#how can you live with yourself at that point

[booboopadoops]

YOUR BEST FRIEND HAMZAH

NSFW * MDNI - smut , dry humping , dirty talk , moan , whimper , alcohol , weed , friends to lovers

you and hamzah met 5 summers ago. you followed each other even longer on every platform before you guys met that faithful summer 5 years ago. you were so close. texting every single second of everyday since.

every morning and every night, there he was. blurting mundane details about your days to each other. repeatedly telling each other how much you miss the other. constantly sending each other memes and selfies throughout the day. facetiming every night to play games, or talk until you both fell asleep on the phone.

but thats just what best friends do right? every close male and female friendships had an undertone of a romantic attraction right?

its normal that his sleepy voice rang in your head throughout your day

“goodnighttt pretty girl”

“wait set up your camera so i can see you…hah just kidding… ahem”

“you think youre sooo funny huh?”

“just wait until we’re finally together in person”

if there was truly something going on with him, surely something would’ve happened by now. every year you two would save up for your summer vacations together. nothing happened year after year. that was just our humor.

but youve heard if you repeated joke about something…you slowly begin to believe it.

but surely. surely, that isnt the case here. you couldnt ruin this strong friendship you had with him. he meant too much to you to allow your connection to dwindle to a relationship, that would eventually end and leave you with a hole in your heart, and too free much time to spend.

you knew this, but it wasnt enough to stop the way your heart would pound against your skin. the way your face would light on fire everytime you saw his name on your phone.

the way your heart would drop everytime he said something tooth decayingly sweet. a jokingly sultry voice whenever he said something flirty.

but no. you refuse to allow your selfishness wreck the way you both gravitated to each other. and you knew deep down, if it were romantic attraction, it would end at some point. platonically, you could be friends for life…

like a mantra you would repeat to yourself to protect your cherished friendship. no matter how hard it is.

-

so here you were. the first night of many you knew were you going to spend with him now that youre practically going to live with him for 3 more months under the sunburning summer in cali.

this year you guys had decided you both needed to be beach bums this year in a beach house airbnb. that you both agreed to split the payment of.

you two had a long day of relishing in each others presence. the hours spent on the cramped jet from just that same early morning seemed to wash away the second you saw his face light up at the sight of you.

“AYEEE THERE SHE IS”

he exclaims as he practically runs over and scoops you up, dropping his luggage to properly embrace you.

laughing hard and holding him tight you say into his shoulder

“i cant believe its finally here”

“what? it? im an it now?”

hamzah says with a playful tone

“NOOO, i mean our year long planned summer”

“i know, its about time i see my girl”

he says as he slides you back down to your feet, to look you in your eyes in a serious but lovingly manner.

“my girl? alright buddy im happy to see you too”

you laugh.

hamzah drops his “act” and laughs with you. while draping his arm around you, he directs the both of you out of the airport.

everytime you finally meet its like there was no time in between. maybe its because neither of you can go longer than an hour without talking to each other, but thats besides the point.

-

laying back on the couch you watch hamzah as he snifs hard after hitting the joint.

you burst out laughing when he, once again, fails to inhale the smoke.

“URG, why is this shit so fucking hard”

he says while gritting his teeth, then suddently erupting in a fit of rough coughs from the hit.

“alright, I’LL SHOW YOU ONE MORE TIME BECAUSE NOW I’M GETTING TOO FUCKED UP”

you cackle while grabbing the joint out of his fingers.

“how do you think i feel? i just chief-ed that bitch like 20 times trying to do a damn french inhale”

he choked out while his eyes water up, glossing over his red and heavy eyes.

you simply giggle whilst inhaling the smoke effortlessly through your nose, holding eye contact with his teary eyes.

he animatedly throws his hands up and covers his eyes with his hands.

you snort while twisting the roach in the ashtray you both just bought from the dispensary 5 minutes away from your airbnb.

“well, lucky for you, you have time and plenty of bud to get it down”

you say while snuggling your back into the corner of the huge couch in the even larger living room of the beach house.

“yeah yeahhh”

he retorts while doing the same, screwing his eyes shut.

“don’t tell me your going to crash out on me so early? its the first night you ass”

hamzah sits up, making his back completely straight and looks at you in the eyes.

“oh shit that reminds me…”

he blurts, while suddenly getting up and half jogs down the hallway.

“WOW, GOING TO SLEEP IN YOUR ROOM THEN”

“noooo”

you can hear him say distantly, while you hear some commotion from his room. he reenters the living room holding something behind his back.

“oh my god what did you get me?”

“hmm? i dont have anything”

he responds jokingly looking around the room, while approaching you. he grins while looking down at you, suddenly, proudly, whipping out a dvd.

you look away from his face to examine it. you read “smile 2”

you look back up at him and laugh while shaking your head.

“oh my god, PUT THAT SHIT IN RIGHT NOW”

you say enthusiastically, not intending the volume you said it. silently cringing at yourself.

he raises his eyebrows and nods, while putting his hand in front of your first

“theres a catch though…”

“oh god what” you smile calmer this time

“i may have brought a big ass bottle of grey goose…”

he drags on while pressing his lips into a thin smile.

“okay…?” you respond curiously.

“and i thought we could take a shot every time one of us jump”

he explains while pulling the other hand behind his back with the vodka.

you laugh and say “oh you little genius i love you”

-

the movie finally came to end. your entire body is buzzing and you can feel hamzah’s eyes on you.

“youd think this not being our first time watching this…we wouldnt be this fucked up right now”

you slur while sliding your arms behind you to rest on them.

“well, we’re also crossfaded right now so..i mean- i’d be fine if i werent also faded than a ho right now”

you lean your head back, looking at him

“yeah thats true”

you both look into each others dazed eyes for a moment

“im shaking im so cold right now…”

hamzah blinks and says

���damn..who asked? hah”

he says while pushing out a fake and obnoxious laugh. you groan while pushing his shoulder. he simply laughs and responds seriously

“do you want to go lay down then? are you sleepy?”

you hum while nodding your head.

“okayyy, lets go”

hamzah sits up straight and slaps his knees as he abruptly stands up

you attempt to do the same you catch your balance far less gracefully as hamzah did.

“woah woahh, i got you light weight”

“ughh i cant walk hamzah..oh noo, what do i do?”

you say seriously while holding onto his now closest shoulder as his arms are stretched out holding you up, under your shoulders

“its okay pretty..ill just have to carry you to bed”

he says plainly while crookedly smiling at you.

“like a princess?” you say quietly, your voice sounding higher than usual

hamzahs heart flutters while bending down to hook his strong arm behind your knees

“yup, like a princess”

he grunts while carefully making his way to your room.

finding your bed, he leans over it, gently placing you on your pillow.

“hmm, hamzah?”

you hum out, while grabbing his forearm as he was about to walk out.

