqued. “You don’t get it?”

“Not all of it,” he admits, spinning the pen effortlessly between his fingers. It almost seemed dwarfed in his hand. “Takes me a while to really absorb everything. That’s why I usually keep studying after the library closes.”

You blink, taking in the almost shocking information. “Wait—you study after the library closes?”

Yunho shrugs. “Yeah. Just go back to my dorm and keep going until it just sticks.”

Something about that makes you pause. You’ve never really thought about how he works, you always assumed he was the kind of person who breezed through everything, given his calm and collected demeanor. The idea that he has to put in extra effort, that he stays up late grinding through the material, makes you look at him differently. “I didn’t know you studied that hard,” you say.

Yunho tilts his head sideways, leaning in. His head perched on his left hand whilst his right continues bobbing the pen back and forth.  “Some of us aren’t naturally geniuses.”

You huff a small laugh in retort. “You could’ve asked for help, you know.”

He stares back at you before letting his lips twitch upwards. “Oh? And miss out on all of this? Nah.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something about the exchange that feels a little different. Less like your usual bickering, there’s a little something more to his teasing this time, even if it’s small.

The thought lingers as you turn back to your laptop, typing out a few sentences before glancing at him again. He’s still spinning his pen, deep in thought, lips slightly pursed. He must sense you watching him because he looks up, eyes meeting yours in a way that makes your breath catch for just a second. 

He tilts his head. “What?”

You shake your head quickly, looking away. “Nothing.”

There’s a pause. And then, “You know, if you’re feeling generous, you could help me study sometime. You know, you do owe me a drink.”

You glance back at him, raising a brow. “After the library closes?”

His lips quirk up. “That is, if you’re up for it.”

A small silence settles between the two of you. He’s sitting there with a grin on his face, not the usually shit-eating one, but an easy one, something that makes you feel uncomfortably calm. You tap your finger against your laptop, considering the offer. 

“Maybe,” you say. “If you promise to stop making fun of my sweatpants.”

His grin grows a little deeper. “No promises.”

You roll your eyes yet again, but your lips twitch up despite your knowledge. The assignment still looms over you, and you know there’s work to be done, but for now, maybe you could let it wait. There’s always time to study after the library closes. 

[woncon]

[04:58 pm] ♡ poly!stray kids

gn!reader | suggestive | mainly hyunbinisung, but heavy backround poly | made with @wonsheep's help <3

‣ stray kids masterlist :: ✉️₍₁₎

there is a fistful of grass behind your home. It broke out from under the concrete. in your opinion, it’s traditional, full value grass, which is very great! right now, you need to touch some grass, and this is the closest to the apartment.

you walk out the door, go round the building, and there you are. healthy green grass fibre.

you sit down ceremoniously, hold out your hand and caress the plant. a deep breath and you close your eyes.

changbin’s impressive diversity. his tight muscles. oh, those strong– enough!

you concentrate on the feel of the grass. you imagine that you take its peace through your fingertips, and in return, you give your naughty, wild memories and thoughts, so nature can bury them into the concrete.

steps. you look behind yourself. hyunjin is getting closer.

“i came for the grass, too,” he says.

he takes a seat next to you, and he isn’t joking. it seems he wants to reach a level of mindfulness as you did a little earlier, then he holds out his hand. you touch the fibres with only two fingers now to give some place for your boyfriend. either way, you are in contact, and with his pinky touching your middle finger, lightning sparks through your arm.

hyunjin pats his side gloomily. “it’s not working.”

“wanna talk about it?” you recommend.

“i don’t know,” he looks at your fingers caressing grass, then at your face again.

you shake your head. “go ahead. i can handle it.”

“fine.” he sits closer to you, creating a more intimate situation. “i was searching for my toothbrush. that’s what happened. but i didn’t find it. then jisung peaked out from behind the shower curtain, and said that it is likely that he accidentally mixed up mine with his. his mouth was smeared with toothpaste, and at the edge a toothbrush was hanging out. but from the moment i saw him, i didn’t care about my toothbrush,” he licks his lips. “holy jesus. water cascaded down on his muscles and tiny waist and, and his tattoos, and he looked at me so remorsefully as if my biggest problem could have still been that stupid toothbrush when he was fully naked in front of me...”

you gulp.

