#he’s such a little shit why are you provoking him more WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS 😭

[freak-phone]

treated myself to filling out an oc questionnaire today! answers under the cut if you'd like to read a very very long infodump about him.

1- Introduce them!

you know him...

friendly and well-meaning, but often tactless. tendency to provoke others.

tries to act laid back and upbeat most of the time. his default expression is a smile! (truthfully, he's pretty sensitive and moody.)

seemingly compulsive need to get himself into trouble. He's smart, but he acts and speaks before he thinks too often for it to do him much good most of the time. His self confidence and tendency to run his mouth frequently blows up in his face.

2 - What are their mannerisms like?

He's a weird guy. he tries to give the first impression of being laid back, but he's a very naturally restless person. Has an anxious energy about him. I play dnd over discord so this doesn't come across haha but I always picture him fidgeting a lot, he can never quite sit still.

3 - Do they have a signature move or spell?

Bestow Curse my beloved. he has such bad luck it's contagious.

4 - How do they fight? If they use magic, how does it look or feel like?

He's not very much of a fighter, so his spell kit is more focused on utility and crafty, unconventional use of magic. Aside from that, I picked spells based on what would be funniest for a seemingly normal nerdy office worker to have, since that's his backstory. picturing a guy like this holed up in his office practicing Crown Of Madness for fun.

5 - How did they join their party?

Someone from the fae realm 'bought' his life and bodysnatched him, and is currently living his life while he's stuck in their place.

6 - Why are they travelling together?

He & 4 others stuck in the fae realm seemingly as punishment for being bad people have to help each other because they're literally chained to each other <:)

7 - favorite party member?

his new best friend, mikhail the hitman who he's only a little bit scared of. :) (& who belongs to @captainharlock) Valdes initially just strategically allied himself with the scariest person he's currently stuck with out of fear, but now they're besties. have some silly drawings of them

8- role in the party?

The nice/most selfless/most worried about others' wellbeing one, I guess? Which is saying incredibly little because they're all pretty bad people.

9- personal goal on their journey?

To get control of his life back, after spending years throwing it away in a self-destructive spiral. reality check via being trapped in fae purgatory torture world

10/11 - What do they believe in? Do they follow their heart, mind or instincts?

I nerf him being smart by making him incredibly swayed by his feelings, plus being very poorly emotionally regulated lol. His heart will always win in the end, and it's usually a bad thing.

12 - How much of their true self do they show to others?

Tough question! He's very evasive about his true feelings and keeps the 'real him' under many layers of pretend, but he just isn't very subtle and always telegraphs what he's really thinking if you know how to look for it. the homie whose carefree smile betrays a profound sadness and deep internal unrest etc

13 - What is one thing your character has lied about?

He didn't exactly lie about working for a crime syndicate, but he sure didn't bring it up willingly.

14 - Does your character feel powerful?

He knows he's a powerful wizard, even moreso with becoming a genasi, but power isn't something he thinks about a lot. Especially with his genasi abilities; he feels more at odds with them than really in control of them.

15 - Does your character feel important or like a nobody?

The funny thing about him is he does have such… main character shit going on (genius betrayed by shady branch of the government, got magic powers in a freak near-death incident, etc) but he feels like such a loser deep down and has such stupid, near-sighted priorities that most of that usually doesn't matter. He's not putting his intellect or freaky powers to good use. He's gotta go gamble and make his life worse. He pisses me off so bad

16 - What is love like for your character?

Seriously though, he is a huge romantic at heart, and even with non-romantic love is a very affectionate person. He's very nearly a great partner... but he's got a bad habit of sabotaging relationships when he gets too comfortable in them.

17 - What is hate like for your character?

he has a surprising mean streak, but it's usually defensive, with people he feels he's been hurt by first. (even if the opposite is true in reality.) He'll ruminate and hold a grudge forever. GET WELL SOON.

18 - Could your character become evil?

Maybe not entirely evil. He's pretty easily manipulated and has already been roped into a lot of bad lifestyle decisions because they're fun or personally fulfilling to him, but he's got a very strong moral compass (and sense of guilt) under it all. He believes in doing the right thing. Or at least the least bad thing.

19 - Does your character believe in fate?

He largely lives his life ruled by a belief in it. If he convinces himself everything bad that happens to him is part of some bigger picture, he worries about it less.

20 - Do they thrive in chaos or order?

He's a chaotic person by nature. Some structure evens him out, but too much of it becomes stifling.

21 - How do they calm themselves down when angry or nervous?

Valdes does not know how to stress manage. Like, at all. There's been an occasion where he's used the spell Sleep on himself to get himself to stop freaking out.

22 - What would they be like if nothing bad ever happened to them?

Not himself. Not much happier.

23 - Who hurt your character the most?

24 - Who loves/loved your character the most?

Somebody loved him so much that he nearly ruined both of their lives about it.

25 - Who do they love the most?

He's closest to his sister.

26 - What is a lie your character tells themselves?

27 - is there something your character would give their life for?

He's mister 'disguising chronic suicidal tendencies as selflessness and a martyr complex'. his friends have had to make him promise not to get himself killed/kill himself like twice already. He sees himself as disposible, and it's almost more of a self important thing than a self deprecating one. He's convinced there will be the perfect circumstances for him to throw himself on the blade in a way that will save everybody and be a net positive, instead of the unfortunate truth that he'd be hurting the people he cares about.

28 - how does your character feel about death?

Again, chronically suicidal. Being the way he is now as the result of a botched attempt has definitely complicated his feelings on it, though.

29 - What do you wish for them right now?

SIGH. I JUST DON'T KNOW.

30 - What would a happily ever after be for your character?

That's a secret :). I will say though I've gotten pretty attached to the idea of him getting into teaching when/if he gets his head on straight.

[sunlightfeeling]

can my suggested posts chill?!?

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you were my boyfriend… and you were my girlfriend…

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

────୨ৎ────

Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[jmliebert]

☆ astarion x shy!virgin ☆

oh, this one I adore...

think of Astarion at the beginning of your journey. he's restless, looking for someone he could effortlessly manipulate—someone who could be of use to him

some silly little creature like yourself, delightfully naive, shy, with cheeks that turn crimson every time he says something even slightly wicked

one of the first nights, Astarion was feeling so weak and sooo thirsty...he simply had to taste you. he needed to sink his fangs into your lovely skin, but you caught him and his body froze for a second shit

yet, instead of killing him (or at least trying to), you gave him a hesitant permission to drink from you. as he knelt before you, sinking his fangs into your delicious neck, he realised for a sweet, little moment that you were perfect—so good for him, your body beneath his, at his utter mercy

it did things to him, things he didn't yet understand

from that moment, Astarion's gaze was firmly fixed on you. he began to test the waters, offering playful flirtations, and your responses were utterly endearing...you were shy, deliciously shy, but it was clear you wanted him. everyone desired him, naturally, and you were no exception

or maybe you were?

as the two of you conversed more and more, he found himself increasingly drawn to you, though he wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself. he took pleasure in how effortlessly he could provoke you, especially when your eyes darted away under the intensity of his lustful gaze

it was clear you hadn't had much experience, so he took his time with you, careful not to scare you, as he needed to keep you close

or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself—an excuse, really. the truth was he truly enjoyed the slowness of it all

he gave you small but very deliberate touches, soft smiles, sweet words. oh god, he was really good with his words

Astarion felt a thrill when you were dancing around each other like this, clearly desiring one another, yet hesitating to act on those desires

it felt incredibly liberating to take his time with you, moving slowly. it felt so different from the hellish existence he once knew, of fucking senselessly

one night, when you were particularly lovely, nestled in his arms and slightly tipsy from wine, you told him you were a virgin

"a virgin, you say?"

well, as it was said before, it wasn't hard to tell you lacked experience, but Astarion surely didn't expect you to have none at all

if he didn’t already have such a strong feelings for you, he might have laughed. instead, he found your innocence endearing and oddly hot?

questions filled his mind: how did you manage it, why had you remained untouched, what was it like? and pondering these questions like that made him unexpectedly melancholic

mindfull even

so his touches were gentle, his kisses soft and reassuring. you were holding your hands a lot—an experience as new for you as it was for him

truthfully, it seemed that you both were discovering your sexuality together for the first time

Astarion would find his feelings for you deepening, and though it was complicated, and fucking scary, he couldn’t imagine being without you, although it might seem somewhat pathetic it was the truth

and he wanted to keep you safe, as you kept him

when the moment felt right—ideally after Cazador—his longing for you would be undeniable, and his neediness would be more apparent than ever

he would press his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss...then moving to your neck...then down to your collarbone, exploring every inch of your lovely skin

Astarion would took his time, making sure you felt every sensation, every touch, every kiss, every hooded look

he genuinely wanted to make this feel just... right, for both of you

his fingers would work wonders, his voice husky with desire

"so perfect. do you feel good, darling? tell me, does this feel good?"

he was very attentive to communication, eager to hear that you were enjoying every moment

his fingers would found your core, sliding in and out with a rhythm that made you go completely feral

after, what felt like a lifetime, he would slowly push the tip of his cock into your wet insides, stretching you gently

"Gods, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with lust

and then more of the same questions would occur; "do you like this? does it feel good?"

and then; "you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?

oh my

his hips would move with a skilful rhythm, each thrust precise and perfectly timed. and as you reached the peak of your pleasure, he would bite your neck so beautifully displayed by you, his fangs sinking into your willing body

Astarion had fantasised about this moment for so long you see—being inside you while drinking your warm, delicious blood. it was undeniably erotic and felt indescribably amazing

after a few more of his tender thrusts, accompanied by sweet words and eager hands, your climax would overwhelm you, making you see star

as you clenched so deliciously around him, he felt an overwhelming urge to quicken his movements. he yearned to thrust harder, but he held back, mindful of it being your first time

yet! as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer and encouraging him to move harder, he found it impossible to resist. your touch spurred him on, making him lose himself a little in the overwhelming pleasure and that's exactly what you wanted

his rapid thrusts, the feel of your warm blood flowing in his body and your tight wetness around him made his own release inevitable

he came with a deep groan, his eyes shut tight, his cock throbbing inside you

it felt so good he was literally trembling

despite his attempts to hide it, he was clearly touched by its intensity of it all. he held you tightly, wrapping you in an affectionate and soothing hug and for once he didn't utter a single word, there were no need to

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about astarion ♡here♡

also! my halsin x shy!virgin headcanons are right here...

[writingmeraki]

hurt hearts — k.mg drabble.

❝ in which you learn mingyu has a big heart ( and chest—) and he's terribly hurt while you might just beat the shit out of him.

( or mingyu's heart was already yours before you even knew it )

pairing : secret!agent mingyu x secret!agent reader, acquaintances stage. genre : fluff, angsty. warnings : mentions of injuries, treating wounds ( inaccurate forgive me🙏) mingyu ( he's a warning ).

a/n : the double update as promised hehe also the pic is not even related to the drabble but I just had to use it yk?? thank you to @etherealyoungk for feeding my delusions. also this got angsty quite quick 😭 ???( might do a summer fic with this mingyu hehehe ) pls I was also like naurr why is it so sad suddenly but eh it's fine. take this as some sort of teaser for the full secret agent mingyu fic I guess! and yes I will never get fed up of writing these two <3 let me know what you think of this mwah 💌

word count : 2.7k

“Are you fucking stupid?!?”

Silence enveloped the room as you asked in a voice laced with agitation.

It was all whispers of panic and chaos while you took in the scene in front of you, quiet and in your thoughts, but the more you thought of it, the more you got enraged.

“Do you even realise what could have happened?"

It seemed as though the wound on his chest was glaring at you as you spoke, unable to look away from it as it continued to bleed. You winced, frowning more as you shook your head.

Mingyu, on the other hand, like the true annoyance he was, blinked in surprise as he heard you cuss. It was rare you did, it was rare you talked actually, choosing to only answer in small replies.

Or maybe you just hated him because he swears he’s seen you not only talk but also laugh and giggle with Vernon and Chan, even Seungcheol!

He didn’t want to admit it before but now he can, he absolutely disliked the fact that you were more nonchalant to him than any other person. Was he the problem?

No, no negative thoughts right now. Perhaps you were just shy around him.

Right because a shy person would definitely be glaring at him with all the rage enough to just burn him with a gaze.

Who was he trying to convince? You hated him and for all he knew, he was just a nuisance in your life.

“Where’s Wonwoo?! Is Dr.Jeon not there?” You sat him down on the lounge chair in the agency building. It was supposed to mimic how an actual office building would be, hence they even did the extra and added the typical reception desk and waiting area at the ground floor.

Wonwoo? Since when were you on a first name basis with Wonwoo?

He frowned at that, he didn't want to admit it but it annoyed him just a little. Though. He did have other bigger problems right now.

Like the gash on his upper chest that was bleeding. But it seemed the adrenaline had dimmed down the pain. It felt more numb if anything.

“He-he left. I mean his shift is over there's no one—”

“How the fuck is there no other doctor on duty?! In a fucking place like this you'd expect at least one how—”

You pinched your nose and took a deep breath. You were on the verge of possibly killing someone.

Mingyu was bleeding and you needed to think.

“Seungkwan. Get me the first aid kit. Chan, go get some water. And you-”

You looked back at Mingyu in question,

“Can you walk?”

Instead of answering, he nodded curtly, not really wanting to provoke you than he already had. He knew when and where to speak up when he should. At least sometimes he did.

“Great, let's go to my room.”

[ A few moments later ]

Your office space was very…you. It was like a reflection of what he thinks you are.

Your artefacts, some polaroids with people in few and more so sceneries. It resembled a lot of you but also not enough to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to know more.

He sat down on the sofa, a light pink coloured one, one that stood out in the monochrome room. But it was nice. It was pretty.

He also thinks you look pretty, even though you were tense, eyebrows scrunched as you cut the bandage tape precisely.

You look pretty all the time though.

“I'll need you to remove your shirt.”

Mingyu would love to hear so much from you, and wanted to hear you say so many things for him. This was one of them for sure, but definitely not in the circumstances he wishes.

“I-what? ” He chokes up, immediately sitting up from his leaned back position, one you forced him into when he came there.

You put down the bandage after you finished, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, now crossing your arms.

“How else do you want me to treat your wound?”

“You're-you’ll be treating it?”

“Does it look like there's anyone else right now who can? If you're scared, just trust me, I uh- I have experience from treating my own and others as well.”

You said it firmly because you realised the unsurety in his voice might be right. He didn't know that you knew basic first aid and actually more, it was a requirement for most agents but perhaps it was different here.

Mingyu did trust you. That wasn't what he doubted. He doubted himself, whether he'd be able to handle you touching him in any way. He's terrified he might pass out.

“Okay, now I'll need you to actually remove your shirt, I'll help if you-”

“NO!-uh no I'll do it myself.”

He immediately raised his hands and began unbuttoning, as the shirt got more loose, you focused on how the wound was.

It was a slice, not a stab luckily, so it wouldn't have caused as much damage as a stab would. But it still was damage that hurt.

He hissed in pain as his shirt moved away from his hurt chest, the wound being open to the air.

Slowly, he removed his other arm and finally got his blood soaked shirt out. He questioned where to put it without saying anything as he looked around but you just grabbed it and tossed it in the dustbin.

It was one of his favourites.

Seeing the slight pout on his face, you rolled your eyes because of course, Mingyu would find that to be an issue and not the fact that he was bleeding out.

“I'll get you another one.”

That made him look up at you, to which his eyes widened,

“Uh no I-”

“Shut up.”

You finished preparing the cotton to clean up his wound first, you turned to face him and for a brief moment you paused.

You didn't expect what was in front of you. Mingyu being shirtless was expected of course, but his toned torso and wait…were those abs??

You cleared your throat when you realised you might have been staring a little too long.

It wasn't like you weren't used to seeing people with muscular bodies or so. It was natural in your field for people to be fit.

But Mingyu. Holy shit, he looked like someone personally took their time on him.

“Uhm, okay so I'll just clean up your wound first and then disinfect it, then just bandage it up alright?”

Your voice sounded a lot less angry than before. Actually it sounded more timid if anything. It made Mingyu both shocked and curious as to why suddenly you'd seem so…nervous?

You moved to sit beside him, trying your best to not let your eyes waver more than they already have.

Unfortunately for you, fortunate for Mingyu, your eyes did wander and in fact lingered a little too long on his exposed chest. Along with his torso.

And he noticed.

And he realised.

Gulping slightly, no ordinary person would know but Mingyu did and the glint in his eyes shifted to something more confident, you raised your hand and gently began to clean the open wound.

It seemed it was not as deep as you initially thought.

Holy shit, I'm touching his chest.

You're not a teenager for goodness sake pull yourself together?!???

But his chest is buff and so- fuck. Fucking hell.

Your internal thoughts were in conflict as you cleaned up his wound, not even realising you were going over a place that was already cleaned.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed yours and you were startled out of your conflict.

“You already cleaned it enough,” Mingyu had to bite his tongue to not slip out any sort of pet names but that didn't stop the small smirk on his face from seeing your somewhat composed demeanour be a little thrown off by his sudden nakedness.