“yeah princess?”

he whispers back

“can you sleep by me?”

hamzah laughs out of his nose and responds a bit louder

“sure i can”

hamzah climbs over you and plops himself besides you closer to the wall. he sighs contently

“mmm, thats the stuff”

“hamzah, i have the spins”

you mumble

“oh shoot”

“can you hold me?”

theres only silence after you say it. hamzah simply hums yes, while reaching over to bring you atop of him

“how does that feel?”

you respond by hum contently whilst nuzzling into his embrace

“yeah? good?”

he responds, in that sleepy voice you know so well

“yeah” you say, again higher than your usual voice

you can feel hamzahs heart beat faster against your chest.

he mindlessly runs his fingers lightly up and down your spine. your body instinctively shudders from the light tickle-ly sensation rippling throughout your whole body. reminding you of your inebriated state.

“you like that?” hamzah breathes almost inaudibly

youre only capable of squeaking out a feeble “mhm”

“yeah?” he repeats, slightly more confident this time

“yeah” you push out with a whine, while scooting you legs up higher up his torso, pushing your core against him harder than you intended.

immediately, but slightly hamzah lifts his hips into yours. hardly containing the groan he puts directly into your ear.

it feels like your heart is beating a million beats a minute. your whole body is scorching and your have zero thoughts. your bodies are moving by themselves. neither of you can contain the desire rushing south.

you whine again pushing your pussy harder onto his hardening bulge.

hamzah moans into your ear again slowly thrusting his dick back, attempting to find your slow rhythm.

the both of you are quietly panting at this point as you rub onto each other, the drugs absolutely distracting you to care to conceal your noises more carefully.

“mmph. just like that baby” hamzah whimpers louder this time

you move your hands to each side of his head to look at him. hamzah opens his half lidded eyes, and moves his hands from your back, to your jaw and finally pulls you in to kiss.

you moan into his mouth, keeping the same pace at your hips.

it was a rough kiss. it was passionate and messy. both of you are eating your moans desperately clinging to each other. contrasting the slow and sensual pace of your cunt dragging on his hard dick.

you fully sit up pulling away from his lips

“hamzah…” you whimper out dragging your hands down his stomach. hamzah sits up quickly with you, to desperately crash into your lips again.

“mmph” hamzah breathes out, breathing hard out of his nose while impatiently moving his hands to grope the softness of your ass. pressing and guiding you slightly quicker and harder onto his still clothed dick.

you whine louder while pulling on the waistband of his sweats. trying to pull just his pants off, he obliges by lifting his hips up high, shocking your clit with the quick and intense pressure.

your lips tear away from him and you gasp loudly, quickly grabbing his shoulders. hamzah groans clearly this time while dragging his sweats halfway down his thighs. he drops his hips back onto the mattress, whilst pulling your pajama pants as far as he can.

“takes these off” he gulps slightly muffling his order

you lift one knee at a time as he helps pull them fully off of your legs.

“there you go” he pants, pulling your cunt back into his lap.

you immediately start grinding on his now hot and sticky bulge just behind the thin material of his boxers.

“m’you feel so good” you whine while throwing your head back

hamzah moans with every quick breath, as he slides his rather cold hands up your shirt to grope your tits.

“hah-“ you pant as he molests your nipples

“god youre so sexy baby”

“hah- ah-”

“that feel good baby?”

“yeah” you whine

“yeah? fuck youre so wet” he grunts as his dick get wetter the more he talks

“that all for me baby?”

you bite your lip attempting to muffle your incessant whines and moans “yes hamzah”

“i need to hear you baby”

you let go of your bottom lip and repeat “all for you hamzah”

“all mine. no one else yeah?”

“no- no one else”

“yeah..youre mine-” hamzah repeats, almost as if hes talking to himself. he lifts his hand off of your tits to slap his hand hard against the plush of your ass.

“right pretty girl?”

you gasp and your voice quivers as you respond “y- yeah- yes”

youre grinding on his dick faster than what he was making you, making him throw his head back to groan.

“fuck just like that”

you’re panting and whimpering as hamzah breathes faster

“fu-fuck”

“god yes baby..”

“hamz’hamzah…im gunna-“ you cry out

“go ahead cum on me baby” hamzah pathetically whines out

the pleasure washes over your whole body, making the top of your head tingle. you jump at hamzah twitching under neath you as your cunt gets sopping wet from him cumming right in his boxers.

you cry out as he rides out the both of your climaxes. your uncovered tits press against his panting chest as you fall onto him. he grabs the small of your back impossibly tight. as if hes trying to ground himself from his climax.

your both breathing out of your mouth. he laughs tiredly and you sigh and laugh shortly after.

“you feel better now baby?”

you sit up looking at his face realizing your spins are gone.

[moshuka]

after dark--  p. bueckers.

CW!!  scissoring, dombottom paige, established relationship, fingering, overstim, cliffhanger

WC!! 1.8k

“I think this piece goes here?"

You’re laying in the living room of the student athlete dorms, putting together the legos you had gotten while shopping downtown. KK is live on TikTok while she builds with you. It’s almost midnight.

You’re all talking about how it’s late at night when Paige comes in from your shared room. KK asks Paige if she wants to help, but she shakes her head.

“I got my pimple patches on.” She tells the phone camera, pointing at the few star shaped pimple patches on her face.

“Is Paige helping?” Ice asks as she walks in from the kitchen area.

Paige shakes her head again, standing behind you and putting her hands on your waist. “Nope, Paige is going night-night.” She says, pressing a kiss to your head. “Paige took melatonin.” She tells the live. Paige takes melatonin every night to help her sleep.

Her sleepy mannerisms show in her standing behind you. Paige starts playing with the string of your hoodie, wrapping it around her fingers and letting it unravel.

You continue to talk and build legos, but Paige rests her chin on your shoulder and watches your hands as you build. You can tell she’s tired because she stays silent behind you, playing with your hoodie strings.

It’s been a few minutes and Paige is still playing with your hoodie strings as you build. She starts to get a little more brave, and starts playing with the drawstrings of your sweatpants. After a moment, you feel her slip her hand into the waist of your pants, and she plays with your bare skin.

“Can we go to bed now?” She asks.

“You were the one who said you had to put on your star patches.” You tell her, knowing she’s tired.

She groans in your ear, resting her head on your shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m tireddddd.” She says, giving a exaggerated whine.

“You can go to bed now.” You laughs softly, keeping an eye on KK’s phone.

Paige hums low in your ear, squeezing you. “Nah, I’ll wait. Want you there next to me, nice and warm.” She says. And then, you feel it. The way her hips ever so subtly push against your ass.

You try to hide the way it makes you shiver.

You glance at the phone, knowing that KK knows exactly what you’re going through. She’s probably got a good camera angle of Paige pressed against you.