“wow.”

your assumption was wrong. you can’t handle it. and now there is not enough green zone and jungle in the whole world that would be able to expel the picture of jisung from your mind. nevertheless, you stay there, hanging onto the lil’ patch of grass, because you can still get rid of your fantasies about changbin here.

probably.

hopefully.

you just need to get in the right flow and mindset.

“and why are you here?” asks hyunjin.

“oh, i was in the living room. changbin and i tried to guess what minho was making in the kitchen. then seungmin walked in. up until then, everything had been alright. i was cuddling changbin, and he was like a fairy prince.”

hyunjin nods, he knows exactly how changbin is when he is enthusiastic, adorable and cuddly.

“seungmin started to tease him with his words, and changbin slowly transformed. i don’t have better words, that’s the reaction seungmin gets out of him. changbin pulled away from me and grabbed seungmin, pulling seungmin down on his lap. and he held seungmin's head up by his jaw, uhm, something like that.”

“uhuh.”

“he also whispered something into seungmin's ear, which made seungmin blush, but he was still grinning like he won the lottery. it made me wonder whether being grabbed and manhandled by changbin can feel that goo–”

“yeah, it’s that good,” hyunjin chimes in.

you furrow your brows, he smirks mischievously, and your head is suddenly full of images. memories of how hyunjin dominates changbin, and ideas of how it is sometimes reversed, with changbin holding hyunjin in place with his strength. and as if he was a late guest from this party, jisung also appears in your mind as hyunjin painted him with his words: only wearing the toothbrush.

oh, great heavens. you shoo hyunjin’s hands away from the grass so you can rest your forehead on the plant.

hyunjin giggles.

“go away, you unsalvageable!”

“let go of the grass, and i’ll help you.”

you shoot him a suspicious glance.

“you heard me. i know a method that can help us.”

he stands up, dusts off his jeans, then holds out a hand for you. “so? are you giving up like me?” 

you take his hand, and you also come to terms with your weakness. usually the green patch has a good effect on you, but touching your boyfriends is still better than touching grass.

thank you for being here! your notes, comments are warmly welcomed! 💓 and don't forget to touch some grass if you can! 🌿

stay taglist :: @thebonsaibadass 💕@lemonn015

[httpzsho]

I HATE THAT I LOVE YOU | 리키

PAIRINGS. fwb!riki x reader

GENRE. angst, friends to ???

WARNINGS. swearing, kissing

SYNOPSIS. you didn't know being in a situationship was this complicated, especially when the person you're with it is your bestfriend.

SHO'S NOTE. inspired by my bae's ( @nishikio ) fic “It was never just fun” go check it out :]

YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED A LOVE LIFE, watching the cheesy couples act all lovey-dovey during the love month was an eyesore. only becuase you didn't have one of your own.

well, you kind of had one.

your bestfriend, riki. you wouldn't really call him your lover, it's not really official. you don't even remember how it happened. you both just flirted with one another and it flowed into.. whatever this is.

he'd buy you flowers, call you “baby” or “pretty”, take you out on dates, but he'd also ignore your texts, tease you too much, and just simply be a jerk.

you're lying if you said you didn't actually like him. you did, you really do. but it pains you that you don't even know if he does too, or all of this is just some fun to him.

and it doesn't help that he constantly gives you mixed signals.

KI : hello, pretty

: morning, riki :)

KI : you free after school?

: i think so, yeah. why?

KI : go to a party with me. I'll pick you up at 7.