His hand holding yours made it seem like you were burning. It burned when he touched you.

And how would one react to a burn?

They'd move far away from the cause of said burn.

You pulled your hand out and stood up quickly,

“Right, right, I was just uh- making sure. I wouldn't want any infections or anything like that.”

You turned back to your first aid kit, turning your back on him and slightly shook your head.

Pull yourself together. He's just…a guy.

But was he really just any guy?

He was Kim Mingyu. The guy who caused you more stress than anything. The same guy who also would bother you a lot during missions.

And yet he was also the same guy who saved you today. You were ambushed during the mission and outnumbered.

It was you against six. You could handle them practically speaking but you also would have your attention split more than it should be. Meaning you wouldn't be prepared for a seventh guy from out of nowhere.

But Mingyu happened to be able to come there. On time too. As though he was keeping up with you despite being in another room with another problem.

What you didn't know was how quickly he made it out of that room when he heard you were ambushed. How he felt his heart drop when he heard you yelp in pain when you got attacked out of nowhere. How he couldn't actually care about the rest of the mission after that and what he cared about most was getting you out of there. Safely.

He knew perhaps it was risky to have jumped in front of you when you were going to get stabbed but darn it be him than you anytime.

Luckily you were also quick enough to make sure he wasn't actually stabbed and pushed him aside as you gained the extra hand and were able to take down the ambusher.

You were not at all happy with what he did. In fact, going as far as to not talking to him till you reached the agency because you were boiling in rage.

“You know you shouldn't have jumped in between like that.”

You said as you soaked up the cotton in hydrogen peroxide.

“But you would have gotten terribly hurt.” Mingyu frowned at your words. The doubt from before raising as to why you'd been so upset with him when he actually saved you.

“Yes but that would be my fault. I would get hurt in my own fight. I'd bleed and patch it up myself. There would be no one else hurt but me.”

You turned to face him, holding the cotton in your hand as you walked up again towards him.

“Not you who got hurt because of me. I wouldn't feel the…the guilt. You got hurt. Because of me.”

His eyes softened upon hearing your words. It made sense now. You were feeling guilty and that's why you'd been so upset. He thinks he'd feel the same too if you were to get hurt somehow because of him.

“I'm…I'm sorry I didn't think about that but I couldn't just sit back and let you get hurt knowingly, I just, I couldn't do that. Not to you.”

You sat back down to your original position, now having completely different emotions than before. But you weren't sure which you preferred because the current ones were only making you feel more worse if anything.

Lightly pressing the soaked cotton on his open wound, he hissed in pain as the alcohol came in contact with his open skin.

“It's fine Mingyu, you don't need to explain, I get it. I'd also do it. Thank you for…saving me.”

You don't need to thank me.I'd only do it for you though. I'd risk anything for you.

But instead he could only gasp in pain as you continued to clean,

“Yeah, what a time to say thank you when you're causing me only more pain.”

You rolled your eyes at his words but felt a little bad for him due to knowing the pain of hydrogen peroxide to an exposed wound.

“Oh, shut up now you big baby, this will help you.”

“Baby? Are we moving on to pet names now?”

“What??? I didn't- I didn't mean it that-”

“Oh I know, I was just messing with you.”

“You-!”

After a bit more cleaning and more arguing, you got up and grabbed the bandage.

“Now how will I wrap this?”

You questioned as you held it. He also got up, feeling a bit better but you still warned him not to move to much as the wound was not yet wrapped.

Then you got the idea of how to wrap it.

“Listen, what I'll do is wrap this around your entire chest, like the entire upper part alright? I don't have anything else besides this right now but it'll help temporarily. Tomorrow you go and get it properly dressed from Wonwoo.”

He nodded obediently and it was slightly cute as to how he almost resembled a little puppy quietly following instructions. Though you could see him getting tired from the way his eyes seemed to drift.

“I'll do it as quick as I can.”

And quickly you did, already wrapping over the wound enough,to the point Mimgyu had to tell you he felt like he couldn't breath and that's when you stopped.

No sign of blood.

You noted as you taped over the left over end part on the right side of his chest.

For this part, you were very close to him, to ensure the best precision. He was just glad it wasn't the left side of his chest or else you'd definitely feel how fast his heartbeat was going from the moment you got closer.

Mingyu likes you. Like really really likes you. You who stayed behind and treated his wound. You who felt guilty for him getting hurt for something he chose to do.

He thinks in this situation no matter how hurt he got, he was now sure about you. More specifically liking you.

“There. All done.” You patted down his chest lightly as you moved a little behind but before you could properly go, his hand out of nowhere held your own and pulled you closer.

It was unexpected so you couldn't help but stumble a bit as your eyes widened.

You were very close. Too close in fact you were sure if you moved a bit more closer, you might just end up kissing him.

It didn't seem like too bad of an idea.

“Mingyu, what are you doing?”

“I just, I want to tell you thank you for helping me out right now, properly.”

He smiled softly at you, his canines slightly peaking from beneath his closed lip smile and you swore you felt your body flush.

He looked…as handsome as he always did. Brown eyes shimmering in all sorts of emotions, lips a shade of pretty pink.

But you couldn't. You couldn't dare. Not now.

Clearing your throat, you pulled back and stepped behind, your body suddenly feeling a weird coldness from the sudden distance.

On the other hand, Minghu seemed confused. Did he push too far? He didn't mean to, he didn't want to rush anything, he just wanted to properly say thank you like actually say it and not do anything-

“It's alright. I hope you get better soon. I'll call Seungkwan to get you a shirt. You can get changed here. I'll just leave now, it's late anyways and you should to.”

“Have a goodnight agent Kim.”

Agent…Kim? Not even Mingyu?

Before he could even question your change of behaviour, you'd already moved out of your room as if you life depended on it.

As if you'd rather be anywhere but there.

As if you suddenly remembered your dislike towards him.

“Wait! Y/—”

Sighing out, in likely relief as you got out of your office, you made your way down to the lobby.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt, if not even more at how you left Mingyu just because you were a coward. Just because you didn't want to admit how he made you feel.

You couldn't do that to him. Not at this moment.

And perhaps you couldn't do that to him ever, for Kim Mingyu deserves the best.

And that was surely not you.

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[hoshinasblade]

i would like to apologize in advance because this sounds so rushed lol i just want to take a break from the angst. if u have any nsfw prompts, please send me an ask, i would like to write some more. THIS IS NSFW, MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

sex is good.

but sex with hoshina soshiro is better.

it is saturday - on second thought, it may be sunday already, you can't really tell because it might well be past midnight. the entire day was spent replenishing the contents of your fridge - a grocery date has been the routine since you started dating soshiro. the dinner was a hearty meal that you enjoyed just as much as making it with your boyfriend - soshiro is meticulous and thorough in his cooking, and sometimes you even hesitate to offer help in fear that you only be a liability in the kitchen but tonight he trusted you with cutting some onions and peeling the potatoes.

the plan was to watch a movie you chose, cuddle and fall asleep in each other's arms. but your first mistake was that you did not research what the flick is about - it was the first thing to appear when you googled "what to watch with significant other" - so you were surprised that it was not even at the twenty-minute mark, and there is already a steamy scene.

"why's the guy eating her face?" soshiro wrinkled his nose before hurling criticism at the movie's leading man. he was licking the woman's chin now, and you cringed a little.

"don't be mean, soshiro. you kiss exactly like that," you responded but only to tease. more than anyone, you know that the truth is the opposite, but you are not about to tell him that. hoshina soshiro is already cocky as it is, you do not want to pile "excellent kisser" into the list of his achievements. unfortunately for you, one of the man's fatal flaws is his predictability, and so you waited for the dramatic reaction to come.

soshiro stole the remote control from your hands. you were comfortably leaning on him while watching, but now he turned to face you. "kiss me then", he dared, the challenge sounding more like a command. the room was dark, save for the light from the television. "come on, don't i get to defend myself? where's justice in that?" he narrowed his eyes at you, a taunting smirk forming on his lips. you're not surprised - an experienced high-ranking officer plays to his strengths, and hoshina soshiro does so well in provoking you to action.

as if on cue, the woman in the film moaned, but you and soshiro weren't even looking. he is focused on you this time, waiting for you to bite his dare. you were trying your best to steel your expression, but amusement was apparent in your eyes when you caught soshiro staring at your lips.

the flesh is weak indeed.

you felt soshiro grin into the kiss, happy with his victory - you initiated first contact, your lips touching his gently, your breath mingling with his. "can we turn that shit off please?" soshiro suggested, his left hand connecting with your cheek, his palm spanning up to your jaw, his thumb at the corner of your lips. you parted your mouth and licked the finger while making eye contact with him. "fuck it", soshiro cursed before grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you into him.

it was not hard to bring you under him, and this is hardly your first time being intimate with the vice-captain of the anti-kaiju defense force's third division. it is embarrassing to already be this breathless when soshiro has barely done anything to you. his weight partially on you, he is impossibly close as his lips find the soft spot near your throat. you closed your eyes tightly, feeling soshiro drag his kisses lower and lower until he had to lift the collar of the blouse you were wearing so he could reach the skin the fabric was covering.

soshiro groaned when he discovered you were not wearing a bra underneath. he took off your clothes in one smooth motion and you did not resist. he nibbled at your collarbone, his breath fanning against your already heated skin. the temperature rise is apparent, and you feel burning up. "do you still think i kiss like that?" soshiro asked you, but the question almost did not register with you. your laugh turned into a sharp gasp as he trailed kisses down the valley of your chest, his deft fingers now working on the sensitive buds of your breasts.

"oh my fucking god", you swore. you are sure soshiro could hear your heartbeat now, and your pants got heavier as he held both of your wrists down the mattress over your head, limiting your movements.

"stay still for me," he requested, continuing his descent down your body. "baby."

soshiro had always preferred calling you by your name but he is also very generous with the pet names when he wants to get something from you. so far, his trick has never failed him.

"s-skip", your voice was husky from the tension. "skip that, i want you now." it's not that you are bored by foreplay, it's just that you are too wet now and if your boyfriend spends one more minute tracing patterns on your skin, you're afraid you would throw a fit.

impatience looks good on you, he was tempted to say. soshiro finally relented and released your arms from his grip. he kneeled in front of you, parting your legs. enough to make you squirm, soshiro seemed to be enjoying this game - he has a particular habit of taking his time with you, but as he takes off your pants and underwear, you realized he is just being torturously slow right now. a rough groan escaped you when you felt him bite you lightly; you clamped a hand over your mouth in reflex.

"you drive me crazy", soshiro said as he snatched your hand away, putting it at your sides. he gives you one final searing kiss before entering you. the world melted away.

your brain could not keep up with soshiro's actions anymore. one second you are looking up at him, and the next he had flipped your positions, your body hovering his now. your thighs on both sides of his torso, you relied on his hands on your hips, guiding you through the motions. up and down, up and down, you did not want it to end, and when you paused to catch your breath, soshiro had taken it upon himself to fuck up into you. "i'm close," you warned him when he picked up the pace.

that didn't take long, he thought. this is not your first rodeo -pun intended - so he knows you are more likely to cum faster when you are on top of him. ever the gentleman, he held your waist, lifting you a little, pushing inside you at a speed and angle that felt so good your body seized.

"soshiro, f-" he didn't cease moving, his mouth latching on yours, silencing your loud moans. tremors consumed you, a hot flush crawling from your belly outwards until your toes were curling with pleasure.

chasing his own orgasm now, soshiro did not have the self-control to stop the way his hips were moving, one of his hands left your hip to settle on your tits. you arched your back at the sensation. "say you want me to come inside you", he told you.

"i need you to come inside me." soshiro did not need to ask twice. scared that your knees would give out, you leaned into him and stared at his eyes.

desire overwhelmed soshiro and you watched him combust.

"you okay?" soshiro was the one to break the silence, your body slumped over his, unmoving. "did i hurt you?" the two of you are still trying to recover, and it warms you to know that even in this situation, his first thought is to find out if you are well. eyes still shut, you did not respond.

soshiro smacked you in the ass.

"you literally just fucked my brains out." and you're literally still inside me. you aimed to sound more forceful, but exhausted from your earlier activities, it came out weak. your head on his chest, you heard the rumble of his chuckle.

"oh god", he replied. "i gotta let you choose the movie next time too", he said, his hand on your hair.

you sighed quietly, sleep threatening to claim you. in the background, you can still hear the faint dialogue of the movie you and your boyfriend were supposed to watch.

[sluttyten]

Siren's Call

Kinktober Day 4 | Renjun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: y/n is a siren, fingering, dry humping, spanking, stuck in a wall, actually a lot softer than I originally meant it to be because I'm just soft for (and missing) Renjun

length: 5366

You’d always thought of yourself as an independent, self-reliant woman. You don’t need a man for shit.

Being a siren helped with that. Something about the ability to sing men to their deaths at sea just gave you a powerful, feminist perspective on the world. Your voice has power even when it sometimes feels like you’re just being reduced to the small voice of a woman in a man’s world.

Your mother, grandmother, aunts, and older sisters all helped you in the belief that you could do anything that you set your mind to.

Which, to be fair, was true most of the time.

Yet right now all of your determination was wasted.

You were stuck.

And your only hope of being free was a man.

A morning swim in the ocean was a typical part of your morning routine – it gave you the chance to stretch out your fins, to get the daily saltwater intake that you require as a siren. Usually you would follow the swim with nude sunbathing on the rocks behind your family’s home, sometimes accompanied by other women in your family, but usually alone. 

Today you’d swum farther than you typically would, around the bend of the island, closer to the resort. Tourists were always there, covering the beaches and filling the water with so much sound as they jetskied, boated, paddle boarded, and played their loud music. Generally, you avoided the resort when you were in your siren form, but this morning you had a reason to swim a little closer.

You were hoping to catch a glimpse of a man.

Yesterday you’d been at work, wiping down tables in the resort’s lounge, when you spotted the prettiest man you’d ever seen. He was stretched out in a lounge chair, shaded by an umbrella. He’d been laughing at something his group of friends said, a vibrant drink topped with a pineapple slice and a little umbrella in hand, and a pair of yellow swim trunks sat low on his hips, his chest exposed between the open flaps of his palm tree patterned shirt. 

He’d been so lovely. All fine features and a pretty voice, a sweet smile when you’d volunteered to be the one to run fresh drinks out to him and his friends. You’d overheard them talking about a morning paddleboard session to watch the sunrise.

“Aren’t you scared?” One of the guys asked.

“Why would we be scared?” The pretty boy you’re watching responded. 

The scared one sits his drink down. “Didn’t you hear about the local legends? There’s more than just sharks in those waters that would take a bite out of us. They say there are sirens swimming in these waters, that they drown men and eat us. Remember when we were looking into coming here and there were all those reports of unexplained deaths and missing persons cases?”

Okay, so sometimes your family overindulges, but the locals are wise enough to steer clear of your hunting grounds. The money-hungry developers however couldn’t care less about the fact that they built an all-inclusive resort like a ready made all-you-can-eat buffet for you all.

The pretty one scoffed at his superstitious friend. “That’s because people are drunk and stupid. They drown, they don’t keep away from sharks, or they just have accidents.” His gaze flicks up to you as you offer him his new drink. “Thank you. Can I ask you something?”

You’d startled, but nodded.

“Have you ever seen a siren? Are they dangerous?” The way he asks the question tells you that he doesn’t believe.

You smile in return, your lips stretching wide over your teeth as you tell him, “Oh, yes, I’ve seen sirens. But they’re not dangerous, not really. Only if you provoke them. They’re more likely to seduce you than eat you.”

One of his other friends addresses you, and you reluctantly pull your gaze away from where his pretty eyes are watching your lips. His friend says, “I heard a rumor that if you capture a siren, she grants you a wish.”

The pretty one snorts with laughter. “You’re thinking of a genie.”

“Renjun, I’m serious! I swear, the local girl at the bar last night said that her uncle captured a siren once.” The other man sweeps his black fringe across his forehead, his eyes wide with sincerity. “She said the siren granted her uncle one wish, and that wish was to have sex with her. She claims her cousins are part-siren.”

The pretty one, whose name must be Renjun, rolls his eyes. “Sure. And what do you think?” He’s looking at you again.

You shrug. “Maybe if a siren is feeling generous or particularly inclined she might grant a wish. Guess you’ll have to see what you can find out there.” You wave a hand out towards the crystalline waters of the sea down the beach. 

Renjun smiles and nods. 

“I’m not going out there.” The scared friend states, folding his arms across his chest. “Not at that time. Dawn is when sharks are out hunting, so sirens probably are too.” 

Which isn’t true at all. Sirens hunt at any time of day, anywhere. Including in broad daylight at the resort lounge.

Your uniform is a short, tight dress, and with your natural-born siren powers of seduction, it’s quite easy for you to work your magic. Pretty boy Renjun is wrapped around your finger. He sits aside his drink shortly after you walk away, and you can feel his gaze following you around as you deliver other drinks to other resort guests, as you move around cleaning off tables, as you dance along with one of your coworkers to a song playing. He watches the sway of your hips and the short hem of your dress.