“You have no patience.” You tell her, trying to focus on the legos in front of you.

“You make me impatient.” She murmurs into your ear, her warm breath against your skin. “Especially in those nice little sweatpants.”

Her hand that’s in your pants moves up under your shirt, her warm hand against your bare stomach.

You inhale quickly, trying to keep your breathing under control. But it’s hard when she’s pressed against you so closely. You feel her hand slowly moving upwards, her fingertips grazing across your skin.

You can feel her smirk against your neck, her hand stopping right above your belly button. “So soft…” she murmurs. “Come to bed?”

You find yourself nodding, immediately starting to put away your Lego pieces. “Yeah, get the blankets set up and stuff.” You say.

KK side eyes you as Paige goes back down the hallway to your room. “Suspicious..” She says audibly.

You nod, knowing how suspicious you and Paige probably looked. You give KK a shrug, not wanting to say much about it. She gives you a smirk before her attention is back towards her phone and viewers.

You finish putting your legos away and go towards the room. You see Paige standing in front of her side of the bed, holding the blanket open.

She’s wearing boxers and a Nike sports bra, and you find yourself trying not to start salivating on the spot.

“Come here.” She murmurs, and you can’t resist her.

You’re in front of her in an instant. She wraps her hand around your wrist and tugs you closer, bringing you to her. Her arms go around you, and she pulls you tightly against her strong body.

She nuzzles her face into your neck, her lips trailing along your skin, leaving gentle kisses behind. “Mm… my pretty girl.” She murmurs. “Let me make you feel good.”

Her words are like honey to your ears, and you melt into her touch. Her hands run up and down your body, her touch setting your skin on fire.

She guides you towards the bed, a gentle push guiding you onto the mattress. She crawls in after you, immediately going back to kissing your neck. She slides her hand under the hem of your shirt, running her fingers along your waist.

Her kisses trail down your neck, and then move to your collarbone. Her lips are warm and soft, and you feel yourself sighing softly in pleasure.

“You smell so good,” She murmurs into your skin.

Her hand slides further up under your shirt, her hand splaying across your stomach. She moves her leg up, hooking it over your thigh.

“Off.” You hum, tugging at her boxers.

She shakes her head. “Not until you’re naked, too.” She mutters, pulling your shirt over your head, her quick fingers deftly unclasping your bra hooks and pulling the straps down your arms.

She has the bra off in an instant, discarding it on the floor. She presses her chest flush against your bare back. You can feel her warm skin against yours, and her hands move down to your sweatpants.

She pulls them off, her hands trailing down your legs as the fabric is discarded with the shirt and bra. She has you completely bare in front of her, and you shiver at the coolness of the room. Paige is quick to put you under the covers, her body pressing flush against yours as she pulls the blankets up.

“Patience.” She murmurs, grabbing your wrist to keep you from tugging.

She leans in further, her lips pressing against yours. She kisses you softly, her tongue licking at your lips, seeking entry into your mouth.

You part your lips for her, and her tongue pushes into your mouth. It’s hot and wet, and it makes you whine softly into her mouth. Her hand moves down to the underside of your thigh, gripping the soft skin there.

Her body is flush against you, her skin warm against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off of her, and the way her abs press against your stomach has you practically melting. Her hand on your thigh squeezes lightly, her fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“Paige. Boxers off, now. If you don’t fuck me—“

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Paiges says firmly, her fingers digging into your thighs.

You shiver under her, and your eyes watch her as she pulls away, sitting up on the bed. She leans over and shuts the door to the room, locking it behind her.

“Now no one will interrupt us.” She says, sitting back down on the bed next to you.

She looks down at you, her eyes drinking in the sight of your naked body. Her gaze is sharp and hungry, and you know she likes what she sees.

“My girl,” she murmurs, her hand moving to your waist again. “Let me take care of you.”

This time her boxers do come off, joining the pile of clothing gathered at the foot of the bed.

You don’t even notice she flipped the positions until she’s holding you up with her large hands on your waist, the fingers of her left hand lacing with your right. She slots her legs between yours, slowly lowering you down onto her.

Her large hands on your waist feel like they could lift you without difficulty, and her grip on your hand is strong.

She’s strong in every sense of the word, and this has been one of the things that you’ve come to love most about her. You love her strong arms, her strong hands, her strong fingers, and most of all, her strong thighs.

Her thighs are like concrete beneath you, and you feel the way her legs are keeping your thighs spread.

She’s so much stronger than you, and you know how she loves having this kind of power over you. She’s going to make you shiver and squirm beneath her, and she knows it.

You haven’t even been touched yet, but you can feel slick drip down your thighs, creating lubricant that makes the pleasure even more delicious when you finally feel her clit against yours.

Her breath hitches at the feel of you against her, and her body shivers slightly. She’s trembling with need beneath you, and you can feel it in the way her thighs twitch. She’s desperate for this, desperate to feel you against her and to make you feel good.

Her hands flex against your waist as she adjusts her body to get a better angle. “Good girl…” she murmurs, her voice a little hoarser than usual.

She starts moving her hips slowly, rocking against you in a way that makes you moan. She takes your free hand and laces her fingers with yours, gripping your hand tightly.

Her other hand is still on your waist, holding you steady. She’s in total control, and you’re just along for the ride— literally.

You moan out as her clit catches yours, humping against it a few times before losing it again. Your combined arousal produces a wetness that even the neighbors can probably hear, if the thumping of the bedframe wasn’t already giving everything away.

“F-fuck, P, so good.” You whine, bracing your hands on her shoulders as you hump her cunt desperately.

“I know, ma, keep usin’ me. Fuck, you close?” She grunts out, guiding your hips, rubbing your clits together frantically. She brings a hand up to pinch at your peaked nipples.

“Gonna cum, Paige—“

“Cum— cum with me, fuck—!”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a car crashing into a wall, so intense you swear you stop breathing. Paige doesn’t relent, flipping you over and stuffing two fingers in your leaky pussy.

“No, Paige, too much—“

She huffs, sucking a hickey into your neck. “Stop complaining, mama, I know you can take it. Just one more for me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod along, “one more.”

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[theknightlywolfe]

AI also let's them abdicate responsibility and therefore blame, which is also bad. Learning that everyone messes up and that everyone can move on from it is important. Unlike with your parents, who you cannot escape the judgment of when you are stuck living with them as a kid, doing something badly, like writing a mediocre chant, and having other people forget that maybe it sucked tomorow is important. Learning that people can give constructive feedback and how to accept it is important. If all you focus on is "good" end product and AI gives you what you think is "good" then you never learn to deal with "bad" in your work and never learn to give yourself grace much less anyone else. If AI produces something "bad", which it will do a lot, they can always point at the AI and blame it and never have to make eye contact with the fact that they are the one who chose to use AI. They can remain locked in the "good" vs "bad" mindset that dismisses anything in between and makes everything about "value" and not about process and development. And the "good" vs "bad" mindset does not stay restricted to creating.