: see you there <3

[ KI reacted '♡' to your message.]

great, a party. you enjoyed being in some, but you really didn't want to go in a party on the night of valentines, you're positive that the room will just be filled with your friends with their partners.

and well, you can't really call him that.

you spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready, putting on your silky red dress, and a plump pink lipstick. you kept your hair simply by just wearing it down. you made your way over to your living room, the sound of your velvety heels making contact with each step.

not long after your doorbell rang, you opened it as your eyes were met with rikis, his outfit simple yet still giving him the elegant look. his chrome hearts hoodie with his pants.

“good evening, gorgeous.”

you chuckled, “oh don't bait me with flattery. let's go,” he grinned as he took your hand and led you to his car as he drove you both to the party. as you expected, it was filled with lovebirds, some even kissing here and there. others are already wasted.

you both made your way to your friendgroup, they knew you and riki weren't just friends, but they were aware you weren't really something. the night went on with you and riki gulping down a few shots. you weren't much of a big drinker. you were starting to get tipsy.

you and riki were on the corner of the room, absentmindedly observing everyone dance and go out and about. you turned to riki, admiring his features. “you're s'handsome,” he chuckled at your giggly tone. “mmh you're just drunk, pretty.” he held your waist gently, just incase your legs begin to give out. “'m not, your lips are plump too.” you stared into them, the gap between you two ever so close.

fuck it. he pressed his lips onto yours, closing his eyes as he melted onto you, for the very first time. he pulled away slowly, realizing what he just did.

fuck, you've never kissed before. and he did it without your consent. this was you and him's first kiss too.

he wiped his lips, your strawberry flavored lippie still lingering within his.

as the night buried on more, he decided to drive you back home. and afterwards went home to his own apartment.

all he could think about was how wrong it was for him to kiss you. you were drunk, what if you didn't want that at all? plus, in you whole 'relationship' you've never kissed before. he doesn't even know if you truly like him or if this is just some no-strings-attached thing.

whatever it was, he knew the solution was to get rid of his feelings. he hated you, he hated your smile, he hated your laugh, he hated your voice. and most of all, he hated how he didn't even hate you one bit.

the day after that you went to school, looking for him. completely oblivious to what happened the previous night. the only recent memory that was left in your mind was you swallowing lots of alcohol.

you spotted him in his usual spot in the cafeteria, you approached him, but he simply gave you a cold look.

“soo, did you have fun last night?” he hummed. that's it. you sighed. this wasn't new. he would always be sweet & charming one moment, then the next it's like he doesn't want you at all. it annoyed you.

you thought it'd be a pattern, sweet then not, sweet then not. but to your surprise the next couple of days were silent. he didn't approach you, call you pretty, or give you any affection. you were curious. and a little hurt angry. did something happen that night? did you do something wrong?

you were going to talk to him but as you went to where you usually saw him, there he was, standing beside his locker with some girl clinging onto him. she looked at him with heart eyes. and he laughed, smiling with her.

that made your heart break into little pieces. yeah sure, he wasn't your boyfriend, but that 'moments' you have together mean nothing to him? were you really just a pawn?

you watched from afar as you clutched your jacket. you didn't even notice the tears in your eyes. why was he so important to you? worst of all, why him?

you went home that day with a heavy heart pounding in your chest. you barely got any sleep. your mind occupied with the memory of him with that girl.

it shouldn't hurt. but it did.

the next few days, the only view that clouded the school was him and that stupid girl. you see him doing the things he did to you, accompany her, buy her snacks from the caféteria, and just simply be there. each moment hurt more than the last.

the last class of the day finally ended. you went out the classroom, only to be met with the sight of him and the girl, again. you were going to tear your eyes off them, but was distracted when she kisses him.

she kissed him. his first kiss.

your heart shattered, once again. he never did that with you.

your tears formed quickly, you rub your eyes and ran. not knowing riki saw you and followed quickly.

you stormed off the school, your brain mindlessly fogged with that scene. why? why was it so easy for him to replace you?

“___!” you heard him call out, his hand grabbed your fist and turned you around. “please, hear me out-” he pleaded, you yelled, “what? that you suddenly went distant then found a girl better than me?” you wiped your tears, not wanting your eyes to meet his.