You’re not surprised when he approaches you a little while later, when he starts flirting, when he lets you bring him around behind the storage area for the lounge chairs and umbrellas, when Renjun presses you up against the flaking paint and kisses you.

You’re the one that grabs his hand, encouraging him to slip it beneath your dress. He kisses across your collarbones, strokes your pussy over your panties. It’s only when you drop your hand to his ass and start groping a little that Renjun takes a little more liberty – he pulls your panties to the side, finally actually touching you as he grinds against your hip, his lips returning to yours for a feverish kiss.

Renjun cums with your sucking on his tongue, his cock twitching inside his pants against your hip, and just that simple fact that you made him cum without you really touching him takes you to your climax. His fingers are still pumping inside you, his thumb dancing against your clit, and when you drop your head back against the wall behind you, Renjun kisses down your throat, down to the curve of your breasts beneath your dress. 

You would’ve done more, gone further, happily let him take you back to his resort room, but you were still technically on the clock. And just as Renjun’s tugging the neckline of your dress down so he can get to your tits, you hear your manager calling your name.

“Oh, shit, stop.” You push at Renjun’s shoulders, and he backs off. His hands fall away from your body, his swollen lips pouting as he watches you pull your dress back into proper order. “I’m so sorry, but I have to get back to work.”

“Can I see you again?” Renjun asks, reaching for your hand as you step around him. “Can we pick up where we left off?”

You’d like that. You really, really would. Even if Renjun doesn’t believe in who you are – the way he’d scoffed at the idea of sirens being real had stung a little, you can’t deny that – you’re incredibly attracted to him. 

“I’ll be here again tomorrow afternoon.” But you intend to see him again before then. “See you around.” 

So that’s why the following morning you’re on the hunt. Not for a meal – you ate a normal human breakfast before you walked out the back door – but for a bit of fun at the expense of Renjun and his friends.

The sun is breaking over the horizon when you spot them. Four boards sit high above you in the water. One of them boldly dangles his legs and arms in the water, making him a perfect target for a shark to mistake him as prey. You swim up towards them, veering a bit behind them so when you surface they won’t be likely to see you. 

The water is so still this morning, making the sunrise stretch across the surface like a painting. 

The voices of the men carry back across the water to you, and you hear pretty Renjun talking about how someone named Jisung should have come out here. “He was so scared of sirens, but all there are are little fish nibbling my toes.”

One of the others laughs loudly. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but you just want to scare them a little bit. You sink below the surface again, and you quickly swim towards them. You let the water ripple above you enough that they notice, that they’re somewhat on alert, but you’re already diving down out of their sight in the dark water. You hear the murmur of their voices, Renjun’s laughter at the sound of alarm in one of the other guy’s voices. 

He’s still so doubting, so quick to tease his friends about believing in sirens. 

You rise up quickly, cutting so close by that you let your tail brush Renjun’s foot.

Even underwater, you hear the yelp and the swearing he lets out, and you look back up as you dive back down. His paddleboard nearly capsizes, his wobbling form just visible through the surface. He stabilizes himself on the board, his voice loud but you can’t make out his words.

Shortly after that, the sun is risen, and they begin paddling back toward shore. You follow at a distance, trying to stay deep enough that you remain out of sight as the waters lighten around you. But you swim away before they reach shore, heading back around the bend of the island towards your favorite rocky outcropping about halfway between the resort and your family’s home.

You pull yourself out of the water, hauling yourself up the rocks, and you stretch out on your back, letting the rising sun warm your bare skin and your scales. It takes time for your tail to separate into legs and for your scales to transform into human skin, and you just lie here to wait. You listen to the crashing of the waves against the rocks, the whistling of the breeze as it blows through the trees and through the cracks in the cliff that cuts down to this stretch of sheared away rock. 

You shiver when your legs begin to split. It’s an itch, like when a cut is healing into a scab, and just like that, you long to itch it away, to dig your fingers into the growing crack between your legs, but if you rush it then your legs come out looking a little weird, as if you’d pulled a caterpillar out of its cocoon before it has finished its transformation into a butterfly. 

Your fin disintegrates into sea mist, and you stretch your toes, roll your ankles. The transformation is almost done; you can feel your leg muscles, can shift your legs apart although you still feel the layer of scales tight against your skin. Just a little longer and you’ll rub your legs against the rocky surface like a snake shedding its skin.

“That’s incredible,” a voice says from several feet away.

You jolt upright, eyes flying open, heart racing as you look to see who has spoken.

Renjun stands there in those bright yellow swim trunks. You can see his paddle board beached on the rocks, the paddle jammed down into a crack in the rocky surface. His eyes are on your feet, on your developing legs, running along the iridescent shimmer until he reaches the point where your scales become human skin, and still his gaze roves higher to your breasts, your hair loose around your shoulders. 

“I followed you here,” he says, taking a tentative step closer. “You startled me when you brushed against my foot, I’ll admit. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked down and saw your tail, your fin, and then I caught a glimpse of your face when you looked back up.” Renjun gestures back out at the water, saying, “I had to see for myself whether you just dressed up to scare my friends and I after you heard what we were saying yesterday, or if this was real. No one’s going to believe me that you’re real. I barely believe it.”

You tilt your chin, holding his gaze. “I told you I’ve seen sirens. You didn’t believe me then?”

Renjun smiles. “I’m more of a seeing is believing type of man. I need to experience things firsthand. I don’t buy into rumors until I’ve tested things myself.” He takes another small step forward. “So, is it true that if I capture you, you have to grant me a wish?”

Now you recognize that gleam in his eye – a man after a prize. 

The last of your scales fall away as you bolt to your feet. Your legs tingle a little as the blood really gets flowing, but you’re running across the rocks, aiming for the cliff face, for the narrow passageway you know that cuts through the rock and will drop you right back to the sea, far away.

“Hey!” Renjun shouts behind you, and you dare a glance backwards. He’s running after you, and you put on a burst of speed.

It’s been a while since you used the shortcut. Years, actually. The last time was when you were playing hide and seek with your cousins when you were, like, thirteen. They were halfies (yes, one was almost definitely the girl that Renjun’s friend had spoken to at the resort’s bar), which meant that they couldn’t transform as fully as you, so you’d run from them much like you were now because you knew that they wouldn’t have been able to follow you into the waters on the other side of this shortcut. 

All you had to do was squeeze through the window that wind erosion has made in the face of the rock entrance to the passage, and then you’d have just a dozen yards before you could slip back into the sea. 

You run a little faster, wanting to put more distance between you and Renjun, but his legs are far more awake and weight-bearing than your newly redeveloped legs are. He’s gaining on you, and you know that your only hope is to slip through the shortcut before him.

And there it is. 

The hole in the cliff opens up before you, at about waist-height, looking just as tight as you remember.

“Hey! Listen, I–!” Renjun is shouting, his voice just feet behind you.

You dive for the hole into the passageway, your hands grasping at the rocky edges, you pull yourself through, and you can see the other end of the passage, where it drops off again into the ocean.

But then something isn’t right.

One thing you’ve forgotten in your quick escape attempt is a simple fact. The last time you used this path you were years younger. You were thirteen, on the cusp of puberty, and your body hadn’t developed as much as it has in the years since. When you were thirteen you didn’t have the hips of a woman, but now you do. And your hips are too big to fit through the fucking window worn into the cliff.

You curse loudly, trying to back out, thinking maybe you’ll still be able to slip away before Renjun captures you. No, it’s not a law of nature that a siren has to grant a wish to her captor, but it’s also just not historically been a great thing for a siren to find herself caught.

You wiggle your hips in an attempt to back up, but it’s no use. The edge of the passage’s entrance digs into your hips and belly. A bit of it crumbles away, but not enough for you to be able to slip backwards.

And then you feel a hand. You hear Renjun’s voice, “Oh, shit, are you stuck?”

You squirm, attempting to kick backwards.

You make contact with something, and Renjun swears. 

“Go away! Leave me alone!” You kick around, and you just scream when you feel his hands attempting to stop your flailing legs. 

“Please!” Renjun cries out from the other side of the wall. “Stop kicking! Stop screaming!”

You wail a little louder, putting a bit of your power into the sound.

“Hush, now!” Renjun shouts, and he slaps his hand lightly against your thigh. “I’m trying to help you! Stop fighting me!”

You can’t see anything behind you due to the wall, and that’s stressing you out. Squirm and wiggle as much as you might, but it does no good. More of the edge of the hole keeps crumbling away, but not enough for you to be able to free yourself one way or the other.

“Can you just hold still?!” Renjun shouts loud enough to be heard over your cries. You feel his hands rest on your waist. “I’m going to help you! I was joking when I said I was going to capture you. God, will you please hold still, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

You do fall still, mostly because all the moving around is really beginning to hurt your hips and waist and belly. 

“How are you going to help?” You ask.

Now that you’re done struggling and crying, it’s quiet enough that you can actually hear Renjun sigh on the other side of the wall. You imagine him standing there, hands on his hips, a little furrow between his eyebrows as he stares at the back half of you protruding from this hole in the cliff. 

“I’m not really sure,” Renjun admits after a moment. “I could push maybe? Or should I try to pull you back out?”

You groan, trying hard not to feel embarrassed the longer you’re stuck like this. You keep imagining what you must look like right now from his point of view, and all you can visualize is your ass and pussy hanging out in the open, in full broad daylight. Just last night he’d had you pressed up against the storage area wall, making out with you and fingering you, cumming in his pants because he wanted you so much, and now he’s looking at you from a totally unflattering angle.

“Why don’t I try pulling you back out this way?” Renjun suggests, and you feel the suggestion of his hands on your hips, not quite touching but you’re sure his fingers are hovering just centimeters above your skin. “If you’re alright with me touching you right now?”

You nod before you remember that he can’t see you doing that. “Yes, that’s fine. Just watch where you’re touching, okay?”

His hands fit more firmly on your hips. His leg brushes yours, a foot pushes between both of yours as he braces his foot against the wall. Renjun pulls, and you yell out as the rocks dig in against your waist. He pushes you forward a little, then tries pulling you back again as if that little bit of momentum will have helped. 

It doesn’t.

Renjun mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear through the wall. Then he pushes again, braces himself against you, and pulls back. He picks up this rocking motion that has you whining at the friction of the rocky edge against your skin, but you can feel the edge giving just a little more, so you don’t complain too much.

But then you realize that while Renjun is doing this, as he’s bracing himself against the back half of you –

“God, Renjun,” you groan and shout, “are you really getting hard right now?” 

“No!” He denies even though you can feel the evidence against your ass right now.

“I’m stuck in the wall, and you’re getting hard?” You squirm around, but still it does nothing for you except to rub back against Renjun. “I bet you want to fuck me like this, don’t you? Like I’m just some warm hole that you stumbled upon.” 

Renjun’s hand comes down against your ass, a sharp sting that takes you by surprise. “Listen, I happen to like you, not just all of this.” Again, his hand caresses your ass. You try to suppress the shiver that runs through you, the arousal that begins to pool hotly in your belly. “Sure, I’d like to have sex with you, but I would kinda prefer that you weren’t stuck in a wall for it. I really liked being able to see your face last night when you came on my fingers.”

“Yeah, well, I liked seeing your face when you came from humping my hip.” You wiggle again. “Just keep pulling like you’ve been doing, I think this might work.”

Again, he mumbles something.

“What?” You ask, and when he just presses himself right back against you, his hard cock lined up against your pussy, you kick your legs, trying to get him.

“Hey!” Renjun again, spanks a hand down on your ass. “I told you to stop kicking.”

You do it again just because you can. Another slap on your ass.

By this point, there’s no denying that you’re starting to get aroused. If he keeps spanking your ass, if he keeps grinding against you, you’re bound to get a little turned on.

Again, there’s his erection rubbing just there against you, and this time you press back into it as much as you can. You just need a little friction – this time, the good kind.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Renjun asks, and he pinches your ass cheek. 

“Maybe.” Your heart races as Renjun rolls his hips forward, and then with his hands on your hips, he yanks you back against him. Again, a few pebbles of the wall crumble away from around your waist, but it’s still nowhere near enough to set you free. “What are you going to do about it if I am doing it on purpose?”

Renjun’s response is unfortunately that he steps back, leaving your ass and pussy bared to the elements once again. “You’re just being bad. And you want me to help you out of this wall? Bad girls don’t get help. They get punished.” And then his hand comes down flat against your right ass cheek.

The moan that leaves you is loud enough that it echoes around the passageway in front of you.

“Did you like that?” Renjun asks, rubbing his hand soothingly over the burning imprint of his hand. “I think you must’ve, judging by that moan. And you’re so wet.” His thumb brushes along your ass, dangerously close to your pussy. He swings his other hand flat against the left side of your ass once and then again.

You whine, squirming around, feeling the burning heat of his handprint migrating to join the pool of arousal in between your thighs. God, if he spanks you again, you’re going to start dripping.

And then he does, once more to your right side ass cheek, and then quickly followed by a little slap directly between your legs.

“Renjun!” You cry out. If the wall wasn’t supporting you, you’d have collapsed to your hands and knees. Your legs tremble, and Renjun’s fingers quickly soothe the residual tingle left by the spank to your pussy. “Renjun, I’ll be good. Don’t stop.”

Perhaps that’s a confusing message, but at the moment, you don’t care. All you can think of is how much you want him to spank you again, to feel his hands on your ass and your pussy, you want him to keep touching you, you want him to loosen the front of his swimtrunks, get his cock out and fuck you even though you’re stuck in this stupid wall. You’re so wet and hot and desperate that you just need him inside you.

But if you’re being good, like you’ve just told him you’ll be, then what reason does he have to spank you some more?

“Tell me what it is you want, my siren. Sing me a sweet song, tell me what you want me to do to you.” Renjun’s fingers stroke between your legs. You feel the warm brush of his lips over the imprint of his hand on your ass. “Should we pick up where we left off last night?”

“Yes!” You gasp. “I want you to touch me, Renjun. I need you, need you inside me.”

As if that’s all that he was waiting for, Renjun slides both hands again to your hips, and he presses forward against you, sliding his bare cock right against your pussy, then thrusts into you. 

It’s rough being stuck in this wall, getting fucked by the pretty boy that you just want to stare at. Your nails scrabble against the wall, just wanting something to hold onto as Renjun pushes you forward then pulls you back, rocking into you. He snaps a hand down against your ass again, and you jolt with a moan.

“You like that? Let me hear you, beautiful.” Renjun pinches, smacks, gropes you ass, rolling his hips forward to keep going with the push and pull. You keep moaning for him, your voice rising and echoing through the passageway. You’re sliding back and forth through the hole in the cliff face, with the rapid movements, with each time Renjun crashes into you and your combined lower halves collide with the edge of the entrance to the passageway, a little bit more of it crumbles. 

The edge gives.

Just a little. Just enough.

The next time Renjun drags you back onto his cock by your hips, you keep pushing backwards, keep your upper half sliding back through the hole until you’re free.

You and Renjun tumble backwards, still connected when you land, and Renjun rolls you beneath him.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his hands racing over you, from your scratched and aching hips to your waist, up your chest to examine your perfectly alright tits, and then he’s cupping your face between his palms, turning your face from side to side.

“I’m fine.” You push at his wrist. “Renjun, I’m fine. Let’s just….”

He sinks down over you, covering your mouth, silencing you with a kiss. 

Your hands settle on his waist, squeezing when Renjun starts moving again, smooth and steady thrusts, kissing you feverishly, like he just can’t get enough of you, like he’s drowning in the feeling of being with you. You don’t even care about the pebbles digging into your back and hips and ass. All that matters is Renjun’s body above you, his lips on yours, his cock hitting repeatedly against your G-spot, his thighs against yours, his breath mixing with yours as he breaks the kiss to pant, his gaze and yours connect and hold.

You feel a surge of your power course through you, and that’s it.

Renjun bucks forward a few more times, pressing in, trying to get deeper, and then he’s pumping his hips, burying his cock in deep as he cums.

“I’ve got you,” he sighs even as he collapses against you. He can’t even really support himself, but he slips one of his hands down between your bodies to your clit, and his hips twitch forward, grinding into you while he circles your clit, working endlessly to get you to cum for him too. 

And you’re not sure what powers Renjun possesses, but surely he must have some because your orgasm swells rapidly, bursting through you and wiping you out. 

Renjun moans your name as you cum around his cock, as you wrap your arms and legs around him. You press your cheek to his, moaning in his ear while you ride out the throes of ecstasy while  he’s still touching you, still rolling his hips forward. 

Even when Renjun’s movements slow and then cease altogether, when you’re both just lying pressed together on the rocks with the sounds of the crashing waves in the distance, you just hold him. Your hearts beat together, your breaths almost syncing.

“I hate that you’re a resort tourist,” you confess quietly after quite some time. “You’re exactly my type, you’ve just given me a great orgasm, and you already know I’m a siren. I don’t want you to leave.”

Renjun laughs, brushing a kiss to your ear. “You’re a siren, why don’t you just drag me into the ocean so I never leave you. Isn’t that part of the origin of the myths about sirens?”