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

[valtsv]

can you pitch tsv to me fandom propaganda style… like sell it to me. hook me in. what is it about

the silt verses is a folk horror/political satire/weird fiction podcast set in an alternate ambiguously modern-day reality that asks the question "what if gods (and their saints, and angels, and miracles) were real? what if they formed the core infrastructure of the society you lived in? what if they were sustained by human belief and sacrifice? what if this was just the accepted Way Things Are?" and then introduces you to a cast of characters for whom this is their normal daily routine, and shakes them up through a series of intersecting arcs and plotlines. it deals with a lot of compelling themes - including identity and personhood, how institutions of power are formed and maintained and the potential for abuses of that power even by the most well-intentioned who wield it, action vs. rhetoric and the power of words; whose story is worth telling and whose is erased or adulterated by those privileged enough to write the version that becomes the widely accepted canon, and how struggles for control of something as conceptual as narrative can become very real and legitimate fights for the right to have one's autonomy and personhood recognised, human connection and why it's both so valuable and so destructive, etc. - but the central question it unceasingly begs is "why do we continue to live like this? why do we accept that this is all there is? what will it take for us to care about what's happening all around us, every day, right before our very eyes? what will you do when you realise you've spent your whole life drowning, and every option for relief comes at a cost? how long can you keep telling yourself that you're not really drowning before the water closes in over your head and swallows you like all those before you?"

tsv takes a magnifying glass to the horrifying exploitation and cruelty that so much of our own society runs on, and literalises it, leading to what is often rather heavy-handed satire bordering on the parodic - but it does so with such grace and unflinching, grounded honesty, without preaching to its audience but without letting them off the hook, either. it recognises that we are all both complicit in and victims of our own collective slow grind towards annihilation, and it asks us "isn't this absurd? isn't this horrifying? is this really all there is? is there nothing we can do in the face of this seemingly insurmountable, inescapable self-defeating routine-turned-ritual? why should we, or shouldn't we, care? why should we, or shouldn't we, try to make a difference?" and it's brave enough to admit that it doesn't have all the answers. but it still tries. because the silt verses is, fundamentally, a story about hope - real hope; the difficult, unglorious, unrelentingly in need of maintenance kind that is, nevertheless, still worth every effort to inspire it. the silt verses is a story about why we get up in the morning and try again, even though it might never be enough.

it's also a very character-driven story, and the character writing is truly second to none. every character is a person, in all their infinite messy, human complexity. every character has the capacity for abject cruelty and incredible kindness; to be a significant influence on their reality and to be utterly meaningless in the wider context of things; every character has the potential to be both the hand that pulls someone to their feet in their hour of need, and the boot that grinds them further into the dirt, and every character is both of these things, at some point or another, to someone. every character is both the martyr and the one holding the knife. no character is a saint - not even the actual, literal saints. and while this isn't necessarily something that should be used as a selling point, the way this podcast handles the diversity of identity is fantastic, and never used tokenistically, or as a character's sole defining trait (though not all aspects of identity get equal consideration; the creator has acknowledged that he didn't tackle race as a topic much beyond examining the developmental factors of broad strokes "us vs. them" nationalistic identities, and the arbitrary nature of patriotic loyalty to one's nation when it runs on the same oppressive systems as that which is painted the aggressor, and some fans have pointed out that while diversity of gender and one's lived experiences according to one's gender identity gets plenty of focus, some things are left to implication and inference in a way that doesn't necessarily strengthen the story's themes).

anyway. not sure this is the "fandom propaganda style" pitch you asked for, but listen to the silt verses. it's a brilliant work of fiction and to my mind deserves to be considered a landmark piece of art (even if that does mean that some of my more fandombrained takes would likely come to be seen as unflattering misconstrusions of the source material that betray my personal deficiencies. well whatever it was fun i had fun.)

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 2 - There's Pleasure In Pain

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, mentions of torture, suicidal thoughts, childbirth, blood, medical stuff, medical inaccuracies.

AN: Yes I know about the show 'this is going to hurt' I haven't seen it but from what I do know it's good so check it out. Also as an aspiring midwife this was so fun to write.

Part 1

Enjoy <3

You don't know how long it’s been. 

Hours? A day? 

More people have questioned you, with new questions.

‘Where was the convoy heading?’

‘Who give you the intel.’

‘What are the Americans up to?’

Some of the questions you don’t even know the answers to. Makes it all the more easier to ignore them. It feels relentless, like it’s never going to stop. Death would be easier. 

You remember one of the first things you were told in training, a dead medic is no use to anyone. You remember once during a training exercise you ignored Price’s order to fall back, instead you ran into the field to pull someone out. 

It was the angriest you’d seen Price get. He screamed at you in front of everyone, chewed you out with the entire platoon watching. That was the night he told you he loved you, they all did. You’d never seen them get so emotional before, especially over a training exercise. 

‘You’re not allowed to put yourself in danger like we do. You need to keep us alive, and we’ll keep you alive.’ You remember John saying that, the way he apologised for screaming at you even though he was in the right. The sex that night was amazing. 

It makes you smile thinking about them. You’ve been thinking about them alot when you’re not being tortured. You have to assume they’re not coming for you, that's what you were taught. If you’re ever captured; don’t talk, don’t trade, don’t let them break you. Not that you have a choice over the last part, it’s all a test of willpower. 

You wonder how long it will be before they break you. You can handle the waterboarding to some extent, these people are evil though, terrorists, the worst of the worst. They don’t care about human rights, they’re not answering to any UN or even their own countries' laws. These people could do whatever they wanted to you and there is nothing you can do.

You secretly hope they’re coming for you, you’d like to imagine Simon and John tearing up buildings to find you, breaking the rules and hunting down every last person who laid a finger on you. They’re soldiers though, they have orders to follow, other people’s lives are at stake not just yours. 

You’re a liability now. They have no way of knowing what’s happening to you, if you’ve talked or where you are. You hope they know deep down you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’ll keep them safe, even if it is from a distance. 

The door to your room opens and you stand. A man walks in and grips your arm tight. You’ve stopped struggling, there’s no point. He walks you past the room you’re usually taken to, it makes your stomach drop. Somethings wrong, something’s changed. Maybe this is it and they’re going to kill you. 

You hear a woman scream, you dig your heels into the ground. The man says something in Arabic then continues to drag you along. This is bad, there is no way this ends well. You can still hear the woman screaming. Maybe they have someone else they’re torturing. He stops you outside a door and knocks. 

A few seconds later it opens. A man is standing there, he looks young, even with the beard, he’s the only person you’ve seen without his face covered. You hear a woman groan, he moves to the side and you see a woman bent over a table with another woman rubbing her back. 