“it's not like that!” “then what?” you pulled your wrist out of his grasp, “was I that replaceable to you? I thought we had something- but.. I guess not! you even had your first kiss with he—” he cut you off, “she's not my first kiss, you are!” your eyes widened, in complete disbelief. “h-huh?..” you stared at him.

“look, the night at the party—you were drunk, and you caressed my lips and I wasn't thinking so I just kissed you, and I really fucking wanted to do that for a long time, but I don't even know if you liked me seriously or not, and I swear nothing else happened, but I felt really REALLY bad because I just kissed you even if I didn't know if you want to- and I was so in pain because I like you a lot, and I wanted it to go away, so I pretended to like this girl who liked me and she sucks, and then she suddenly kissed me and I wanted nothing but to reel your lips again, because I hate you so much and I hate that I love you, but really I don't!”

he flipped his hair, sighing. “and I completely understand if you don't feel the sa—” you cut him off, pulling him by his collar and pressing your lips against his. for a moment, he freezes. but he soon melts into your lips, kissing you back, just like the first time.

“I.. that was..” he panted, breathless.

“I love you, pretty. I mean it.” you hugged him. and his hands wrapped around your waist, he kissed your forehead. you giggled. “I love you too,”

“you promise?”

“pinky promise.”

⩩ ( @nishikio , @stvrriki ) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© work of httpzsho | sho

[s0urw00lf]

Out of love

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Summary: You find out why Sam has been acting so distant lately.

An: cried writing this. Hope you cry reading it :) also may be mistakes. Not proofread.

Divider from… i don’t know i lost the creator :/

You cant say you’re lonely. No that wouldn’t be fair, you had Sam, Bobby, Jo, Ellen. And that was more than enough. But you still felt cold, empty and alone.

Sitting on the couch of the motel it was 3 a.m. and Sam and had fallen asleep a long time ago, and you were somewhat glad, because he hadn’t been sleeping at all since dean was torn apart in front of you and dragged to hell. To be completely honest you hadn’t been sleeping either, but you worried more about Sam driving himself to death than you.

Deans time had ended a month and a half ago. Seventy-two days to be exact, and night mares had plagued the both of you like never before. You’d tried everything in your power to change his fate. To save your family, but dean was the foundation and without him everything fell apart.

Sam had been different. More aggitated and aggressive, angry. Even with you, and when he wasn’t upset with you he was downright ignoring you. He wouldn’t acknowledge you when you walked in a room. Or when you asked him a question, he was always in his phone, as if waiting for a message or a call. You chalked it up to him not believing Dean was actually gone, because you yourself still felt your heart skip a beat when you got a message or a call, hoping and praying for it to be dean.

You however started to be more skeptical when Sam started to sneak away, or just flat out leave for hours at a time, and when he’d come back you’d ask him where he’d been he’d give you some half thought out excuse of “i needed some air” or “i was running some errands” but he never returned with anything.

So that’s why you sat here biting your lip, bouncing your leg and hoping you wouldn’t find what you thought you’d find in his phone. You never thought you’d question Sam’s loyalty to you, but something was going on and if he wouldn’t be honest with you about it then you’d have to find out by yourself.

You let out a shaky breath before opening his phone. His passcode was still the same, deans birthday. You clicked on his messages and the first name you read was ruby. Your eyebrows raised, you’d asked him months ago if he’d still been talking to ruby and he denied it with an attitude. Your heart clenched at the thought of what you might find when you opened their messages.

With shaky fingers you clicked on her name and immediately your heart shattered at Sam’s most recent message to her.

‘Ruby where are you?’

‘I need you, i need more’

You shut off the phone, not needing to see any more. You let out a quiet sob, covering your mouth with your shaky hands. You don’t understand he’s cheating on you. With ruby. A demon. All the while you sat here, hoping to find a solution to bring his brother back from hell.

You looked over to his sleeping form, his chest rose and fell slowly and your chest began to feel empty, an attempt to numb your aching heart which didn’t do you any well. You looked round the room, at the mix of his and your belongings.