“There are lots of myths about sirens. Most of them aren’t really true.” You brush your fingers through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck. 

“And the captive siren granting a wish, is that one true or false? Because I think, technically, I caught you.” Renjun lifts his head up so he can look down at you, smiling. “Do I get a wish?”

You don’t answer, instead raising your head to kiss him again. 

The distraction works for a handful of moments, but then Renjun’s moving away, peeling his body away from yours. “Can I at least tell you my wish?” He asks, “In case you’re feeling generous or particularly inclined towards granting one?”

He pulls out of you, kneeling up while straddling your legs. You raise yourself up on your elbows, just looking at him, waiting.

“Ask me to stay,” Renjun says. “That’s my wish. Just ask me to stay a little longer, to extend my trip. I’m not saying that this has to be forever because that would be pretty bold to think that after we’ve known each other for such a short time, but just a little bit longer. You’re exactly my type too, I mean, minus the siren thing – but that’s only because I’d never considered that before. It's up to you, though, it's your call. Ask me to stay,” Renjun repeats, “and I’ll stay.”

You curl your hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down so his forehead rests against yours. “Renjun, will you stay with me?”

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

But you don’t stay there, naked on the rocks together. 

He has his friends to get back to, and you have work in the afternoon, so you can’t stay there as much as you might want to. Renjun eventually climbs off of you, and he pulls his swim trunks back on, though you lie there admiring him while he does. And then you walk back down to the edge of the rocks where he’s left his paddleboard. Renjun kisses you again at the edge of the rocks, and then he paddles back around the bend to the resort.

But Renjun stays. 

You see him each day for the rest of the week, and when the week is up and his friends take the boat back to the mainland to fly home, Renjun stays. He meets your family, and he spends his days out in the water with you, swimming with you and teasing you about your tail, making love to you on a paddleboard which you capsize after things get a little too wild. You take him to a moonlit cove on the far side of the island, camp on the beach and stare at the stars.

Renjun falls in love with you, but he falls in love with your island too. 

Maybe that’s the true magic of the sirens, you think some nights when you’re curled in your bed beside him. It’s not seducing men into drowning, but seducing men away from their busy lives, tempting them into staying and falling as much in love with you as you are with him. 

a/n: I would have had this posted earlier, but I accidentally fell asleep oops. Anyway, here's siren Y/N with Renjun, like I said at the top of the post, this actually turned out a bit softer than I originally intended, but I'm in a constant state of missing Renjun hours since he's been on hiatus forever, so here we are.

Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

[corrodedbisexual]

Modern-ish Steddie AU where they meet in jail.

Steve shouldn't even be here; he got arrested for shoplifting, but it was all a misunderstanding. He was actually trying to prevent a shoplifting when he saw a couple of kids stuffing chocolate bars into their jacket pockets. They bolted, and he chased after them; unfortunately, he was still holding a bottle of (rather expensive) wine in hand as he did that, so he ended up the perceived cause of the blaring store alarm while the two shitheads escaped with zero consequences.

The store's got security cameras. So it will probably be fine, right? It will all be resolved soon enough. Steve just has to wait.

What makes him more nervous is the guy he's sharing the cell with.

Wild curly hair, tattoos all over his exposed arms and one peeking out of the collar of his shirt, the man wears orange like he was born in it. He seems to be about Steve's age, in his early 20s, but it's hard to tell. When Steve's brought in, he's lounging carelessly on his bed, trying to fold a piece of toilet paper into what looks like a crane.

The guy looks dangerous; who knows what could provoke him. Steve just settles quietly into the corner of his own bed at the opposite wall, drawing his knees up to his chin and trying to keep his head down. Literally.

Except every time he glances up, the man's rather intense stare is on him. Five minutes into this awkward silence, Steve can't handle it anymore, so he clears his throat and speaks up, still choosing to look at the floor.

"So, uh... what are you in for?"

He cringes immediately. It's probably the worst possible question to ask, and one most likely to get you a punch in the face. But when Steve looks up, he finds his cellmate fully grinning, now busying himself with tearing the toilet paper into little bits.

"Oh, just a bit of murder," he answers casually. "Our lord Satan requires sacrifice, you know."

Steve's almost convinced the guy's fucking with him (because surely, murder suspects are placed in separate cells from the minor offense folk, right?) but he's still a little terrified.

The guy (Eddie, Steve finally learns the name, although that might not be a real one) keeps talking, throwing balls of paper into the toilet by the wall. He keeps missing; there's little bits of white all over the floor already.

He says he's been to prison twice. Grand theft auto and arson. Escaped both times, apparently. He's planning an escape right now, too. Goes on, with a manic grin and wild gestures, about how one of the guards is actually a member of his cult, has got him covered.

It all has to be bullshit. It has to be. Steve doesn't dare comment on it, because at the small chance that it's actually true, he's fucked if he pisses this guy off.

A single paper ball finally lands inside the toilet, and Eddie whoops so loudly that Steve almost jumps.

"Aaaand the crowds cheer, boys'n'girls all going wild screaming his name!" Eddie yells, rapidly drumming his palms on his thighs. "It's the rising star of the new hot game of pottyball, it's Eddieee Munsooon!"

Yeah, so whatever the man was or wasn't lying about, Steve's not about to engage. Eddie's clearly all kinds of insane, he thinks, watching out of the corner of his eye as the guy, seemingly over his silly little game, starts wrapping the toilet paper around his head like a turban.

Except five minutes later, Eddie apparently decides that Steve's much better entertainment than toilet paper. He rolls off the bed and strolls across the tiny cell, stopping right in front of Steve, who in turn is doing his best to become one with the concrete wall behind him. With a shit-eating grin, Eddie strikes a pose, hip jutted out and one hand trying to keep the unsteady headgear in place.

"D'you think I look like a beautiful prince, Stevie?" He asks, batting his eyelashes. (Oh god, why did Steve tell him his real name, what was he thinking.) "Would you go on a magic carpet ride with me?"

Steve can't help it. He bursts out laughing. It almost sounds like Eddie's trying to flirt with him, except Steve stands by his insane conviction, because who the fuck flirts like that?!

The laughter doesn't seem to deter Eddie. He's grinning even wider now, and then he plants both hands on the bed on each side of Steve and leans in, tilting his head.

"Well aren't you pretty when you smile, princess."

Cold sweat runs down the back of Steve's neck as a sudden implication of what might be happening here hits him. He's only heard about it from like, movies and stuff, but does this actually happen? Oh shit. Is Steve gonna become this guy's prison bitch? Jail bitch, technically?

What's worse, a tiny voice in Steve's head suggests that maybe it's not so bad, actually. Eddie's a lunatic, but at least he's hot. (Really hot, if Steve's honest with himself.) And terrifying, so nobody would mess with Steve so long as he's Eddie's... whatever.

Thankfully, Steve's saved from further contemplating his hypothetical future prison life by a key rattling in the cell's lock; Eddie immediately leans back and jumps across the room, so by the time Chief Hopper steps through the door, he's already sitting cross-legged on his bed, hands folded in his lap, a picture of pure innocence.

Hopper turns to Steve first, something apologetic in his voice as he says, "We viewed the security camera footage, you're free to go, Harrington."

With a relieved huff, Steve scrambles to get up. Meanwhile, Hopper turns his attention to Eddie, regards the half-fallen-apart ridiculousness on his head, rolls his eyes and heaves a tired-sounding sigh.

"You too, Munson. Next time someone dares you to streak through a public space, just pick truth instead, would ya?"

Ten minutes later, they both walk outside in their street clothes. Well, Steve's in his street clothes; Eddie's only garment is a thin grey medical blanket Hopper's helpfully provided him with. Eddie's wrapped it around himself like a toga.

"So..." Steve turns to him and smirks. "How much exactly of what you said in there was total bullshit?"

Eddie cackles at the question. "I'd say about... ninety percent. I clearly am a rising star of pottyball, you know." He waits a beat for Steve to laugh, then adds, "And you do have a very pretty smile."

Steve bites his lip, feeling heat in his cheeks at the compliment. In the light of day, outside the cell, it's like he sees Eddie for the first time, in his silly blanket toga, squinting at the bright sunlight. And he feels ridiculous about ever thinking this man could be dangerous. Insane? Probably. Full of shit? Oh, definitely. Hot? Yes, very much. Dangerous though? Laughable.

And so, Steve finds himself asking, "Wanna get coffee and tell me something real about yourself?"

Eddie looks surprised by the offer, his smile turning a little bashful, and he hides behind a lock of hair before looking down at himself and chuckling.

"I'm probably gonna need some clothes first."

"Nah," Steve teases, briefly checking him out. "You're rocking this outfit."

"And you're absolutely right, I am, but unfortunately this thing is about five seconds from falling apart," Eddie pointedly fixes the half-loosened knot on his shoulder. "And something tells me Hopper won't be so lenient about repeated public indecency."

Steve giggles and finally takes pity on the guy. "Okay, my car's parked, like, two blocks from here. I have some clean gym clothes you can borrow."

"Lead the way, pretty boy," Eddie grins and follows him with a goofy little twirl.

Divider credit

[luvyeni]

WHAT IS UP‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

okay instead of going straight to my request, I’ll ask you some simple talk questions. how was your day today? was it good or bad? why was it bad? what did you do today? did you eat good food today cause i know i did.

ANYWAYS MOVING ON

what about…ghostface!hyunjin from skz and he just stalks poor reader and basically tells her that he can SMELL her arousal through the phone since reader as a mask kink and she thinks having ghostface as her boyfriend is hot, and then he comes out of nowhere and starts teasing her and poor reader is just so shy now that he’s in front of her and he’s like “aw poor baby is shy now that im right here. what happened to all that big talk on the phone?” idk just add whatever you want!

if u don’t wanna do this plot that’s fine!! i just need ghostface jinnie. im really desperate

❛IT’S A SCREAM, BABY!❜ ( h. hyunjin )

💬nias notes: i guess this sorta part of freaktober since its hallowen themed

p. x fem!reader w. 1.7k+

warnings? unprotected sex, knife play, degradation kink, a little blood and fingering

— 𖦹 ( you can’t help but tease the man in the mask, that’s until he catches you ) !

“Did we even learn this?” You read through the notes on your laptop. “This is next week's problem, I can’t.” You closed the laptop, getting up, going downstairs to the kitchen for a snack.

“I need to but more” You took ice cream from the fridge, your phone ringing making you jump. You smiled, knowing it could only be one person calling you. You threw the wrapping away, running back upstairs to your phone.

You reached your room, quickly picking up the. “Hello,” You smiled, even though he couldn’t hear you. “Hello princess.” His voice was distorted, it made your panties soak immediately. “Did you miss me?” You laughed, “Of course I did.”

“Where are you?” He chuckled, “You know it’s not that easy.” He says, “Let’s play a game, you hide, and I try to find you, and you win I don’t slit your throat.” The man in the mask spoke through the phone. “What happens if you win?” You questioned. “Princess, you don’t want to know.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You teased, knowing you shouldn’t provoke him. “Princess, you know how this works.” His voice seemed to get deeper even with the voice modifier. “You don’t have a fucking choice.”

You got up, slipping on your slippers, leaving out the comforts of your own room to go and hide from the masked man. “I’ll give you to the count of 60 find a spot in the house.” You took off as he began to count down.

Finding a spot in a cabinet, you tucked yourself away. “Princess, you’re so predictable, it’s almost adorable how dumb you are.” You whined, he laughed. “Here I come princess.”

“You know it’s not really safe for a pretty girl like you to live in such a big house alone, too many bad men out there.” He spoke. “Like you?” He chuckled. “Yeah, baby like me, but you like me, don’t you?” You hummed. “I do.” You spoke.

“Yeah, I know you do, otherwise you would’ve called the cops by now.” He spoke. “Instead, here you are answering my calls for the 3rd time, you get a kick out of this, nasty girl I can almost smell how aroused you are.”

You felt your breathing pick up, you tried to hold your breath. “You scared princess?” He said. “No baby, I know you, you’re turned on right now.” You shuffled around, it wasn’t much space to move around so your leg was slapping against the cabinet. “No.”

He chuckled, you could hear him scraping his knife against the wall through the phone, turning you on even more — it was sick you knew that this shouldn’t be arousing you the way it is, your panties shouldn’t be sticking to your folds like they were. “Such a shit liar baby, I know what gets those little gears going.”

“I’m not scared.” You kept a brave face, “Because I know you’ll never find me.” You chuckled. “Really princess, you wanna take a chance like that?” You hummed, “Yes, I do.” You spoke. “Oh, princess you really are dumb.” Your thighs clenched together.

You heard a few steps outside of the room you were hiding in, your breath hitched. “Ah baby, I think I found you.” He said, just as you heard the click of the door. “You’re in here aren’t you?” You didn’t say anything. “Where are you princess, let’s make this easy.”

You stayed silent, even when you heard his voice right out of the door, His knife tapping against the door that was keeping your safe. “Hmm, I guess I was wrong baby, guess you really are good at this game.” You heard his feet retreating, then the door closing.

You let out a sigh, this room was no longer safe — you waited another few minutes before quietly climbing out the cabinet, making your way to the door, quietly opening it so you wouldn’t alert the masked man.

Before you walked about the door was slammed in front of you — you gasped at the thud. “Stupid Stupid baby.” You heard a slight glee in his voice. “Now you should’ve known better.” He flipped you around, pressing his cold blade to your neck, you whimpered at the sensation.

“Pl-please don’t hurt me.” He smiled, even though you couldn’t see it through the mask. “Awe poor baby is scared now? Hmm? No that’s not it.” He lightly dragged the knife across your throat, you bit your lip, trying to hide your face. “Awe that’s it, you’re shy.” He chuckled. “Awe poor baby is shy now that I’m right here. what happened to all that big talk on the phone?” He teased.

He dragged the knife to thin strap of your tank top, slicing right through it, repeating on the other side, the flimsy material falling down — your hands flew to cover your boobs. “Move.” He said. “Move your hands pretty, before I cut them.” You slowly moved your hands, letting your boobs freely bounce. “Nice princess, such pretty tits.”

He moved his knife across your boobs, grazing your nipples with the blade. You whimpered, biting your lip. “Keep hiding those pretty nosies baby, i’ll get you to scream for me one way or another.”

He dragged you back to your room, knife pressed against your neck — as well as his hardening cock pressed against your ass, throwing you on the bed, your boobs bouncing upon impact. “You look so scared princess; it’s turning me on.”

He climbed on to the bed, hovering above you — his knife dragged along your stomach until it reached your panties. “No pants, I knew you wanted this my slutty baby.” He chuckled. “Dumb baby likes to be fucked by slashers in masks like a whore.” He cut right through your panties. “You’re sick baby.”

“Pl-please.” You moaned out, he threw the cut panties somewhere — pressing the tip of the blade on your clit, you gasped. “look who wet you are, you shouldn’t be this excited about this, I could easily cut your pretty body.” That just cause slick to stream out on to the blade even more.

“You’re fucking dripping.” He removed the knife from your clit, replacing it with his glove clad finger, rubbing harsh circles. “Th-that feels good.” He pressed the knife against your hip bone. “D-do it.” You said.

He pressed down, you let out a loud moan as the blade pierced your delicate skin. “Fu-fuck.” He watched the blood from the small cut, your cunt clenched around his fingers. “You’re gonna cum?” He laughed. “Me cutting you made your little pussy clench, go ahead and cum.” He curled his fingers, making your eyes roll to back of your head, cumming.

“Nasty baby.” He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your essence stuck to his finger, tapping on your lips. “Open slut.” He pushed his finger into your, ordering you to suck. “Good whore.” He pulled his fingers out, slapping your face.

He climbed of the bed, getting rid of all his clothes, except the mask. “Th-the mask.” You said, he cocked his head to the side. “Don’t be dumb baby.” He climbed back on the bed, grabbing a hold of your wrist, pinning them down with one hand. “You like this mask anyway, that’s why your dripping like a whore, trying to hump my thigh.” You moved your hips. “Be still.” He warned.

He pulled his under down enough to pull out his hard cock, his mushroom tip red and dripping with cum, veins adorning the sides. “Is this what you want?” He slapped his length against your folds. “Want my cock.” You nodded, whining. “Pl-please.” You begged, “W-wan’ it so bad.”

He slid right in, wasting no time. “Shit.” He cursed. “Tight fucking cunt.” He pulled out, slamming back in. “Fu-fuck!” He began to move, his cock dragging along your walls. “Feels so fucking good, your pussy is soaking my cock.” He grunted.

He began to pick up his pace, slamming into your hole over and over. “Fu-fuck t-too much.” You screamed, trying to wiggle away, but he held your hips, holding you in place. “Don’t run from my cock slut, this is what you wanted.” He pressed the knife against your throat. “You wanted this, too be fucked like a whore.” He growled. “So *thrust* fucking *thrust* take *thrust* it.”

You were a mess, moaning as he fucked you. “Look at you all fucked out, dumb baby.” He said, his cock hitting your cervix. “Soaking up the sheets over a mask, so sick baby.” You moaned. “I-i’m cumming!” You squealed out, the blade cold against your warm skin. “Hold it, i’m not there yet.”