You’re still taking in the scene when the man in front of you says something then pulls you into the room. The door is closed behind you, you look at him confused. 

“Do you know how to deliver a baby?” He asks, you recognise the accent. He’s the person who patched up your arm. 

“Do I look like I know how to deliver a baby?” 

“No, but you’re a woman and a medic.” He says “She’s Khaled's wife. If this baby dies he’ll kill me.” 

“Great, he's not going to like it if I kill her.” You scoff. This can’t be happening. 

“You’re dead anyway.” He says, it’s like a knife to the heart. Now you want to help even less. The other woman rubbing her back asks something in Arabic. 

“She’s been in labor for 13 hours, I think something is wrong, she’s not progressing.” The man asks. 

“Then take her to a hospital. I don’t know how to do this, I don’t even know where to start.” You say holding your hands up. The woman screams again and it makes your head ring. You look round the room, there’s a bed and some basic supplies but not much. 

The man goes over to a book he has laid out on the bed and brings it over. To your surprise it’s in english. 

“This is all I have, I’ve done everything so far.” You scan over the book and turn the page, you see diagrams of anatomy and pictures of a vaginal birth. You try to think of anything you know that could help. You’ve seen documentaries, you’ve learnt some things, you close your eyes for a second pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay. Get her on the bed.” You say looking over at her. The man orders the women around, as she moves you see supplies on the table. You go over looking for gloves.

“Do you have anything sterile?” You ask, turning to look at him. He shakes his head.

“My bag, you must have taken it when you kidnapped me. It has sterile supplies in it.”

“We’ve used it already.” He says.

“All of it?” You ask shocked. There were enough supplies in there to last at least a week. 

“We needed the supplies.” He says. You sigh pulling on some gloves. What you have will just need to do. You go over to the bed and he follows, the woman's laid back hair is stuck to her face as her friend grips her hand and whispers at her in arabic. 

You let the adrenaline calm you, you ground yourself before you sit on the end of the bad. She looks down at you and grits her teeth through the contraction. Shit, you should be counting them right the time between them. You don’t have a watch you start counting in your head. 

“Do you know how far apart the contractions are?” You ask. He asks the woman who replies. 

“2 minutes sometimes 5 minutes.” He says. That’s good right? Means she might be ready to push soon.

“Has she had a baby before?” You ask. 

“This is her 6th.” 

“6th?” You turn back to look at him. You’re not sure what to do with that info though, Does that make her more or less of a high risk. At least she probably knows what to do by now, she probably knows more than you. 

“Can you ask her to pull her legs up. I need to check internally.” He talks and she nods, her friend helping her get comfortable - well as comfortable as she can be. You’re not sure you’ll be able to tell how dilated she is, it’s more to check if everything feels right. Although, you’re not sure what the vagina of a woman in labor is supposed to feel like. 

You smile at her, you have to be confident, she needs to have faith in you. You’re trying to be as gentle as you can, you doubt she’s had any pain relief. You don’t envy her right now, going through labor for 13 hours like this, in this heat, you do feel sorry for her. 

“I can feel the head.” You say, it gives you a boost of confidence. “Can you ask her if she’s had any urges to push?” 

You look over at her as she nods. You pull your hand out, you look down at blood on your fingers, your stomach sinks. 

“Is that bad?” The man asks looking over.

“I don’t think it’s fresh. It could be normal, she is pushing a baby out.” You say taking the gloves off. You walk over to the table to grab a towel and he joins you.

“What should we be worried about?” He asks in a low voice even though you don’t think the women can speak English. We, there's no we, it makes a lump form in your throat.

“Hemorrhage. I’m assuming you don’t have blood.” You say, he shakes his head. So that's a death sentence. 

“The cord could wrap around the baby's neck.” He says. That could be happening right now and you have no way of knowing. You turn back to look at her. There’s no way to monitor the baby right now, you have no idea if it’s in distress and that could be why the labor is taking so long. 

“If she’s having urges to push, maybe she could try?” You say. 

“What if that makes things worse?” 

“I don’t know you’re not exactly set up for a cesarean.” You say. He sighs, you can tell he’s nervous. You should be nervous but you think the surge of adrenaline is keeping you going. Besides, what's the worst that could happen to you? They kill you? They’re probably planning on that anyway. 

There’s a knock at the door and the man goes over to answer it. You watch him out of the corner of your eye hearing him talk. You look back down at the tools. You pick up another pair of gloves and a towel and go back over to the bed. 

You lay the towel out and pull the gloves on as the door closes and he comes back over to you.

“Have you ever done CPR on a baby before?” You ask him. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

“Only in practice.” You turn looking up at him confused. “I’m a doctor, well I was training to be one.” 

“You should be doing this, not me.” You scoff shaking your head

“I wanted to be a neurologist.” He says, you sigh, you don’t care, you’re mad he didn’t tell you. 

“Do you have something to clamp the cord with?” You ask looking over at him, he goes over to the table and comes back with an actual clamp. You take it from him and place it on the bed. The woman groans again and you look over at her.  

“Tell her we’re going to try pushing, after the next contraction.” You say getting yourself comfortable and moving her legs so they’re apart. You feel awkward all of a sudden, this is definitely not something you thought you would ever be doing, especially not here of all places, as a fucking hostage. 

You look down-holyfuckingshit. There’s the head. 

“Push, push, tell her to push.” You call as you move your body to get your hands into position. You’re not really sure what you're going to do. Support the head right? Don’t let it fall out of your hands. You’re shaking as she pushes and the head comes out. You see eyes, a nose and mouth. 

The lips are slightly blue, it makes you hold your breath. 

“Tell her keep going, she’s doing great.” You say. You need her to keep going, you need to get this baby out. As soon as the shoulders are through the rest is easy, it just flops out. You look up at her and smile as you reach over for the clamp. 

“I need another clamp.” You say, you place the baby on a towel. 

Why is it not crying? It should be crying. 

You wipe its face, nose and eyes. Cry dammit, you’ve never wanted to hear a baby cry more than anything. 

“Here.” He says handing you another clamp. You turn the baby on its side and start rubbing his back. You’ve seen people do this on TV before. 

“Come on, come on baby.” You mumble. When it cries you almost start too. You roll it on its back as its crying rings in your ears. You take the clamp out his hand. He has the scissors too, you nod at him. 

The woman is shuffling on the bed, she’s asking something. “She wants to know the sex.” the man asks. 

“B-boy. It’s a boy.” The words catch in your throat the adrenaline is wearing off now, you swallow hard you need to keep it together. Your hands shake as you cut the cord. The other woman has moved over to you holding her hands out. You nod, wrapping the baby and handing it to her.

You hear a knock on the door and the doctor leaves you. Or you guess he’s not really a doctor. You look back down between her legs. You’re not sure what to do now, you’ll have to wait for the after birth right? 