You knew what you had to do, the only thing you had left to do. Leave.

You wouldn’t say anything to him, not that you had anything to say, you wouldn’t try to make him love you again, or beg from him to see you how he used to because it was a lost cause. Your Sam was gone. Completely, tainted by the works of a demon and he couldn’t see it.

Ruby had stuck her claws into him and made him into her own little puppet, and if this was the road he wants to go down you wont stop him, but you sure as hell wont sit around and watch it happen.

You heard Sam stir just as you zipped up your bag, you paused hoping he wouldn’t wake up but you knew how much of a light sleeper he was and how low that probability was. You closed your eyes at being caught and not just leaving like you’d hoped.

“What’re you doing?” Sam questioned with a groggy voice. You swallowed thickly in hopes your voice wouldn’t break when you spoke “leaving.” You say simply as tears streamed down your face. Sam sat up in his bed a deep frown on his face. “What? Why?” He asked urgently. That was the most care he’d used in his tone in such a long time, he almost sounded like his old self.

You moved over to the table where you left his phone, picked it up and tossed it to him. only allowing him to see your tear stricken face for a second before you turned you back to him again. “Ruby says you know where to find her.” You say.

Oh

Oh..

Sam looks at his phone with guilt eyes. You knew, and for whatever reason you weren’t angry with him. If you were you weren’t showing it. He’d expected you to blow up, hit him, yell at him. Threaten to kill him even. But nothing. None of that happened and that hurt him even more than if you would’ve. Because that meant he’d completely broken your heart, you ran out of care and energy. Sam had completely drained you and he knew it.

“Y/n-“ you finally turned around, cutting him off with teary eyes and a shaky voice “No. No sam, don’t do that. Don’t apologize. Don’t be sorry. You knew what you were doing, don’t feel bad just because you got caught” you say

You bite your lip, holding your breath to keep in a sob that had been begging to be let out. Sam puts his head down in shame. He did, know what he was doing. From the very beginning. He didn’t stop it and now it was too late. Now you were leaving him. By choice.

“Just tell me this one thing” you say, making him look back up to you expectantly. “When did you stop… loving me?” You hated how weak you sounded. How stupid you felt asking that question to a man who cheated on you with a demon.

Sam’s eyes widened with worry “never” he said quickly, shaking his head as he stood up from the bed, moving towards you “y/n i never-“ You took a step back holding up your hand to stop him. You shook your head telling him not to come any closer.

He nodded, averting his eyes guiltily. You grabbed your bag, moving towards the door. Sam watched your hand hover over the handle and for a second he hoped that you’d stay. Give him another chance but then those words slipped passed your lips and the remainder of his world shattered.

“Goodbye Sam”

[moonzzip]

what we share | kwon jiyong

a/n — i tried to put as much feeling into this story as possible, i think i expressed it well (I think), i hope you like it! feel free to correct grammatical mistakes! love ya 🤍

summary: you are hired for a new commission and meet again someone you never expected to see.

pairing: jiyong x gn!photographer!reader

warnings: fluff, a lot of feeling, i think nothing more

lowercase letters, word count: 2,7k

you close your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief, covering your mouth with your fist. this is unbelievable, you think. there’s no way this is real. your heart races, your body shivers.

expensive cheese is definitely the best in the world—this is a top-tier charcuterie board.

you silently thank yourself, patting your own shoulder for accepting the request from that strange old man. well, you know him (you’ve seen him on the internet)... he’s just weird.

you don’t even remember his name properly, but he owns some music industry company—what’s it called again? your eyes were on the payment for this gig. why the hell was he paying you so much? you have no idea, but you’re not complaining either.

the party itself is quite big, but there are about three other photographers scattered around. more will arrive later, but among those already here, none seem to be appreciating the food as much as you. no one does it better than you.