He sped up his movements, fucking into at a almost inhumane pace. Panting as he chased his high. “C-can’t hold it.” You whined. “I said hold it, if you cum I cut your throat.” Shit, that didn’t help at all, in fact it only made you clench around his cock. “Fuck! You’re squeezing my cock.” He grunted. “Fuck i’m gonna cum, gonna let me breed your pretty pussy?” You nodded. “Pl-please.”

He thrusted into your cunt a few more times, spilling his cum into your cunt. “Fuck that’s it, take my cum.” He sighed, he pulled out just to his tip, covering your outside folds in his cum, pushing himself back in. “Keep it inside.”

“Yah, take the mask off now.” You said, reaching for it, he grabbed your wrist. “Please I want to see your face.” You pouted, he let your hands go, reaching for the mask, revealing the raven-haired man, his face was dripping with sweat.

“You okay, pretty girl?” You nodded, he smiled, throwing the mask somewhere, you gasped. “Hey, don’t break it, I paid a lot of money for it.” He scoffed. “Of course, you did, you’re sick baby.” He kissed your lips. “Only I could fall in love with a crazy girl who’s obsessed with ghostface.” He pulled out his now soft cock.

“It’s not like you weren’t turned on either.” You fought back. “You came 3 times as much as you normally do.” He nodded. “Touché baby, it was hot.” He said, “But I can’t promise i’ll use that knife again, don’t wanna hurt your pretty skin like that.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” You said, he helped you get cleaned up, nursing your wound from the blade. “It should clear up in a few days, it wasn’t a deep cut.” He kissed your waist.

He joined you in bed, pulling the the covers over your naked bodies. “Did you like it baby?” You nodded, “You make a good ghostface.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “Only you would say that.” You laughed.

“You know you love me.”

©LUVYENI

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.5  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.7

p.6

AN: Have you eaten yet? this guys an angsy lil shit

warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

the talk

When Toji came home, Megumi’s protectiveness magnified tenfold.

His usual quiet demeanor gave way to something more intense, almost territorial. Without realizing it, he’d position himself between you and his father, his sharp eyes narrowing every time Toji stood too close or made an offhand remark. It was subtle at first, but it grew harder to ignore.

“Why’re you standing so close to her like that?” Megumi’s voice would cut through the air, low and firm, laced with thinly veiled disdain.

Toji, never one to miss an opportunity to provoke, smirked. “Relax, kid. She’s my wife, you know.”

That word—wife—hit Megumi like a sucker punch, sending something bitter and ugly twisting inside him. He hated it. Hated the way Toji said it with that smug tone, as if it were a brand.

Hated the way you responded so nonchalantly, as though it didn’t faze you at all. Toji calling you wife felt deliberate, like his father was staking a claim on something Megumi didn’t fully understand—but desperately wanted for himself.

It set his teeth on edge, made his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name—most definitely couldn’t ignore. The feeling so abstract, something that had been building up in the months spent at your side. Learning everything he could about you.

“It’s not like it’s real,” Megumi snapped suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides, his voice harsher than he intended. “She’s just your arranged wife. Stop acting like it’s anything more than that. She doesn’t even want you that close in the first place. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

The room went still, a suffocating tension settling between the three of you. Even you froze, caught off guard by the venom in Megumi’s tone. Toji’s smirk faltered slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied his son.

You braced yourself, worried another fight might erupt to completely sour the evening.

But then something shifted. Toji seemed to catch onto something—something even you hadn’t fully noticed. You've caught yourself a little lovesick puppy. His laugh came low and mocking. And his signature smirk returned, sharper than before, as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Man, you’re so protective,” he drawled, his tone dripping with condescension, every word a deliberate jab. “You do know I’m the reason she’s here in the first place, right? Gotta admit, it’s kinda weird, though—acting all territorial over your mom.’” He practically spat the word mom—a taunt rather than anything sincere. Megumi was sure to not bring it up around him. So why the hell was he hurling it like an insult?

And yet the jab had hit Megumi harder than he expected—not because it was wrong, but because of how wrong it felt coming from Toji.

So what if he had called you “Mom”. He'd always said it quietly, in moments where it felt safe, where he knew he wouldn’t be called out for it.

So what if he liked how you smiled when you heard it, the warmth in your voice when you responded, the way your gaze lingered on him like he was the most important person in the room. In the world. It had made him feel... secure, like you wouldn’t leave him no matter what.

But hearing it from Toji’s mouth, laced with mockery, made it feel almost...invasive. Like he was twisting it into some kind of fucked up joke.

It boiled under his skin, consuming and unbearable, a flame that refused to die out. Why did it piss him off so much? Why did it matter what Toji said? And why did it feel like Toji was seeing right through him—exposing the feelings that even Megumi himself didn’t fully understand? And right in front of you—

“Shut up! She’s not my mom,” Megumi hissed back, much sharper than he intended, unable to keep the vitriol out of his tone. He didn’t even know why he felt the need to clarify, why those words spilled out like a defense.

But the moment they left his lips, guilt crashed over him like a wave. His gaze darted to you instinctively, catching the flicker of hurt in your eyes before you quickly masked it—taking a deep breath. His chest tightened painfully, shame coiling in his gut.

He hated that he’d made you feel that way, hated that he’d let Toji push him into lashing out. He wanted to say something to fix it, to reassure you, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come.

You sighed, stepping in before the tension could spiral further out of control. Toji’s taunt had struck a nerve in you as well. His oh-so casual reminder of your arranged marriage—of why you were here, bound by duty more than choice—felt like a veiled warning, a way to keep you grounded in your place. It stirred something uncomfortable in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

This wasn’t about you.

Right now, it was about defusing the storm brewing in the room.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you said firmly, your gaze cutting to Toji with a sharpness that immediately silenced his smirk. Surprisingly, he left little fight for when you bothered to step into their fights.

“Toji, stop teasing him.” You turned to Megumi, your expression softening, your tone gentler but no less resolute.

“And Megumi…” You paused, a voice with such warmth you reserved for him. “Toji is my husband. It’d be weirder if he avoided me. But I’m here for both of you, okay? Not just him, not just you. Both of you. We’re family. So let’s try to get along, yeah?”

Megumi didn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor, his emotions a tangled mess he couldn’t even begin to unravel. 

Family. 

He despises that word, loathes the way it forced Toji into something that, in his mind, should have been just you and him.

The warmth in your voice, the way you said it with such sincerity, made his chest tighten painfully. It stirred something deeper than anger or frustration—something vulnerable and raw that he didn’t know how to name. Disgust. Jealousy. Delirium.

Before Megumi could even begin to piece together the scattered fragments cutting him mind, you gently shooed both of them out of the kitchen.

Your calm words was firm, your smile soft but unyielding as you set the boundary. Pushing him by his shoulders towards the doorway. “Go, Megumi. Relax for once, okay? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He wanted to argue—he always helped with dinner—but the way you smiled at him left him unable to make an excuse. He didn’t want to upset you. Didn’t want you to hate him.

Reluctantly, he left, the loss of your presence settling over him like an ache.

Toji, watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow, smirked as he pushed off the counter. “Got him trained already, huh?” he quipped, but his tone lacked its usual bite, almost as though he were trying to gauge your reaction. He had picked up on something. Something he didn’t exactly like.

You didn’t spare him a glance, your attention focused on the meal in front of you. “It’s called building trust,” you replied smoothly, your voice easygoing. But with a subtle edge. That warning telling him not to pester you.

Toji chuckled softly, a low, thoughtful sound, before turning and following Megumi out of the kitchen.

Outside the kitchen, Toji followed Megumi to the living room, leaning lazily against the wall, his smirk as irritating as ever.

It was the kind of expression that always set Megumi’s nerves on edge, a reminder of just how easily his father could get under his skin. They fought constantly these days. Even when Megumi tried to ignore him.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and loaded, before Toji finally spoke, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery.

“What’s got you so riled up lately, huh? Acting all high and mighty—like you’re the man of the house.”

Megumi stiffened, his jaw tightening as he shot his father a glare. “I’m not acting like anything,” he muttered, his voice taut. Ready for the fight. Itching to throw a punch if need be.

Toji snorted, pushing off the wall lazily, his smirk widening with amusement. Strolling closer to where Megumi sat on the couch. He always loved stirring the pot. Especially with his son.

“Sure, sure. That’s why you’re always hovering around her, huh? You like calling her ‘Mom,’ don’t you? But only when you think I’m not around to hear it, right?”

Megumi’s face burned, heat rushing to his cheeks as his entire body stiffened. “Shut up,”—a sentiment he always spat at least once when interacting with his father.

Toji’s grin only deepened, clearly feeding off his reaction. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

“What’s this, huh? Some kinda mommy fetish? You’re a weird kid, you know that? But don’t forget—she’s my wife. She needs this marriage a hell of a lot more than I do, so keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want word getting out that my boy’s been drooling all over her, yeah?”

“Shut up!” Megumi’s voice rose, striking two on the counter. He kept himself taunt, fully prepared to throw punches, no matter the outcome.

And if he’s honest—he didn’t care about the mocking tone, the smug smirk, the bait Toji was throwing.

No. All he cared about was you—the person Toji dared to talk about so casually, so possessively, like you belonged to him. Like he knew you. Like he deserved you.

Toji chuckled, shaking his head as he straightened up.

"Relax, Megs. I’m just messing with you," he said, though the sharpness in his tone made it clear there was more to it.

Then his voice dropped, the humor draining away, replaced by something colder. "But seriously, what’s with you lately?” Toji drawled, unable to keep out some amusement.

“Always stuck to her like glue, damn near biting my head off if I so much as breathe near her. What’s the deal? You think she needs you or somethin’?”

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he shot his father a glare. “What’s your point?” he muttered, barely masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He’d confirmed it. Megumi was an open book by this point. How you hadn’t even noticed it was astounding. Maybe too swept up in your role in their life’s. In being the perfect little housewife. But he couldn’t let this go. Not that he really cared whether Megumi liked you—no. That wasn’t the issue.

Toji watched—his sharp gaze piercing right through Megumi. “My point? You’re playing with fire, kid. You’re gettin’ too close to her, and you don’t even realize it. Her clan’s no joke—they’re a problem waiting to happen. And trust me, it won’t look good if someone thinks you’re trying to....I dunno, play house or somethin’.”

Megumi froze, his breath catching in his throat. Playing house with her? The insinuation made his stomach twist, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “What are you talking about?” he said sharply, not able to keep his confusion from bleeding into defensiveness. “She’s my...she’s family.”

Toji raised a brow, his smirk growing more condescending. “Family, huh? Is that what you’re telling yourself? That why you’re watching me like you’re ready to throttle me every time I get close to her?” He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something akin to a warning. “You’re a kid. You don’t even know what you’re feeling yet, so let me make it simple. Her clan’s trouble. Big trouble. And if they catch even a whiff of you trying to get closer to her—closer than you should—they won’t just make it your problem. They’ll make it hers, too."

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides, his glare unwavering. But he can’t deny it—Toji’s words hit like a bucket of ice water, freezing something deep inside him. His mind raced, still trying to process the implications of his words. Still reeling at the thoughts of playing house with you. Of what he was really feeling here.

Toji didn’t let up, his tone growing heavier with meaning. “You know they’ve got their eyes on you, right? Them and the Zenin clan? They’re not the kind of people you want to be messing with. You so much as breathe wrong, and they’ll have you tangled up in their bullshit before you even know what hit you.”

Her clan. His father’s clan. Megumi’s stomach twisted.

He’d known about their visits, their persistence, the weight they seemed to hold over you. But hearing Toji say it like this, with an edge of warning, unsettled him.

Were they really that dangerous? Were you in more trouble than you let on? What did they mean to you? You hadn’t ever hinted at the possibility that they could be a threat. His mind raced, questions colliding with emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. Just what was Toji implying? He felt crazy—not able to form a rationale sentiment.

His judgment clouded.

“I can handle it,” Megumi said stiffly, his voice cold, though his chest remained tight. Not fully believing his own words. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

Toji’s smirk widened, his sharp eyes boring into Megumi like he was dissecting him, pulling apart his defenses with ease. The kid never had much experience with the clan life either way. So how else was he gonna know what they were really after? Toji may not be a great father. But he did his job well. Megumi hadn’t any clue what this could mean for him.

There was no humor in Toji’s expression, only a bitter edge that made Megumi’s skin crawl. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” His tone almost pitying, the mockery cutting deep. “Like I said before—you’re a kid. You think you can protect her? Keep her safe from that world?” His voice dropping to a low murmur. “You can’t even tell how bad you’ve got it.”

He stayed silent, unwilling to give Toji the satisfaction of a reaction.

But Toji wasn’t finished. Wanting the warning to stick. Needing it to.

“The Zenin clan…” he drawled, his tone laced with bitterness, his gaze growing distant for a moment, as if dredging up something unpleasant.  “They’d love to get their hands on you. You’re already on their radar.”

Though his voice remained calm, the weight of his words settled heavily in the room, the faint clang of dishes sounding in the background.

A constant reminder of your presence.

“Y’know that’s why she’s here, right?” Toji stalled, looking back as if making sure you weren’t there. Nearly debating on if was worth telling him this. He didn’t like the idea of Megumi’s only decent relationship falling apart through him, but he solidified his stance knowing he didn’t like the alternative.

“Funny how they work—arranged marriages. The clan heads can decide whatever they want. They’ve got so much control, especially over people like her. Women, y’know. It’s just another move to pull you in. Sent her here to watch, to get information—on you, on me. See if you’re all talk.”

Megumi’s eyes dart to his father’s, surprise painting his features. And for all intents and purposes, Toji met his gaze—piercing and unreadable, pinning him in place. So shamelessly and casually like he was discussing the weather.

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t want to believe him. Didn’t want to think you could do that to him. But worst of all—his didn’t want your care to be fake.

And if it was true—because why would Toji lie here? What would he get out of this? He didn’t want to ask the question that burned at the back of his mind—didn’t want to hear his answer—not yet. But it slammed against his thoughts like stones pelting a wall. 

Why had Toji let someone like you into their lives in the first place?

“What do they want with me?” Megumi asked, avoiding the glaring question. His voice low and tense. The disbelief still strung across his face.

Toji’s smirk remained stretched across his face—humorless, a sharp edge to his words almost like it was obvious. “Your Ten Shadows Technique. That’s what they’re after. That’s the prize. They want to see if you’re worth the trouble. Investments and all that. And if you are, they’ll come for you.”  

His tone was almost mocking, like he was telling a scary bedtime story about an unimaginable boogeyman lurking in the shadows, waiting to snatch him up. It was comedic in a way.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he processed the weight of Toji’s words.

“She hasn’t even asked about that,” he shot back, defensive, his mind racing. He couldn't stand the pounding in his ears. The possibility that you might not be the person he thought you were. That you didn't actually care about him. Was this all a performance?

“She’s not stupid,” Toji replied smoothly, his tone unnervingly calm. Feeling somewhat sympathetic for whatever the fuck you two shared.

“She’s sharper than they give her credit for, playing their game better than most of them realize. But don’t fool yourself, kid—she’s still here for a reason. She might care about you, but don’t pretend she’s not tied to a leash.”

His mind was reeling. Turning. Spinning. The idea of you being under someone else’s control, in a way you couldn’t escape, twisted something inside him. The small voice in the back of his head told him there was a good chance you weren't faking it. His father’s voice was heavy with warning, but there was something else there, too—almost pity.

“Even she knows what’s at stake,” Toji added.

Megumi’s glare faltered, feeling drained. Confusion was a constant theses days. And it laced his tone as he pressed further, his voice dropping low so it wouldn’t carry over the sound of your soft humming from the kitchen. "If she’s not with them anymore, then why would she still be reporting to them? Why is she even talking to them at all?

Toji sighed, moving to lean back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “You think it’s that simple?” he said. “Clan heads don’t just let go of what they think is theirs. You don’t just walk away clean, kid. They’ve got ways to drag her back if they want to. Dissolve the marriage, make up some bullshit reason. Hell, if it’s anything like I remember, they don’t even need a reason. They’ll just take her.”

His father continued, ignoring Megumi’s face contorting.

“You think her life before this was sunshine and rainbows?” Toji went on, his voice dropping lower, not eager for you to pick up their conversation. “If it was anything like the shit I saw growing up, they probably beat the defiance out of her a long time ago. I got out lucky, but not everyone does. You don’t survive in a clan like that by fighting back too much."

Toji reiterated—quite mercifully if he might add, "She’s not reporting because she wants to. She’s doing it because she has to.”

The silence stretched. Megumi’s mind replaying every moment he’d seen you quietly brushing off the clan’s calls, every forced smile, every dismissive excuse. His unrelenting white hot anger surfacing at the thought of you enduring that kind of life. What else did he not know? The questions, the veiled threats, your nervousness—all of it had been happening right in front of him. The disgusting thought of someone beating you into submission.

“Let me be real clear, kid—I don’t want you getting dragged into this clan bullshit. I’ve spent years keeping you out of it for a reason. I don’t like where this is headed, not one damn bit. But if you keep acting like this, keep pushing the way you are, they’re gonna notice. And when they do...”