She’s not bleeding out though, that’s a good thing. You’re taking your gloves off looking over at the woman stroking her baby's head. You let yourself smile, holy shit you just delivered a baby. Johnny would love to hear about that. Your smile fades as you remember where you are. 

“They want to take you back.” The doctor says as he comes over to you. You nod looking at the person standing at the door. As you get up the woman calls out for you saying something in Arabic. You look over at the doctor. 

“She says thank you. And she hopes you have a safe journey home.” He looks away from you. You turn and smile at her nodding your head. 

“Congratulations.” You say and go over to the door. 

“Oh by the way.” You say turning back to him. “The placenta, when it comes, make sure it’s complete.” 

“How will I know if it’s complete?” He asks. 

“Maybe there’ll be something in the book.” You say shrugging. He nods as the man in the door reaches out, gripping your arm and pulling you out. 

___

The door to your cell opens. You watch as the doctor comes in carrying a plate of food and a bottle of water. Suddenly your stomach grumbles and your lips smack together as you realise how dry your mouth is. 

He sets them down on the slab of concrete you think is supposed to be a bed. You look over on the plate, there’s flatbread and what looks like hummus. You don’t care what it is, you’re so hungry you’ll eat anything. 

You look back over at him, if you eat you’re breaking down your defences, gathering your strength just so they can torture you more. You are so hungry though, the weaker you get the more likely you are to give up intel you know you shouldn’t. 

“It’s not poisoned or anything.” He says you look over at him, you hadn't even thought about that. 

“How’s the baby?” 

“Good, they’re both good.” He says leaning against the door. 

“Where did you study?” You ask. 

“America, Princeton university.” He says. 

“Fuck me, and you chose to come here?” You scoff. He doesn’t reply, pressing his lips together. 

“You should eat, you might not get another chance. They won’t leave the plate in here.” He says nodding at the food.

“What? I deliver your leader's son and I get some hummus?” You spit at him, you want the food less now. 

“Better than letting you starve.” He says. Starvation would be a pretty horrible way to die. You shuffle over to the plate, opening the water bottle first and trying not to drink it down so fast. You can’t help it though, you don’t even care that it’s warm, it feels like you haven’t had a drink in weeks. 

When you’re done you put it back down letting out  breath. You pick up one of the flatbreads and pull some off dipping it into the hummus. 

“Why’d you leave America?” You ask. 

“I couldn’t stand it. I thought it was the way to a better life. Then I saw all the abominations, I had to leave.” He says, you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Why are you here fighting in a war that isn’t yours to fight?” He asks, theres hostility in his voice. 

“You keep blowing shit up in our country.” You say as you dip more bread. 

“You’re special forces or something aren’t you?” It makes you stop chewing, you look up at him. 

“I’m a medic.” You say.

“No ones ever lasted through torture the way you do. Most of them give up after a few hours, or a day.” He says. So it’s been longer than a day, you don’t know if you should be glad or not. It’s been over 24 hours and they still haven't come. 

You look down at the food, suddenly it’s sitting heavy in your stomach. You remember the feeling of ingesting all the water and the feeling of it coming back out when your stomach’s full. You put the bread down and push the plate away. 

“My name is Sayyid.” He says bending down to pick up the plate. 

"I'm not going to tell you my name." You say. He nods pressing his lips together.

"Good luck" He says, nodding and leaving the room. You don't need luck, you need to get the hell out of here.

___

The car ride went in silence. No witty remarks from Johnny. There’s no filling the deafening silence, the only noise is coming from the engine and the wheels turning on the dirt roads. 

48 hours that's how much time Lawell could realistically buy them, if Shepherd was going to send shadows after them they have to move quick. Ghost pulls the car up to the building. 

This is the closest they can get to the next town without being spotted, there's an al-qatala base there. That’s where they’ll get intel, that's where they’ll find out where you are. It’s too late now though, the journey to get here was long. 

“Gaz, Soap clear the place, we’ll wait here.” Price says as Ghost turns the engine off. There’s no reply, just the sound of doors opening and closing. Price watches them walk round the car and over to the front door. The building will be empty, as soon as they’ve confirmed that though, they can hide the car. 

“I shouldn't have put her at the back.” Price says as he watches Gaz and Soap enter the building. 

“It was the right call.” Ghost replies. Price sighs, yeah it was, he didn’t expect things to go so wrong though. Ghost's hand lands on his thigh, he looks over at him. He can see the softness in his eyes. 

“We’ll get her back, John.” 

“I know, I just hope we’re not too late.” 

Banners by plum98

[zroronoas]

roommate!zoro

hi guys i love zoro so much i might actually explode.

-

-zoro is a sleepy guy, so he loves taking naps on the couch. like all the time. you rarely get to sit on it, since his entire body is always occupying the seats. the living room is basically his bedroom, with him preferring to sleep there over his actual one. you've sat on him once, somehow not noticing the lump that was snoring away underneath the blanket.

"zoro, do you not like your bed?"

the question makes the man raise an eyebrow, what kind of question was that? what kind of person doesn't like their own bed?

"of course i do, do you?"

"do i like your bed? i've never been on it."

now you're both confused, but the man opts to just close his eyes again. you pull your lips into a tight line, deciding to focus your attention back to your book. conversations between the two of you never went well if they went on too long.

-zoro cannot cook. like don't even let him get near the kitchen Please. you don't understand how it happens, he could have a recipe pulled up on his phone and he still somehow messes it up. the smoke detector is going off, your pots and pans are burnt, and zoro is yelling at his ruined dish.

"it's not my fault! it's the stupid ass ingredients and recipe!"

you roll your eyes as you frantically try to fan away all the smoke. "how could it be the ingredients and recipe? you just can't read!"

"oh now you're being ungrateful, this dish was for us!"

"zoro, do me the biggest favor and never cook anything ever again. i'll cook for us."

-friday movie nights with lots of alcohol. thankfully you can both hold your alcohol pretty well, so drinking with zoro was always a chill time. your only issue was that you tended to be a little more affectionate when drunk, but zoro was usually passed out once you got to that point.

"cheers!" you grin while bumping your tiny shot glass to zoro's full cup of beer. he scoffs, but there's a small smile on his face when he watches you take the shot and immediately grimace.

"do we have to cheers every time we take a shot? we've done this about eight times now."

"zoro," you look at him pointedly. "you're really such a buzzkill! of course we have to cheers every time!"

zoro notices the way your cheeks start to turn pink and how you slowly start moving closer to him on the couch. he always tries not to think anything of it, but he can't help but think that you're a little bit cute when you're drunk. just a little though.

and that's usually his cue to put his hands behind his head and close his eyes, so that he doesn't have to deal with his heart pounding against his chest when you act like that.