you got here early, camera already hanging around your neck, snacking on cheese, olives, bits of ham, and other things—so many variations of the same items that you can't even count. the formal dinner is supposedly happening after 8:30 pm, so you have to stuff yourself now—who knows if there will be anything left by then? you had a little bread, a snack or two before coming, but the old man promised food, so you held back. you don’t know if there’s going to be a table for the photographers or if you’ll all end up eating in a tiny room full of useless junk that barely fits two people sitting down.

internally, you pray to any god listening that this is just your imagination. ah... you can smell the scent of expensive, delicious food from miles away.

finishing your cheese, you glance around. there’s even a fountain with a well-sculpted cupid spouting water from its mouth. you also spot an ice sculpture of… what the hell is that?

oh. it’s the old man.

your eyebrow furrows slightly with a confused mix of disgust and disbelief. so, he was that type... yeah, it actually fits his overall vibe.

now that you think about it, the old man gave you a contract to sign. you were going to read it until he mentioned the numbers, and then you just grabbed the pen and signed it. a spectacularly dumb move on your part, but whatever, right? he could have slipped in a clause about selling your dog, billie, and you wouldn’t even have noticed.

billie, forgive me if that actually happened.

bored of talking to yourself in your head, you get to work.

not to brag, but you’re really good at what you do. you’ve had experience with an endless variety of projects—you’ve been a camera coordinator for films, series, music videos. seriously, you’ve done it all. you’ve photographed everything.

marine life? yes.

natural phenomena? yes.

supernatural? maybe not, but you’ve caught a shadow or two.

jungle life? also yes!

you’ve spent weeks in some country, shooting and filming whatever they needed. thinking about it now, maybe you should start reading contracts more carefully before accepting a job.

your work isn’t just about holding a camera and snapping random photos. your job is to show people what you see—to capture your perspective, your way of admiring things, whether small details or grand landscapes. this is how you express yourself, sharing what you observe. and you don’t regret it, despite a few life-or-death situations along the way.

you chuckle at the thought. where’s my love for life? no idea.

scratching the corner of your mouth, you take a wide shot of the venue, checking the preview on your camera’s small screen. (did you mention how huge its lens is? no? well, it is.)

you’re the lead photographer tonight, responsible for capturing everything—from the main guests to that cursed ice statue. you shudder, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to erase the image from your mind.

oh. the first guests are starting to arrive. now the real work begins.

you move toward the entrance and start with simple shots, adjusting the focus before capturing images. so many people arrive at once, but that doesn’t discourage you. later, you’ll have to take individual portraits of the main guests anyway.

slowly, the hall fills up. the other photographers are already at work—one outside, filming the arrival of guests stepping out of their expensive leather-seated limousines; another woman recording a general overview of the venue; a third taking pictures of the “less important” people (according to the old man). meanwhile, you, speaking in a calm and polite tone, ask guests for permission to take their photos. your charm is strong, and you genuinely enjoy your job, so it’s not a problem.

you see children, animals—only dogs and cats, inside bags or on leashes—people (of course), some older, some younger. you overhear one of your fellow photographers saying that a large number of actors, actresses, many, like many idols, groups, and solo artists are here.

you don’t really follow the industry closely—not that you don’t consume the content, you just don’t dig deep into it. so, if someone asks you who some colorful-haired guy from some group is, you definitely won’t know.

you swap out your phone frequently because you have a bad habit of breaking it during photoshoots. you’ve been more careful lately, but it still feels like you get a new one every three days. that doesn’t mean you’re some clueless grandma who just discovered the internet last week—you know things, okay? you work in photography, so of course, you have to know how to use a phone. you do! it’s just that when you’re online, your mind is locked onto other types of content—games, your favorite youtubers, food videos, and other cool stuff. but so what? no one asked you.

you nod to yourself. who am i even talking to?

you refocus on your work.

you have a list to follow.

"let’s see... now... g-d... gey-dragon... g-dragon...? is that how you say it? probably," you mumble to yourself, shrugging at your own question. wait, how are you even supposed to find him??

you look at your list for more details. kwon jiyong... kwon jiyong? your eyes wander upward, hand on your chin. that name sounds familiar, but from where?

you shrug again and scan the paper.