The silence heavy and foreboding, as though Toji himself didn’t want to say it outright. But the implications were clear. What could they do? Snatch you back? Use you as leverage? Dangle you over their heads like bait in their endless games of power and control? Force Megumi into a spot he didn’t want to be in? He was still a kid after all.

Toji leaned in slightly, his voice cold and clipped. “They’ll use her. They’ll use you. And trust me, they won’t give a shit about what either of you wants. They’ll make it messy, and they won’t think twice about it. This isn’t some game you can play without consequences, Megumi.”

For once, there was no mockery in his tone, no smirk playing at his lips. He was dead serious, his warning obvious.

Consequences. What consequences would he endure for you? Megumi swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. “I can handle it.”

Toji’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes narrowing, his presence heavy. He couldn’t change his mind, but Toji at least wanted him to know what he was signing himself up for. “You don’t have the luxury of playing the fool here, kid. If you’re serious about this—about her—then you better start thinking ahead. Because the way you are now? You’re weak. A burden at best. And weak doesn’t stand a chance against people like them.”

The words hit like a hammer, each syllable deliberate and cutting. It’s true.

“If this is the hill you wanna die on, then you better do something about it,” Toji fixed Megumi with a small glare of his own. Something Megumi surprisingly saw rarely. “You’re not gonna get anywhere sitting around, sulking like a brat. You want to step up? Fine. Do it. I don’t like it, but I’ll respect your decision. Just know what you’re getting yourself into. Do it for the right reason. And make sure you aren't dragging her behind you along the way.”

Once again bathed in silence, they stared at each other. Opposite ends of the spectrum yet so similar in so many ways.

With a shrug that seemed too casual for the tension he’d left behind, Toji retreated back to the kitchen, where your soft humming still drifting through the air. Oblivious to the fight that’d just take place. Fight? More like a warning. To Megumi, it sounded almost mocking now, a reminder of how close yet distant you were. That warmth you brought into their lives was there, just out of reach, and it only made the ache in his chest more unbearable.

Later that night, Megumi lay sprawled on his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his father’s taunting words played in his mind on an endless loop. Too weak. A burden. Danger. He grit his teeth, the weight of it settling like a stone in his chest.

Distance—that’s what he needed. He needed to put some space between you and him, for your sake.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his chest clenched painfully. The idea of pulling away, of losing the comfort of your presence, felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He hated this feeling.

Hated how much he relied on his father for protection, how Toji’s words exposed every insecurity he fought to ignore.

What made it worse was the truth behind them. If your clan really was as dangerous as Toji claimed, if they were determined to drag you back—or worse—what could he do to stop them?

Right now, he was nothing but a danger to your safety. The way his thoughts spiraled whenever he was around you, the way his heart twisted and burned with feelings he didn’t fully understand—it made him reckless. Possessive. Clouded. He'd act on impulse, clinging to you like his life depended on it. His feelings still so jumbled, he tried to sort them out.

Why did his chest tighten every time you smiled at him?

Why did it matter so much when you called him family?

Why did he feel this gnawing need to keep you close, to make sure no one—not his father, not your clan, not anyone—could take you away?

Why were these feelings still present when he knew they weren’t dedicated to a mother?

It was raw and confusing, tangled in ways he couldn’t yet unravel.

But one thing burned through the haze of uncertainty: whatever this was, whatever you’d become to him, he couldn’t let it go.

He wouldn’t let it go.

You were the most important person in his life—that was for sure—and you were trapped in a situation he couldn’t fix. Yet.

For so long, he’d stayed on the outskirts of jujutsu society, avoiding the weighty politics of clan life despite his development of the Ten Shadows technique.

But now he had to face the question he’d been dodging: 

What was he willing to do?

His jaw tightened, a spark of resolve cutting through the haze of doubt. He couldn’t let things stay like this. Couldn’t keep standing idly by while Toji spoke about you like you were just his possession—his wife. While his clan threw around your life like it meant nothing.

Megumi’s feelings for you ran deeper than even he wanted to admit.

You weren’t just his stepmother.

You weren’t just someone who cooked and cleaned and made his life softer in ways he hadn’t known he needed.

You were…something else.

Someone who mattered in a way he couldn’t put into words. Something beyond words.

And if he wanted to prove that—to protect you the way you deserved—he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He needed to change. To get stronger. To become someone capable of standing by your side, someone who could protect you without relying on his father. He needed to grow up.

And fast.

p.7

AN: Thank you for reading! This is my last one for today, i've gotta go to bed-- to be continued soon. please give a follow and reblog if you want to stay updated - or follow along on my ao3

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (29/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Another glimpse of Charles' mind - and honey, that boy is down bad.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of dry humping, sex and oral sex), angst, but make it hot

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

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A/N: LETS FUCKING GO LANDO!!! CHEERS BABE I LOVE YOU! feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again. He can feel the individual springs through the thin fabric of the seat and the few cracks in the steering wheel feel wonderfully familiar in his calloused hands. As soon as you both arrive at his mother's house, he would text Andrea and thank him for picking up the car with him at the old apartment.

It takes immense willpower for him to let his hand rest either on the gear stick between you or on the steering wheel, because he'd love to slide his ringed fingers over the fabric of your jeans on your thigh. Or hold your hand. Touch you somehow. 

It's as if he's addicted to your touch. As if the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body were a drug that he couldn't get enough of after the first real contact. And all he can think about is how good your skin felt against his. 

He regrets a little that the first time was in a terrible situation that both he and you would like to forget. He remembers how your body shook as you lay on your bed in just your underwear and cried. How you didn't even realize Charles had entered the room because literally everything was out of control. And for sure, after what he did and the words he threw at you, Charles had no right to comfort you and hold you in his arms. 

And although his head warned him to stay away from you, his body fought back and, without hesitation, lay with you, pulled you close and held you while you cried yourself to sleep. And when you sobbed his name, with a broken voice and a deep-seated, audible pain, his brain had completely shut down, which is why he couldn't say anything other than "I'm here as long as you'll let me".  

But he had already realized beforehand that there would be no turning back. He already knew at dinner with his friends that all he would ever want would be you as soon as you touched him. When you pressed your leg against his to show him that you were there for him, when he was asked about Annika, and for a moment it felt as if he had caught a spark of fire and it had sunk through his jeans and burnt him. But it was just the warmth of your skin that he could feel despite the layers of fabric. And when he wasn't sure if it was actually you, he'd suggested sharing the tiramisu so he could be closer to you. 

And when he not-so-accidentally pressed his chest against your back to reach the tiramisu in your hand, he got so warm he thought he was going to have a heat stroke. 

He had a similar experience the night he woke up because you breathed his name in your sleep and pressed your butt against him. The morning when he had to flee from bed because he feared he would provoke a heart attack if he allowed you to rub against him and then had to suppress his urge to touch you. There's no question that he was only thinking about you in the shower when he touched himself. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. When he wrapped his arm around you and intertwined your fingers to show you that he was there for you. The warmth he'd felt earlier through the clothes you'd been wearing had been pleasant. Your skin on his felt more like a burn, as if he'd put his hand on a hotplate that was switched on, as if he'd been lying in the sun too long without sunscreen and got burnt. As if you were the sun he got too close to. You burned into his skin with your touch - and never in his life has he loved heat as much as he did at that moment. 

That night, he held you as tightly as if he could suck the pain from your body and absorb it into himself. True, Charles had struggled just as much after realizing that the man who hurt the woman in his arms was the very man his own girlfriend had cheated on him with, but he'd swallowed that and shrugged it off the moment he'd seen the fear in your eyes as he climbed the steps to the apartment and saw you both standing in the hallway. 

You had been his priority and he wanted to protect you as best he could, even if he couldn't undo any of what had happened. He can't change the fact that Raphael betrayed you and he can't take away the pain that this breach of trust caused you. He can't undo the fact that he said all those cruel things to you because he was jealous of Lando, because you took him to your heart so quickly - who you touched without hesitation - and he couldn't keep his feelings under control. Charles can't change any of that. 

But the night he held you while you cried all the tears you had inside you, he vowed to protect you from anything that could hurt you. He swore to take care of you as best he could and to make your life easier if he could. He swore that he would never be the cause of your pain again. 

And even though your touch feels like a warm sunburn to him, like a hot ray of sunshine and like happiness itself, he vowed to see you as none other than his girlfriend, his roommate, who deserves far better than a jealous Charles who can't give you what you need to be happy. 

He can't assure you that he'll always be there for you when you need him. His job doesn't allow that. There's no way he can always be with you to hold you when you're sad. It's so incredibly unfair to ask you to wait for him. He can't give you the time the both of you need to build an adult, good and above all healthy relationship. And it would be irresponsible to plunge you into this life where the public would run their mouths about the couple just because you were a couple. He would give you anything you asked of him, but never would he put you in a situation that would hurt you.

He would protect you. The girl who lay quietly in his arms and cried until she fell asleep. The girl who turned his whole world upside down in the space of a few days. The girl who his mother thought was his girlfriend, which he didn't want to correct because he secretly wished that was the reality. 

The girl who was gracious enough to forgive him for his actions and stayed by his side despite his name and the hurdles his friendship would bring, even insisting on staying there come what may. The girl who helped him move on from his toxic relationship with his ex by burning it all. 

The night had been cleansing. With each piece of the relationship you both threw into the flames, the weight on Charles' shoulders lightened until it disappeared completely with the last burnt petal. He thought it was only fair to tell you that Raphael was the guy who had destroyed both your relationship and his. And although Charles could tell you were more upset by this fact than you might like to admit, he felt closer to you than ever before. 

You promised him that there would be a soulmate for him in this world. Someone with whom he doesn't have to pretend and can be who he really is. And after his body once again asserted itself against his brain and pulled you on top of him so that you could cuddle - strictly as friends - you fell asleep on top of him. And while he scratched your head, felt your warm breath on his neck and enjoyed the weight of your body on his, he wondered why he got the feeling that he had already found this person when he looked at you.

"Is she asleep?" Joris asked quietly and stood in front of the fire bowl, his hands outstretched to get some warmth. Charles nodded barely perceptibly. He would never risk you waking up and pulling away from him because of one of his movements. His heart couldn't take that. 

"Yes," he breathes without sound. 

Joris looks into the fire. "She's good for you. And you seem to be good for her too." When Charles looks at him, a little confused, Joris shrugs. "She just said to me that you're her best friend."

Charles couldn't explain why his heart momentarily stopped working, only to break into many pieces on the next beat. Although he had decided for himself not to let your relationship go any further than a friendship would allow, and the constant closeness and constant touching was certainly not exactly conducive to that, somewhere deep inside Charles had had a small spark of hope that perhaps something else could become of you at some point. 

But that spark had gone out. 

Charles avoided his oldest friend's gaze, staring into the blazing flames. Why did it hurt him so much? Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Charles?" Joris tried to catch the Monegasque's gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look away from the fire. "Do you love her?" 

Charles didn't know whether it was the hot fire in front of him that was making his eyes water. He felt the drops burn on his lash line before he blinked and they rolled painfully down his cheek like acid. 

He didn't look at Joris. 

Best friend. Two words and a bitter aftertaste that stuck so disgustingly to his tongue when he said them to your face. They made his stomach ache and he would have liked to break away from you so he wouldn't have to endure it anymore. But he is your best friend. And he swore to himself that he would never hurt you again. So he can't help but endure this burning closeness, this torture of being with you but not being able to do anything. 

He fell asleep with you, body pressed against body, and he would endure that heat for all time if it meant you were safe. And even though he was aware of the fact that he was nothing more to you than your best friend, that didn't stop his heart from doing a little skip when he tried to break away from you to go jogging and you wrapped yourself around his arm. 

He blamed it on your tiredness, that you wanted to keep him there. That you weren't in your right mind when you reminded him that it was his suggestion to share a bed because it would help you sleep better, and then you kissed his bare chest. Kissed. 

His brain, which must have had a bit of a lapse as a result, didn't seem to be working properly when he admitted that he'd even said he'd always hold her in his arms. And it wasn't working properly when you wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer to you. It seemed like a miracle that he had finally managed to pull away from you and get dressed after all.

First the left sock, then the right. The shirt is on the -

When you wrapped your arms around him and called him Sharl, it was over. Something inside him had short-circuited. He's not even sure what exactly he said to you anymore. The only thing he remembers is how he pulled you onto his lap. How he hoped you'd give him a sign so he could give you back some of what he'd stopped dreaming about. 

And you moaned his name as he rocked you over his erection. Clinging to him like he was all you would ever need. Charles would have loved to throw you back on the bed - the bed you share as friends - and kiss you. He would have undressed you and let his mouth roam over your body, hoping that his touch would burn on your skin as much as yours burns on his. He would have devoured you, latching his mouth onto your pussy and tasting you until you came on his tongue. You would have clawed your fingers in his hair, rubbed your pussy against his mouth and moaned his name. And then he would have taken you, slowly at first so you'd get used to him, and meanwhile he would have kissed you so you could taste yourself on his tongue before he ruined you for any men who might come after him who weren't your best friend. 

But the only thing he could do was cup your chin and make you look at him while you moved back and forth on his hard-on yourself. He would never forget the look in your eyes, that pleading look as his cock bumped against your clit and lightning flashed through his veins, electrifying him. 

You begged him and he vowed to give you anything that would make you happy. And if that meant splitting you in half and making you come on his tongue, his fingers and his cock so many times until you couldn't remember his name or your own, he would have given it to you without hesitation.

And then his fucking phone rang.

He would have loved to slam it against the wall and kill Andrea for interrupting that moment. But when you slipped off his lap, he dressed quickly and his blood rushed back into his brain, he was even a little grateful. What if you had slept together and you hadn't wanted to be friends with him afterwards?

He was so happy when you reassured him that everything was fine between you. And he would have loved to hug you, but somehow it didn't seem right for him to be so close to you after you dry humped. So he let it go and went for a jog, relieved that Andrea had so much to talk about with him. 

The more he talked about Ferrari, his training and the upcoming trip, the less he had to think about you while running. 

But when he walked into the apartment with full shopping bags and Andrea in tow and saw you standing in the hallway all dressed up, all his blood went south again. The jeans that accentuated your every curve to the extreme and the top with a slight neckline that he wanted to pull over your head. 

The fact that Andrea had to leave quickly played into his cards and the fact that he had to take a shower was also ideal, because he wouldn't have been able to hide his boner, which was certainly visible through the shorts, for much longer. In the shower he had sorted the situation out, biting his lower lip as his hand closed around his cock, imagining it was yours. 

"Charles, please," your voice echoed in his mind, and in circumstances where he'd actually slept with you, he would have been ashamed of himself for coming within two minutes. But he felt better and was ready to look you in the eye again after imagining you pressing your tongue flat against the tip of his cock. 

What also helped him keep his blood where it belonged - in his brain - was leaving the bathroom and hearing his British friend's voice. 

He also doesn't know what got into him when he rested his chin on your shoulder to make it clear that you belonged to him. Which, by the way, is not true either. Only a short time ago, he had decided not to let this go any further than a friendship - so why did he feel the need to behave so possessively towards Lando - especially Lando?

Lando, who gave him a hard time for treating you badly. Lando, who Charles knows is only approaching you in a friendly manner because he knows how much you mean to the Monegasque. Lando, who saved your friendship when it was about to shatter into a thousand splinters?

But Charles couldn't help himself. Jesus, he even put his hand on your hip to signal that Lando should please keep his hands off you. Like a horny dog, he had needed to show that you were his. 

And now, as you sit next to each other in your old Renault, he has to clutch the steering wheel so that he doesn't get any ideas about indulging his addiction to your touch. He misses the heat that burns through his skin when you touch him. He doesn't even dare to look in your direction. 

He takes his hand off the gear stick and stretches out his fingers, which have clenched painfully around the plastic, almost steering the car off the road as you place your hand under his to intertwine your fingers. 

His whole body burns as you place your hands in your lap and play with his fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren't just best friends sharing an apartment. As if you hadn't dry humped just a few hours ago. And it takes all his strength not to stop at the next corner and fuck you in the tiny back seat of the car until your lungs are hoarse from screaming.

He concentrates on steering the car properly. He concentrates on the springs he can feel through the thin fabric of the seat. He concentrates on the cracks in the steering wheel that he can feel in his calloused hand.

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again.

[janiehellion]

Under The Radar

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: After the fall of Hershel's farm and Rick's revelation about the Wildfire virus, the group finds temporary refuge near Elders Mill Road. All the while you share a secret relationship with Daryl that often threatens to get you both caught. But when the stress of survival becomes unbearable, how far would you really go with your teasing to find some much-needed relief?

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S2E13—ʙᴇꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʏɪɴɢ ꜰɪʀᴇ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / TEASING / FINGERING / SEMI-PUBLIC / ORGASM CONTROL / ORGASM DENIAL / PRAISE / LANGUAGE

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.232

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Written for @itwasntaphasema because she's the very first person who requested to be on my Tag-List!