"already, zoro?" you whine. "you always fall asleep so fast!"

-he walks around shirtless all the time. sometimes he'll even sport the shirtless and gray sweatpant combo. it's actually a pain in the ass because he's so hot. and you have a staring problem. the worst thing about it is that zoro is fully aware that you ogle him, but he secretly loves it.

"zoro, please put a shirt on! you shouldn't walk around like that in front of me." you grumble, but the way you can't bring yourself to look at him, gives your true feelings away.

and since you're not looking at him, you don't see the smirk that forms on his face when he sees how much it affects you.

"go back into your room if you hate it so much."

"hey! i live here too, i should be able to walk into the kitchen without you being half naked!"

-does not lock the door when he uses the bathroom. the amount of times you've accidentally walked in on him showering or using the toilet is actually criminal. and when you yell at him to start locking the door, he blames you instead.

"maybe you should knock, the door is closed isn't it?" he rolls his eyes as he towel dries his hair.

"you should still lock it! sometimes i forget to knock."

"what's the big deal anyways? you've seen me naked multiple times now."

-he's actually super sweet and the best roommate. whenever you're tired from work, he always makes sure to make things a little easier for you. if that means ordering takeout so you don't have to cook, he'll do it. he'll tidy up around the apartment, because he knows it bothers you coming home to a messy house. and if you don't drive, he'd drop you off and pick you up from work. the only con to that was he always got lost on the way, but it was just something you had to get used to. and you'd gladly wait as long as you had for him.

[giant-bean]

So you know how people say "not all men", as if that was important when your eating the poisonous candy in the family share pack. Remember how saying "black lives matter" without adding the word "too" was far to incomprehensible for many... Yeah for those Republicans out there that are good people let me just point out the obvious, we aren't talking about you! We are talking about the MAGA corruption in the Republican party and the leadership that is actively attacking it's citizens. Obviously not all Republicans are evil but it might be time to distance yourself from the party as continued associate makes you complicit in evil. MAGAs problems aren't ones you can fix from the inside but America's problems are. It's not Anti American to walk away from the bad faith actors in a party you once loved. Don't agree with Democrats? Fine start a new party or reclaim the Republican party from the MAGA movement before it officially becomes a party. You don't have to be associated with racism, bigotry, homophobia, kakistocracy, or evil. All you have to do not be associated with evil is DO good.

Republicans hate children. Republicans hate mothers. Republicans hate women. Republicans hate people who can become pregnant.

That is who they are.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Too Late (Azriel x reader) (Part 2)

Part One , Part Three

Summary: The war is over, and Y/N has been presumed dead for over a hundred years, but she finds herself having to leave her quiet life across the border and come back to the place where it all started. Turns out, Azriel took her death a little harder than she thought.

It had been years since you woke up. Your first memory when you woke up was the pain in your chest then the pain in your abdomen. The pain in your torso healed over time, but the pain in your chest was a constant ache. You had tried reaching out, to feel the emotions of those around you, but could no longer feel anything. You had seemingly lost what little power you had, the only power that made you useful to the night court.

So you ran, shame encapsulating your being. You ran to the human lands, being able to summon what little power you possessed to live a quiet simple life, even across the border, you felt the pain in your chest lessen over time. But the tears still came, night after night, or whenever a shadow would creep by, or you would see pair of wings, all you would be able to see is the bright blue eyes of the male you loved who did not love you in return.

As the years passed, you found yourself growing fond of humans and their ways, you healed them, help protect their young, taught them to farm and even how to make some basic herbal remedies. But even as the years went by, you still dreamt of those blue eyes and shadows. Whenever you cried, you thought about the night where Azriel held you tight and whispered reassurances in your ear, but those days were long gone.

Decades passed, then a century, and it felt like life was just passing you by. The humans you had helped grew old, and then their children would replace them, and their children after that.  It was an exceptionally lonely life.

The fire roared as you sat in your chair, rocking gently as you hummed the same tune Azriel had hummed to you all those years ago. He had never left your mind, and you weren’t sure he ever would. You wove the yarn between your smooth fingers, creating another blanket for a young babe about to enter the world.

You heard a shuffle outside and immediately grew quiet, setting down your yarn and reaching for the dagger strapped to your leg. It wouldn’t be the first time someone attempted to steal from you, but you would teach these humans the same lesson you had taught the last. The door slowly opened, and a large dark figure filled the frame, wings ducking to fit in the door frame.

The dagger left your hand before you could think, landing inches away from the faes pointed ear and into the door jamb. The male snapped his head towards you, pulling out his dagger in return. You gasped in realization, tripping backwards and catching your balance on the stone wall behind you.

Cassian stood before you, his face serious but hair longer, with strands falling over his shoulders. His body was visibly more muscular, and even from a quick glance you could tell that he had more scars than the last time you had seen him. You raised your hand to your chest, unsure of the emotions you were feeling, relief that he was okay.

“Cassian, you’re okay?” You whispered, tears filling your eyes as you stood in place. Cassian stared at you, his eyes guarded.

“What are you?” Cassian growled, raising his sword in your direction.

“I’m-what?” You asked, voice choking. “Cassian- it’s me, it’s Y/N.”

               “Y/N died,” His voice steady, his arm was steady too.

               “Cassian- please.” You lifted your arms, your hands shaking. “I don’t know what I can do to make you trust that it’s me.”

               “There is nothing that you can-“ Cassian’s eye caught a painting on the wall, and you followed his gaze. Dark shadows consumed the portrait, letting in glimpses of light, you had used a mixture of charcoal and wisps of blue, but the most striking feature was the eyes you could faintly see through the shadows, his eyes, they stood out like pools of light cutting through the dark. It was his same guarded expression you saw before you fell asleep.

               “That’s Az.” Cassian whispered, and you nodded.

               “Is he alright?” You could feel the panic rise in your veins, “Please- if he’s not alright you must tell me.”

               “He’s fine.” Cassian stared at you, his eyes shifting from the top of your head to your feet. “I am – I am so glad you’re okay.”

               His warm arms engulfed you, and you could feel yourself melt into his arms. You two had fought on the front lines before you were sent away to Azriel. You felt the tears start and pulled away.

               “Why are you here Cas?” You whispered, pointing at a chair near the fire and sitting in your own. “not that I mind, I’m so happy to see you.”

               “The bone carver told us…he told me to come here and I would find what we needed most.” Cassian said, still staring at you in amazement. “What happened out there? We all thought you were dead, it’s been over a century.”

               “I got stabbed.” You recalled, looking back towards the fire, the carnage coming back to you in a vivid memory. The memory of Azriels indifference, but then him running towards you as the sword plunged through you. “Then…I woke up, in the summer court. Someone had seen me fall and grabbed me, I lost my gift.” You teared up again, “I haven’t been able to feel anything since I left that battlefield, and the high lord had told me that gift was the only use I was to him. I knew…I knew that if I came back without it there would be no point in coming back at all.”