"chanel ambassador... founder of the brand peaceminusone... peaceminusone??"

you glance at your sneakers. despite your formal black outfit (a bussiness suit—mandatory for all photographers), the only not black thing on you is the colorful logo of your nikes. you bought them recently and fell in love at first sight. you vaguely remember seeing "peaceminusone" when researching the shoes. they even had daisy designs with missing petals that you found adorable.

you get a little more excited. what kind of person is he? g-dragon... i think that’s right. would it be weird to go around asking who he is? yeah, probably. better to ask where he is instead.

scanning the room, you spot amai, another photographer. she might know. you chuckle at yourself.

approaching the shorter girl, you tap her shoulder lightly. "hey, hey, amai! how’s it going?" speaking in japanese, knowing she struggles with korean.

hearing your voice, she turns with a smile. "hello, ___! i’m good, and you? busy?"you smile at her sweetness, playfully tapping her head. "nothing i can’t handle. your senior here has everything under control, don’t worry." you continue, "i wanted to ask if you know where... g-d—g-dragon-nim is? is that how you say it?"

amai giggles at your stuttering mix of korean and japanese.

"g-dragon-san? i think i saw him going outside to the garden, but i'm not sure..." a bit of guilt appears on the shorter girl's face for not being able to help you. seeing this, you gently ruffle her hair, smiling, "thank you, amai~ that helped me a lot. good job to you~" you wave as you walk away, and she smiles, waving back.

okay, you got some information, but is it enough? you wonder. you're more lost than a fish out of water, you have no idea how to search... better go where amai said first, maybe someone saw him there.

you walk, greeting everyone with a smile and a nod, carefully avoiding bumping into anyone (your lens was way too expensive, you don’t want to risk breaking it). you reach the door leading to the garden.

you’re not sure if you have permission to enter. maybe you should wait for him to come out? but what if it’s not him? this waiting time could be spent looking for him instead. maybe he's just nearby?

you glance around but then remember you don’t even know what he looks like, so you have nothing to lose.

placing your hand on the doorknob, you twist it and pull.

oh.

it didn’t open.

you keep trying to pull.

okay.

maybe it’s locked?

you sigh.

maybe try...

you twist the knob again and push outward this time, and it opens.

oh man, is there anyone dumber than you

unlike before, you pray to any existing god that no one saw this horribly embarrassing scene. you clear your throat to cover up the shame, open the door wider, and step outside into the garden.

everything was so illuminated, not by any lamp, but by the moon itself. you look up at the sky, walking forward, stepping down the small staircase, your feet touching the grass. the garden was beautiful, with several flower arches in various colors, nothing excessive, a small bird fountain, scattered benches, and even a tiny artificial pond where you could see fish swimming inside. it was truly adorable. the garden was spectacular—definitely worth photographing.

you smile fondly and start capturing everything you see. turning to the side, one eye closed, the other on the camera, you see through your lens a man sitting on a garden bench, his back turned to you. he wears a coat with fine, shiny fur, seemingly an expensive crochet design, in shades of purplish-blue, lighter blue, with small pink and green details, the colors blending into a rich pattern. you couldn't see the pattern of his pants well due to some flowers near the bench, but his pink hair was very noticeable—not an eye-burning pink, but a very beautiful shade. he didn't seem to be looking at his phone or anything, he was just... admiring the night and the beautiful garden.

lowering your camera, you stare at his back for a few seconds until—

"ah. that must be g-dragon-nim."

you murmur to yourself and start walking towards him. to avoid startling him, you call out softly,

"excuse me, kwon jiyong-nim..?"

the man's shoulders jump slightly, but then his face turns, his slightly long hair moving along with it. the moonlight highlights his cheekbones, as well as his eyes. you stare for a moment before your own eyes widen.