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You were sitting around the fire near the waterfall of the Elders Mill Road, the current makeshift campsite after Hershel's farm was overrun and got destroyed by a walker herd, with the group eating whatever rations you all could find and trying to cling to some normalcy after Rick had revealed that you're all infected. Only Daryl sat apart from the rest of the group, like he did most of the time. He had claimed a spot on the edge of the fire, leaning back against one of the stone walls, his crossbow beside him as always.

You sat near him, your body leaning towards the fire, but your eyes kept drifting to him every now and then. You and Daryl had a secret that the rest of the group didn't know about—a relationship, or rather, so far you were just sleeping with each other, since neither of you had fully acknowledged that it was anything more than just sex.

As the group talked, your mind was only half on the conversations happening around you. You were more focused on Daryl.

Glenn, meanwhile, was talking about the latest supply run, since you were currently stranded and needed supplies, before finding a place that'd finally keep you safe. "We had to fight our way through a whole bunch of walkers," he said, gesticulating wildly around. "I thought that was finally it—the actual end—but we made it out! To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if those walkers were from the horde, you know?"

Lori nodded. "My god, we're glad that you got back safely."

She was sitting next to Rick, holding Carl close, who was by now already sleeping in her arms. "Just another day in this nightmare. I hope we won't stay here for much longer. The baby—"

You took the opportunity of everyone else talking, moving quickly closer to Daryl as the conversations around you continued. "Hey, Daryl," you whispered. "I’m feeling a little bored right now, you know?"

Daryl stiffened slightly but didn’t turn to look at you. "Yeah? And why’s that my problem now?"

You bit your lower lip, trying to hide a smirk. "I’m not sure. Maybe I just need a little distraction. I really don't know. I mean, with all that stress lately. We barely made it out alive, ain't that right?"

You reached out, letting your fingers slide along his leg. Daryl’s muscles tensed under your touch, and he moved away a bit, his eyes narrowing. "What’re ya doin’, woman?"

Your hand reached out again and traveled even further up his thigh, just close enough to make him feel uncomfortable but not enough to really provoke him. "Just checking out if you’re as bored as I am."

Daryl moved again, his eyes looking toward the rest of the group to make sure no one was paying attention. "Ya should know better than to be messin’ ‘round like this. ’Specially after all the shit that's happened."

You let your fingers on his leg for a while longer before pulling back. "I know. But it’s always kinda hard when you’re so close."

As the conversations around the fire continued, you leaned closer, but he remained stoic, his eyes locked on the fire.

Meanwhile, Glenn looked over to the both of you. "Hey! Are you guys alright over there?"

"Yeah," Daryl grunted, not really listening to the question. "‘S fine."

You couldn’t help but smirk at his more than obvious discomfort and moved even closer, your shoulder pressing against his strong arm. "Come on, Daryl. A little bit of fun never hurt anyone. It would do us both good, don't you think? A little stress relief."

"Shut it. Ain’t the time or place," he answered, pushing you away slightly.

"Are you sure about that? Because it seems like the perfect time and place to me," you pouted back at him.

Daryl snorted and finally turned his head to the side, his eyes meeting yours in a moment where he was sure no one else was looking at neither him nor you. "Yer really fuckin’ pushin’ it right now."

The rest of the group continued to talk, seemingly oblivious. T-Dog, who was chatting with Hershel meanwhile, glanced your way every now and then in hopes that you would join the conversation, but he didn’t seem to notice anything.

You took the chance again when everyone was looking away and let your fingers brush along Daryl's neck this time, gently letting your fingertips slide up towards his earlobe. "Come on! What’s the matter, Daryl? Afraid of a little attention after all the stress?"

"I ain’t afraid of nothin', woman," he answered, gritting his teeth. "Hell, just stop and be normal for once."

You giggled quietly, your lips now brushing against his neck. "Normal? You mean normal, like how we’re pretending there’s nothing between us and how we're simply normal friends? Oh, wait, the rest of the group doesn't even know that we're friends, or… the real reason behind this so-called friendship. What a shame," you teased him further.

Daryl looked around the campfire, making sure everyone was still engaged in their conversations. "Ain't nothin' and ain't the damn point either. Now, shut it."

You leaned in closer to his face, your lips almost touching his. "Or what? You’ll get mad?"

Daryl’s focus crumbled a bit, his breath coming out faster. "Yeah, or I’ll do somethin’ you’ll regret."

You smirked, your hand sliding down to rest on his thigh again, your fingers brushing dangerously close to his growing bulge. "Well, that’s not really a threat, you know… Threatening me with a good time like that. So scary…"

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed your wrist, his grip strong but not painful. "‘M serious. Knock it off."

You pulled back slightly, putting your hands up innocently. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. For now…"

Daryl’s expression remained annoyed, his eyes looking back to the fire as if trying to distract himself.

But the uncomfortable tension between you and him only grew as the time went by. Every little touch of your hand against his, your playful eye contact—simply everything increased the tension between you.

T-Dog, who had been looking around while talking to Hershel, finally spoke up as well. "Everything alright?"

Daryl shot him a glare, clearly frustrated. "Just fine! Said it already."

"Oh, we’re just having a little discussion. Don't worry," you smiled sweetly before leaning closer again. "You know, I can’t help but wonder if you’re really as tough as you pretend to be."

"What the hell are ya playin’ at?" Daryl asked and shot you a quick glance.

You tilted your head, your lips brushing against his jaw. "Just wanting to see how much a certain tough guy can actually handle."

He shivered uncomfortably, his eyes moving around to make sure the rest of the group was still talking with each other. Carol had fallen asleep next to Beth, and Glenn and Maggie were deep in discussion about their next supply run.

You took your chance, and your hand slid up Daryl’s thigh once more, this time brushing against the growing bulge in his pants on purpose. "I can see that you want this just as much," you whispered.

Daryl’s breath hitched, and he gulped. "Ya need to stop this shit."

You moved closer, your lips kissing his ear. "Or what? You’ll do something about it?"

"Yeah, or I’ll make ya regret it," he answered, moving his knees a bit more to his chest.

Your fingers still moved teasingly over the bulge in his pants before pulling back. "Come on, Daryl. Don’t be so boring."

Daryl’s patience was slowly breaking, and he growled at you. "Yer pushin’ it. This ain’t the time or place for ya damn games. Told ya that already. Can't ya just listen?"

You smirked at him, leaning in closer, your lips brushing against his neck again. "But that’s what makes it exciting, doesn’t it? Come on, just a quick stress relief."

His control finally snapped, and he grabbed your wrist roughly, his voice low and angry. "Goddammit, stop this bullshit, woman!"

You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. "Why? Are you afraid of what’ll happen if you let go and show me what you can do, right here and right now?"

His eyes darkened, and he pulled you closer, his voice rough and harsh. "Ya wanna play dirty? Fine. But don’t think I won’t make ya pay for it."

Meanwhile, Rick glanced over too, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the whispering between you and Daryl. "Everything alright over there?"

Daryl smirked annoyed, his grip still tight around your wrist. "Goddamnit, can ya'll stop askin'? 'S all fine!"

Rick’s eyes remained for a moment longer on the both of you before he turned back to keep a watchful eye on the surroundings. As the night wore on, more of the group began to drift off to sleep. Maggie fell asleep by now as well, snoring quietly, just like most of them, while cuddling up to Glenn. The remaining watchmen, including him and Rick, were still alert, their eyes scanning the woods and the street beyond the light of the campfire.

Unable to hold back, you took advantage of the situation once more, teasing Daryl with your touch. "Come on, Daryl. I know you want this."

His eyes narrowed. "Yer really fuckin’ pushin’ it." He shoved you back slightly, his voice rising a little in frustration. "The hell is wrong with ya? Can’t ya see that yer makin’ a goddamn scene?"

You looked around, realizing that the remaining people on watch were still close enough to notice most of what was happening around the camp. You lowered your voice, trying to ease the situation for him. "I’m just trying to have a little fun. You’re the one making it difficult, not me."

Daryl’s expression was clearly angry by now, but there was also something else—something that almost looked like desperation. He reached out and grabbed you by the shoulders, his grip tight. "Ya think this is a game? Yer just makin’ shit worse for both of us, woman."

"I’m not trying to make things worse. I just want you," you answered him quietly, looking into his eyes.

"Yer really testin’ my damn patience." Without waiting for a response, Daryl pulled you roughly towards the edge of the light that came from the campfire, away from the eyes of the group.

"Hey! Where are we going? What are you doing? It's not safe to go away from the fire just like that! Daryl?" You asked, but Daryl didn’t answer immediately.

He dragged you behind one of the other remaining stone walls, away from the light of the fire but still within earshot of the camp. His grip on your arm was almost painful by now, and he shoved you against the side of the wall before he leaned in. "Ya wanna play dirty? Fine. Let’s see how ya can handle it."

You gasped as Daryl’s strong hands grabbed your face and as his lips crashed down on yours with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you roughly against him, his body pressing against yours with force, and you could feel his hard cock pressing against you through his pants.

His fingers moved lower, finding their way to your inner thighs and guiding you to spread your legs just enough for him to get what he wanted. The sudden contact with your soaked panties made you flinch and moan against his mouth, your hips bucking into his touch and grinding against his hand, making you open your pants as fast as possible.

"Yer always so fuckin’ needy," he growled against your lips. "Can’t even keep yer hands off me for one damn second. Can’t resist the way I make ya feel."

"Oh, fuck!" You moaned again into the kiss, your hips instinctively arching towards his touch again as his fingers pressed against your clit through the fabric. "Daryl, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back slightly, his lips just inches from yours as his mouth curled into a smirk. "Please what?" He demanded. "Ya want me to fuck ya right here, right now? To give ya what yer beggin’ for?"

The way he spoke, the way he teased and controlled you, made you whimper in desperation.

He leaned in closer. "Or do ya need me to make ya beg a little more? To make ya show me just how much ya need me?"

Daryl’s expression hardened as he felt how you squirmed against him. He quickly reached out for your panties, pushing them aside, and without any hesitation, his fingers slid inside you, moving with an aggression that took your breath away.

You gasped, biting down on your lower lip to stifle a loud moan as his fingers worked inside of you ever so roughly. "Keep it quiet," he ordered harshly, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying an unmistakable authority. "Don’t wanna wake up the whole damn group."

You nodded, struggling to keep quiet as your body responded to his every touch. His fingers moved inside you, each thrust deeper than the last. His thumb found your clit, rubbing against it in a way that made you see stars, and his free hand gripped your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you steady.

"Daryl," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Please…"

Please… Please… Please, what?" He smirked, slowing his movements to drive you wild. "Ya want me to stop? Make ya wait?"

"No," you gasped in desperation. "Don’t stop! God, don’t stop, please!"

"That’s what I thought." He increased the pressure on your clit, his thumb moving in slow circles that made you tremble, while his fingers curled themselves inside your pussy.

Your hands reached for his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried your best not to fall as he made you a trembling, desperate mess.

"Yer not cummin’ yet. Not until I say so," he whispered as he felt how close you were, and you nodded frantically.

Daryl continued to tease you, driving you to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last moment. "Good girl," he murmured. "Ya don’t get to cum until I let ya."

You nodded again, even though your body was shaking with the effort to hold back and obey his every command.

"Fuck, Daryl," you pleaded in a whisper. "Please, please, just."

He smirked, holding you close still. "Not yet," he growled, his fingers not slowing down.

Your hips bucked against his hand, but he continued with his teasing. "Ya really like that, don’t ya? Ya’ve been teasin’ me, and now look at ya. So fuckin’ desperate for me."

You nodded, unable to form words, your hands gripping and scratching his shoulders. It was becoming more and more difficult to control your moans, each thrust of his fingers pushing you closer to the edge.

"Hell. Yer such a needy little slut," he growled, teasing you further. "Can’t ever get enough, can ya?"

You couldn’t answer him anymore. Your body was trembling, your breathing ragged as you fought to hold back your cries. His mouth was now trailing down your neck, his teeth biting your flesh and sucking on it until you were panting with need.

"Look at ya," he murmured against your skin as he left his marks. "So desperate. So fuckin' wet. So ready to cum for me."

His free hand slid up your body, grabbing your breast and squeezing it roughly, his thumb flicking over your hardened nipple. "Daryl, please," you begged again, your voice a broken whisper. "I'm already so close! Fuck! I need to cum. Please!"

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned in close, his lips kissing and biting your cheek as he whispered, "Cum for me, darlin'. Now…"

The command was your undoing. You obeyed, and your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, but Daryl’s fingers continued to move inside you as you clenched around him, prolonging your orgasm until you were a trembling, breathless mess in his arm.

He held you close, and when you finally came down, your body still shivering, he pulled you into a rough kiss. "Such a good girl," he mumbled against your lips. "Ya did so good for me; keepin' quiet like that."

You nodded weakly, your mind still spinning from your orgasm as Daryl withdrew his fingers from you.

"Ya better be glad I ain’t lettin’ this shit go any further. 'Cause I wouldn't hold back anymore, ya know," he growled, and you nodded, your face flushed red and your body still trembling.

"I understand, I do. I just… needed you after what has happened at the farm," you answered him, adjusting your clothes. 

"Ya got what ya wanted," he said. "Now keep yer damn hands to yerself before I lose my shit completely and fuck ya in front of everyone and take ya how I wanna take ya."

The warning was clear, but you could still see the struggle in his eyes to not take you right there in front of everyone else.

"Just remember," he continued, his voice sounding softer now. "Ain’t one for teasin’. Next time ya need me, ya better come to me straight; no damn games."

"I will. I promise," you nodded quickly, trying to steady yourself. "Let’s get back before someone notices…"

He nodded and walked in front of you as you followed him back towards the campfire, seeing the remaining members of the group settling down for the night. Daryl kept looking around as you approached, his eyes scanning the area.

As you neared the campfire, Rick suddenly appeared, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Where the hell have you two been?"

You and Daryl exchanged a quick glance, and you stepped forward, trying to sound casual. "I, well… I needed to use the bathroom. Daryl was just keeping an eye out."

Rick raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between you and Daryl. "Really? Didn’t think we had a bathroom around here."

"She just needed to take a piss, so what?" Daryl jumped in. "Figured it was better to keep an eye on her than let her wander off alone."

Rick’s expression was still skeptical, but he seemed to accept the explanation for now. "Alright. Just don’t make a habit of it. Especially not now. Not until we’ve found a safe place to stay."

With a nod, you and Daryl made your way back to your spots by the fire. The both of you sat down carefully, with you trying to ignore wetness that was still present between your legs. You watched as Daryl’s eyes moved to his own fingers, still coated with a bit of your juices. Without breaking eye contact with you, he slowly brought his hand up to his mouth, and his tongue slid out, moving slowly over his fingers as he licked them off once more. It was both humiliating and intensely erotic, making you shiver involuntarily.

Daryl leaned forward, his eyes still fixed on yours. "Remember," he said quietly, "this doesn’t mean ya get to act like a damn tease every fuckin’ time."

You nodded and grinned back at him. "Got it," you answered him, "but maybe, just maybe I should tease you more often every now and then."

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

[cyxnidx]

HI HI HELLO! I saw ur cat n mouse gamr for Wriothesley and loved the idea so much! I would like to request f! Reader x wanderer (genshin) playing a cat n mouse game as well hehe. And if you dont mind please do write more on the smut part I am very curious on how itll play out 🫢 TY!

CAT & MOUSE 2 !

character pairing: wanderer / scaramouche x f!reader

warnings: smut, degradation(use of 'slut, whore') + a little praise, oral (m!receiving), cat & mouse game, slight bondage (ropes🤭)

a/n: Hi~, apologies for such a late response :(. had to get some sort of inspo flowing. i'm glad you enjoyed, & hope you enjoy this one even more <3.

"where are you, slut." wanderer's tone echos throughout the house.

you're hiding - hiding, being bratty, as usual. getting your boyfriend all riled up, only to leave him to deal with his boner himself.

not this time, though. it seems you've gotten him a little too riled up today.

you slap a hand over your mouth when you hear his shoes against the hardwood floor, hoping he doesn't find you.

now you're realizing its foolish - and your hiding place doesn't make it any better. under the bed, really?

"come out, come out, wherever you are.." he calls again, obviously teasing you. hes so close, so near, yet you don't have sight of him.

the adrenaline rush is addictive. it's probably the main reason you're doing this to begin with. the rush of hiding, and the chance of being caught, and fucked to oblivion?

its addicting.

you notice it goes quiet. it doesnt seem like the wanderer is walking anymore, nor is he calling for you.

theres only one conclusion you can come to when this occurs.

and before you know it, you're yanked up by your ankles and pinned to the ground.

you've been caught.

you fight him, for the fun of it. to give him a hard time, not that you want to win. not necessarily. the whole point is to get under his skin.

finally, he gets you under control, and thats when you notice a rope being held between his teeth. he holds your hands above your head with one hand, while with the other, he works to tie your wrists together.

"scara - let's talk about this!" you whine, only adding fuel to the fire. you knew he wouldn't wanna talk - why would he?

without a word, he throws you onto the bed you once were taking cover under. "not another word, you hear me?" he demands. "say anything more, and I'll stuff that pretty mouth with my cock."

your eyes narrow, analyzing his. lust swirls in his pupils, a gaze of daggers stabbing you. though, despite the betting stare he's giving, you take it as an opportunity to provoke him more.

"well, if you're so bold, do it-"

you're basically cut off at the last syllable of your sentence when he moves you off the bed. his grip is harsh on your waist, and you were on the ground before you knew it.

"open your mouth," he says in a haste, unbuckling his pants and fiddling with his zipper.

"wha-"

"open. your. fucking. mouth." he demands, stroking the bud of precum over his cock as he waits. you let your tongue fall out of your mouth, mouth wide, awaiting to be filled by his cock.

not taking more than a minute, he shoves his cock down your throat, immediately fucking you.

"you," he pants, the warmth of your throat hitting him like a truck. like a pressure he never knew he needed for the minute. "fuckin' slut. always rilin' me up n', shit."

he continues to shove himself down your throat, your gags filling the otherwise quiet house. he grabs a harsh fistful of your hair and your hands go to massage his balls, tempting him to cum down your throat.

his head tilts back. "god, damnit. you're sucha little slut, fuck, taking my cock like a good little girl. mmh, g'na let me cum down your slutty little throat? huh?"

you attempt to moan in response, the tightening gesture throwing scaramouche over the edge, filling your throat with his seed.

he waits for you to finish sucking every little bit off his cock before moving you to the bed. "good little slut, you must like to be used." he mumbles, turning you over on your stomach and arching your back. "g'na treat you how you want, yeah? like the little whore you love to be."

[002yb]

Hear me out: If Dick grew a beard, Jason would FOLD. He'd be all over that man in ever single way possible. If he was malewife material before, he is going to become the "ideal" of a traditional young trophy wife when Dick has a beard. Like, without the beard, Dick toes the line of pretty boy, hes a gorgeous man but hes the type of man you would be okay with calling cute on occasion. With the beard? Thats a MAN man. He goes from approachable pretty boy to intimidatingly sexy and broody man. Everyone would fold. His old exes, his friends, his coworkers, his own family. But he's only got eyes for his Little Wing. And with the way Jason is acting? Shit, he might never go clean shaven again.

Slade compliments the beard all of once and that's all the incentive Dick needs to shave that sucker off. The echo of, 'looking good, Grayson,' ringing through his head is a provocation. In an instant Dick goes from being that manly broody man to being a petulant, deeply insulted brat.

So he shaves. The beard was too reminiscent of Deathstroke, anyway.

The problem is: Jason. Who was really into it. It's only after feeling his bare face again that Dick realizes what he's done and then there's a pit in his stomach because well, shit.

So there's Dick trying to explain what happened over text. Then a phone call. Panicked as he dodges every request for a facetime until Jason, like a night terror, is bracketing Dick's bedroom window and Dick just about drops his phone from the jump scare and bloodlust.

The way Jason storms over and gets Dick's face between his hands, squishing his cheeks and smoothing his thumbs over smooth skin and the sharp cut of Dick's jaw, scrutinizing.

It's a weird first fight to have. Funny in hindsight, but scary in the moment. Dick can own that. Jason is a lot.

(Especially during the short stint with the beard, RIP. Dick's never been jumped or climbed like a tree with such earnestness before. It was cutely sexy, or sexily cute. So was the way Jason would shiver when it scratched over his skin, a little rough and enough to break him without much more touching than that).

(Just Jason always being attracted to Dick, but this is new and rugged and wow).

'You're still so fucking handsome.' Jason would tell him, sweet even as he's pissed at the world and feeling cheated - betrayed in the most profound of ways.

Then Jason would look at him some more and whine at the loss because fuuuuuuck why? Was Jason not malewifey enough? Did he get too freaky?? ˙◠˙

And Dick comforts him because Jason is perfect, always. There's no level of freak his little wing can get to that Dick won't match lbr.

'Then why.'

Dick might actually sweat a bit, because the reasoning is admittedly a smidgen childish. So he mumbles it. And Jason tells him to clarify, so Dick grumbles a bit more audibly, 'Slade said it looked good.'

And Jason is immediately out the window again because fucking Deathstroke. Taking away Jason's newfound dream of being Dick's trophy malewife, that bastard. (ʘ言ʘ╬) To think Jason thought they were something adjacent to friends. Their camaraderie? Gone. Their banter? A thing of the past. Hell hath no fury like Jason Grayson-Todd.

Cue Dick holding his boyfriend back from taking on the Terminator. And Deathstroke shuddering from a whole continent away because he's got a sixth sense that he's provoked something dangerous.

When he checks his phone later, he's got a text from Jason claiming, 'this is all your fault,' followed by the scariest picture of Jason snarling at him while holding Dick's bare face in the background. Whoops.

Extra: The compliment was genuine.

Extra extra: Dick's only able to appease Jason's need for retribution through carnage by manhandling Jason around and reminding him the beard's got nothing to do with why Jason sticks around. Ie. Dick fucks him 'til he can't walk without his knees giving out beneath him. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[oneforthemunny]

Could we possibly get a spanking blurb I don’t care which Eddie I just need him to beat my ass😩

sure why not lol. for freaky friday. this was longer than i meant it to be lol.

thinking of going with the classic, dom!eddie. smut ahead. minors dni.

"Grab some plates." You nod towards the cabinet, steam lifting from the pot of pasta boiling on the stove beneath you.

"Plates?" Eddie hummed, tone lilting in a playful way, hand sliding over your hip when he passed you. "Plates for mac and cheese?"

"Yes," You huffed, fighting back an eye roll. You knew he was watching you, itching for you to slip, give him a reason to punish you.

You were so close to winning. Tomorrow, you'd wake up victorious in your little bet with Eddie. A silly bet that started playful until both your competitive natures turned it to something more.

"You couldn't act right if your life depended on it." Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes at you. "I think it would actually kill you to be sweet for a few days. Not be bratty for once in your life. No way you could do it."

"Please," You huffed back. "I could do it, but you piss me off. Get me to that point."

"That right?" Eddie hummed, tongue rolling down his cheek.

"You know it is." You lifted your brows. "You can't help it. You love it too much. Just push me to my limit where I snap."

"Care to make a little wager?" Eddie's eyes dazzled, bright with excitement that left your tummy flipping. "Four days. I won't provoke you, you don't brat to me. You make it the full four days, you win. If you don't, I win."

"What do I win?" You chirped smugly. "Because I will win."

Eddie bit back a grin. It was going to be too easy. You couldn't help it. "Loser has to do whatever the winner says for a whole day." Eddie shrugged.

"Anything?" You lifted a brow.

"Anything." Eddie nodded.

"Non-sexual too?" Your eyes narrowed towards him.

"Sure. Why not." Eddie shrugged casually, sticking out a ringed hand towards you. "We have a deal?" Your hand in his, the two of you shook on it. A done deal.

Eddie expected you to break by day two. He knew you'd be on your A-Game for the first day, wearing thin on the second. Eddie's eyes would widen with excitement every time your breath would hitch, a snarky comment threatening to roll right off the tip of your tongue, only for a sweet remark to come out instead.

Now, as day four was drawing closer to the end, Eddie had accepted you as the winner. Not that he minded. This was the one bet he could lose and still end feeling like a winner.

"Could just eat it out of the pot." Eddie shrugged, swiping the two plates down from the top shelf. "Less dishes to wash."

"No." You tried to keep your tone light through gritted teeth.

"Just sayin'," Eddie shrugged, pulling the colander out from under the sink, placing it in the sink for you. "I used to do it all the time. We can get two spoons, share it." He grinned at you.

"You don't wanna share a pot with me, hm? Just like we do with popcorn at the movies, but better because it's mac and cheese, and-"

"-That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard." You huffed, throwing your hands up. "That's so messy and disgusting, and you'll end up hogging the whole thing just like you do with the popcorn. We can eat it off plates like normal people do."

The kitchen fell silent, the hiss of the vent the only sound filling the space between you. Your chest settled, days of building agitation replaced with sudden dread. Eddie's eyes wide, gawking at you in disbelief, slowly spreading into a smile.

"You-" Eddie pointed at you. "Holy shit, you lost." He barked out a laugh.

"I did not." You hissed. "You-You pushed me to it!"

"Nuh-uh, don't even try that with me, baby." Eddie shook his head. "You and I both know I was not trying then. That was all you."

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, lip jutting in a furious pout. He was right, and you knew it. You hated it, but you knew it. Eddie had won.

"Fine," You huffed, flicking the stove eye off, moving the pan to the other eye to cool. "You win. Guess we'll be eating out of the pan tonight then?" Your lips curled in a bitter snarl.

Eddie fought back a smirk, lips pressing together smugly. "No, wanna save it for tomorrow. Really get a whole day out of it." He hummed, pulling the drawer above the sink open.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the pot holder, wrapping it around the hot metal handle to strain the noodles. "Just leave that there." Eddie nodded towards you. "Don't want it to get cold."

"What?" Your brows pinched together in a furrow.

"My victory day doesn't start until tomorrow, but," Eddie pulled the wooden spoon out of the drawer, satisfied with how your eyes widened, your face falling at the sight. "Gotta fix that attitude real quick."

"Eddie," You whined, squirming under his darkened glare.

"Don't even try it, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head at you, taking in a step to close in the space. "You know better than that."

Your cheeks blistered with embarrassed heat, sulking towards the kitchen table, bending over the wood. You pressed your thighs together, a desperate attempt to dull the throbbing between your legs that only intensified as Eddie got closer.

His hand shoving down your little cotton shorts onto the floor, anchoring his free palm onto your spine, before the first hit fell. Your lungs squeezed out a startled gasp of a breath, raising on your toes at the impact. It burned, settled into an achy sting that had you whimpering- still you had to swallow the moan that threatened to follow, lifting your hips back into place, eager for another.

Eddie didn't remark, though he didn't miss the tiny whine that feel from your lips. Instead, he let the spoon rain down in sharp, quick successions all over your cheeks. A steady rhythm of wood snapping against your skin, the table creaking with every squirm.

You knew you'd welt, have round shaped marks that you'd frown at in the mirror tomorrow, running your hand over them and try to ignore the throbbing that'd begin all over again.

For now, Eddie's hands sunk into your hips, a hard hold on them as he used you, rocked your body back and forth, up and down his length. Drilling you over the table, hip bones snapping into the hot skin of your ass as you clawed into the wood of the table.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Maybe you shouldn’t have pressed his buttons so hard… Pairing: brother’s best friend!Yunho x fem!reader Genre: smut Tropes: brother’s best friend au Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, some crying  Smut Warnings: hate sex, choking, degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, sub-dropping Word Count: 1,408 Note: we’ve reached the end of Arousal August! I hope you’ve all enjoyed this <3 thank you again to the amazing @mejuii for beta/proofing this!!

Your relationship with Yunho has always been, we’ll say, strained. You can’t stand him despite him being your brother’s best friend and roommate. Something about his stupidly handsome face makes you want to scream. You had come over to their shared apartment with the understanding that Mingi would be there. He had told you he didn’t have anything to do today and that you would have your weekly sibling date today. Yet here you are with no Mingi on the premise. You can hear Yunho in his room doing who knows what. Weighing your options, you end up walking down the short hallway toward his room. You don’t even bother knocking on the doorframe when you get there. Taking one rather nasty look at Yunho, you sigh before speaking.

“Where’s Mingi?” you ask with a sharp tone.

“Hell, if I know. He’s not here, so you can see yourself out. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” he hisses, not looking up from his laptop.

“Very funny, Yunho. I know you know where he is.” You bite back.

“You’re so fucking nosey. Why don’t you just fucking leave?”

You dare to step into his room and give him a glare from where you were standing. You’re challenging him. He never does anything when Mingi’s around. Now that his best friend isn’t, you want to see if he will. With a smirk plastered on your lips, you walk further into the room and right over to his bookshelf.

“You read some shit books.” You state, running your finger along the spines of the books, “If you want something good to read, I guess I could give you better mat-”

Your words are stolen from your lips when you feel a hand grab your shoulder and spin you around. Yunho is not but a foot from your face. There’s a flame in his eye as he has you there pinned against the wall. After the initial shock, you’re back to where you were. You’re absolutely having too much fun pushing his buttons.

“Damn, Yunho. If you wanted to get me pinned to the wall, you could’ve just asked. Though, I doubt you’d be able to take care of me.” You provoke.

Yunho all but growls and wraps a hand around your throat. He doesn’t put any pressure on your neck, but the presence alone has your heart racing.

“I’m fucking tired of your little attitude,” he says far too calmly.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You fight back, still not daring to move. 

“You want proof I can take care of you?” He offers, slightly putting pressure on the sides of your neck.

“You mean just for me to be right about you not knowing how to? I’d love to.”

Before you can process it, you’re clothes are gone, and you’re pinned down to Yunho’s bed. One of his large hands is wrapped around your throat, causing you to reel in the sensation it’s causing. The other is holding your hip to ensure you don’t squirm too much. Yunho is thrusting into you at an animalistic pace, making you see stars even more. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan, though. How you’re holding your noises back, you have no idea.

“Come on, don’t you wanna let those moans out? Sound like a fucking slut while I fuck you?” he growls.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice in the slightest. 

“What? Can’t use your words? Are you too far gone that you can’t fucking speak?” He chuckles, “If I had known fucking you would get you to shut up, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

His grip on your throat tightens as his thrusts become harsher. That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. You let out a loud moan, and once that one escapes, they don’t stop coming. You beg and plead for anything. Yunho is still degrading you with his filthy words that your brain can’t comprehend at the moment. You doubt you’re saying anything intelligible at the moment, anyway. In hopes of getting yourself closer to your high, you attempt to roll your hips into his thrusts. Instead, you’re greeted with a sharp slap to your thigh before his hand reclaims its place on your hip.

“Fuckin’ slut.” he bites, “You take what I give you, understand?”

You nod.

“Use your fucking words. You seem to never shut up any other time.”

“Please!” you beg, tears springing from your eyes, “Please, Yunho! I’m so so close!” you manage to say between moans. 

“You think I’ll- fuck- I’ll let you cum that easily, whore?”

“Yunho, please.” you moan, “Want you to cum inside me.” 

“Oh, is that right?” he asks condescendingly.

“Please!” you beg again, scratching his shoulders.

That’s all it takes to trigger his orgasm. His hips stutter as he cums deep inside you. His sounds, combined with the sloppy thrusts, trigger your high. Your walls flutter around him, and your nails dig deeper into his broad shoulders. He pulls out in one sharp movement and watches how his cum leaks out of you. 

He’s about to walk out of the room when he feels a disturbance in the air. When he turns around, he sees you on the brink of tears sitting on his bed. He isn’t sure what overtakes him, but he immediately swoops you up in his arms and holds you close. You cry quietly for a few moments. Murmuring something about not doing a good job. All Yunho can do is rub your back gently and coax you back into reality.

“You did so well. It was insensitive of me to walk away so soon after,” he says gently. It’s a tone he’s never used with you before.

“You hate me.” You comment weakly, “I don’t blame you for walking away.”

“I don’t,” he states plainly.

“You don’t? Why are you so mean to me whenever-”

He wipes a stray tear from your cheek, “I don’t have an explanation for that. Maybe I was deflecting what I really felt in fear of what Mingi might say.” “I’m a grown woman. I can decide who I date without Mingi’s permission.” You chuckle slightly.

“I know. I know.” he says softly, pressing a kiss into your hair, “Are you fully back with me now?”

“Mhm. I’m processing how sticky I feel now,” you admit.

Yunho chuckles, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest. 

“Let’s get cleaned up and change the sheets. Then, does cuddling sound good to you?”

“More than.” you smile at him.

After a peaceful shower together and cleaning up the bedroom (including opening a window and lighting a scented candle), you curl up under Yunho’s arm and rest your head against his chest. It’s peace like you’ve never known another person before. It’s ironic how the person you swore you hate is the person you found yourself most at peace with. Then, you hear the front door click open and shut. Neither of you is fully awake, though, not enough to process what the sound was. Just as you open your eyes and process what that sound is, your brother is already busting through Yunho’s previously closed bedroom door. Yunho scrambles to protect your decency, which happens to be tossing himself on top of you. You squeal at the sudden movement.

“You two finally fucked it out?” Mingi asks, sounding hopeful, “It’s been goddamn years of that stupid tension!”

He walks out, forgetting to close the door behind him. Your new boyfriend sighs and gets out of bed to close the door. Just as the door is about to click shut, you hear your brother call through his door.

“If you hurt her or knock her up, I’m reserving the right to murder you still!”

You’re half tempted to walk in there and beat his ass for making that comment, but you can’t find the willpower to get out of Yunho’s comfy bed to do so. Yunho shakes his head and closes the door fully. Climbing back into bed, he wraps his arms around you again.

“How do you think he’ll react when he finds out we fuck raw?”

“Jeong Yunho!”

You smack his chest, and he lets out a bright giggle. Maybe all you really needed was to fuck it out all this time. You never hated him. You’re hopelessly and irrevocably in love with him.

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