"j... jiyong..?" — "___?"

you and the man in front of you speak at the same time.

he stands up so quickly you don’t even have time to blink. you almost take a step back but steady your feet. neither of you speaks, just examining each other.

you noted earlier that he was only wearing that coat and a necklace—like, nothing underneath?

apparently, he noticed your gaze and instinctively pulled the coat tighter to cover some skin, though not out of discomfort.

jiyong felt his cheeks heat slightly. the person he had been looking for all these years, and in their first reunion, they see him like this? not that he was poorly dressed, he just felt your stare was too intense.

noticing him adjusting his coat, you act as if you didn’t see anything.

"wow... it's been so long... how long, like... 5 years?—"

"16 years, ___."

your mouth falls open in shock—it had been 16 years since you last saw kwon jiyong’s pretty face.

the man overcomes his moment of awkwardness and looks at you with a serene gaze, and unconsciously, you match his expression. both of you feeling nostalgia, overwhelmed by emotions from a past that now feels too distant. 16 years is no short time—it’s impossible to ignore the palpable longing between you. in those 16 years, either of you could have been kidnapped, died in an accident, been killed, gotten involved in crime, anything. but no, here you both were, face to face, in silence.

"i've been looking for you. all this time."

his deep voice resonates in your ears, filled with raw emotion—so much longing, a bit of exhaustion, and relief.

your heart races. you press the back of your hand against your mouth, letting out a shy laugh, but quickly recover, smiling as you step closer to jiyong. now, you’re truly face to face. "don't say things like that, or I'll fall for you all over again."

he chuckles softly, stepping even closer. "what if that’s my goal?"

you shrug, your faces now mere inches apart. "then I'll let myself feel it."

surprised, he leans back slightly and laughs. "you’re even worse than 16 years ago, who taught you this?" he playfully judges you, and you shrug again. "you're just too charming not to flirt back, you know?"

he rolls his eyes, looking down, opening his mouth to say something but stopping when he sees your shoes.

"my nike collab sneakers? you’re more of a fan than i thought, ___."

following his gaze, you look down too and laugh. "ahh~ yes, kwon jiyong, i totally thought of you when buying these sneakers."

he looks at you, his eyes shining slightly. "wow, really?" you shrug again, laughing and shaking your head, making him roll his eyes again before giving you a gentle push.

you take your camera off your neck, placing it on the bench, and walk closer to him, looking at him with warmth.raising your arms, you step forward. he sees this and prepares to stand up too, but you pause. "i don't know if i should... won’t it, i don’t know, cause you problems?"

he doesn’t answer. instead, he grabs your wrist, pulling you into an embrace. his arms wrap around you in an instant, the cold night wind blowing around you both, yet the comfortable silence remains.

jiyong rests his head on your shoulder. at first, you’re surprised, but you hug him back, pressing your face against his neck, feeling his warmth, his familiar scent, and his arms bringing that unforgettable sensation. you both close your eyes, drowning in each other’s presence.

the cold doesn’t matter at all—not when you both warm each other with memories of the past. spending time together, doing nothing on the couch, running on the beach, night walks, having dinner, comforting each other through past rejections, confusing emotions, bad situations, tears... even your first kiss, shared between the two of you.

all of it washes over you like an ocean wave, unearthing memories of a bond only the two of you understand—one that no one else will ever have anything similar to.

no matter how many people you and jiyong met along the way, your hearts and minds only ever spoke of each other. in every moment. no matter where you were, the only thought on your minds now was making up for lost time.

you don’t need words to understand what the other is thinking. despite 16 years passing, neither of you had lost your essence. personalities change, that’s a fact, but what lies deep inside—there is no amount of time that can alter that.

"thank you for looking for me, jiyong."

you pull away from the hug, cupping his face, caressing his cheeks. he closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, placing his hand over yours.

"but in the end, it was me who found you."

a/n – sorry for not posting yesterday, I was busy and had no ideas, but today I posted! I hope you liked it, this time I wrote it listening to 'supernova love' by ive, this song makes me very melancholic... feel free to correct any grammar mistakes! thanks for reading! 🤍😞