               “Rhysand is high lord now; you can come home.” Cassian reached over, grabbing your hand.

               “I can’t show my face.” Tears streamed down yours.

               “The bone carver said our secret weapon would be here; that’s obviously you.” Cassian pleaded, “We need you, Rhysand, Az, me, we need you.”

               Your throat bobbed as you looked around the life you had built for yourself, and you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

               The trek back was cold and windy, and Cassian carried you in his arms, looking at you every once in a while and shaking his head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe you’re alive.”

               “I’m lucky to be.” You whispered, watching the scenery go by. You could feel the difference when you passed the border, mostly by the change of the feeling around you. You felt like you could breath, but the pain in your chest grew into a dull ache. “How is everyone?”

               “As good as they can be.” Cassian replied, the thud of his wings matching the beats of your heart. “Rhysand found his mate, Feyre.” Cassian explained to you what the past few years had done to them as a group, and you felt your heart tug. You had been away for so long, and they had all suffered. “Azriel is doing…well, he’s Azriel. Very broody, over dramatic, the usual.”

               You laughed, remembering the broody Azriel that you fell In love with. You froze, you were about to see Azriel. “Do you think he’ll hate me?” You whispered, Cassian pondered this question, the longer he took to answer, the more nervous you became.

               “I don’t know.”

               Rhysand was waiting in the foyer when you arrived, Cassian had already let him know the news ahead of time. He hugged you, squeezing you and spinning you around. Relief filled your veins as you looked him up and down, realizing that he was okay and happy, the aura of finding his mate surrounding him.

               “Rhys, I’m telling you, I’m not your secret weapon.” You grabbed his arm, pleading for him to understand. “I lost my abilities, I lost it all when in the war, I can’t help. I can’t even fight anymore.”

               You felt Rhysand walk straight into your mind, your mental shields falling easily due to lack of practice. He walked around the emptiness, ‘you are not worthless, Y/N’ Rhysand seemed to echo, you shook your head. You looked around the cozy house, books lined the small table in the room and a fire was lit.  

               He led you around the “House of Wind”, showing you where everyone slept, the kitchen, and living area. He brought you to the end of a hall, opening a door and showing you a dark bedroom, shadowed by the curtains hanging over the sole window.

               “This is your room, as long as you choose to stay.” He smiled gently, a hand on your back leading you into the room. “I wasn’t sure how to decorate, it’s been a while since… since I’ve seen you.”

               “Dinner will be in a couple hours, if you don’t feel like joining us, I would be happy to have the house give you your food here.” Rhys offered, you sat on the bed, feeling the linen underneath your fingers.

               “Will…Will Azriel be there?”

               “Most likely.” Rhysand sat down next to you, “I’m…I’m not sure how he will take this, he was worse off than the rest of us. “

               “Why?” You voice came out in a whisper, then you coughed. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

               The day passed, you took up the seat next to the window, watching the sun slowly set behind the mountain and the stars light up the sky. Velaris was…beautiful, even more so than Rhys had described. The city was bathed in a golden light from the stars, you could see the reflections of the stars on the streets below, the streets made of glass and stone. Your stomach growled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten today.

               You opened the door, hearing raised voices and laughter from down the hall. You slowly shut the door behind you, back turned as you made sure it clicked shut. What would you say? How would he react?

               “How did you get in here?” A low voice asked, sending a cold chill up your spine. You stared at the door, wishing you could somehow go back in time and not come out here. You slowly turned your head, peaking through the curtain of your hair.

               His form was surrounded by shadows, and he held daggers in each of his hands. You met his eyes, the same piercing blue ones that you looked at every day, you felt the tug in your chest and felt something lodge in your throat.

               His voice was low, dangerously low. “How did you get in here?” He snapped, lifting his dagger as if to throw it.

               You lifted your hands, which were shaking so bad you couldn’t hold them up straight. “Please, Azriel, I can explain.” The two daggers left his hands, pinning your shirt to the door over both of your shoulders. He walked over, his steps slow and his eyes narrowing. The pain in your chest grew to a roar, and tears filled your eyes, the panic growing within you.

               He lifted a hand, brushing the hair from your face, and then it hit him. His breath caught, and so many emotions flowed through you that you nearly dropped to the floor, after not feeling anything for so long, this was too much. Then, you felt the anger. Your head slammed against the door, leaving you face to face with Azriel as he pushed against your chest.

               “What are you?” Azriel growled, pulling out another knife and holding it to your neck. “Damn, you almost had me fooled. You look just like her.”

               “Az! “ Cas shouted from the other end of the hallway, afraid to make any sudden movements.

               “What is this thing?” Azriel looked at him, his large hand still pressed against your ribcage.

               “it’s really her.” Cas held up his hands in mock surrender, his wings behind him as he slowly walked to Azriel. “It’s…trust me, I found her.”        

               Azriel looked back to you, his eyes scanning every inch of you, from the top of your head to the shoes that you wore. A flicker of hesitation passed before, in one swift motion, he grabbed the fabric at the bottom of your shirt and tore it, exposing your torso. Under the fabric and now exposed was your scar, white and ragged on your skin. 

               Azriels breath caught, his posture stiffening as his gaze move from his scars to you. His eyes were more guarded than you had ever seen them, but the pain in your chest didn’t relent. “Az-“ you began, trying to grasp his arm.

               “Why are you back here? Why now?” Azriel pulled his daggers from your shirt aggressively, you could feel the anger radiating from him, raw and bitter. “It’s only been, what, a HUNDRED YEARS?” His daggers flew from his hands into the wall on the other end of the hallway.

               “Azriel please-“ You begged, tears brimming. “I”

               “I LOST you, Y/N!” Azriel shouted, his hands in fist and shadows swarming around his figure. “One minute you were there, the next, gone! I searched for days! Do you know how many bodies I turned hoping to find you but also knowing that I couldn’t bear it if I did?”

               “I’m sorry!” You shouted, walking towards him as he backed up. “if I could go back and change it, I would-“

               “I don’t want to hear it, Y/N.” Azriel’s voice was stone cold, his chest heaved. Every part of him was anger, you could feel it like you were sitting next to an open flame. “I mourned you. I searched for you, I even made you a grave.” He growled, running his hands through his hair.

               “Just listen to me!” You shouted, “Just take a minute and listen to me talk, let me explain.”

               Azriel met your gaze and shook his head. “You don’t get to disappear and show up like nothing happened.” He snapped, walking to the wall and yanking his daggers out. “You don’t get to put me, us, through that. You don’t get to ‘explain’”

               “Please.” You begged, trying one last to grab his arm as he walked by. He pulled his arm back, like your touch was poison. The pain and hurt that filled you made it hard to breathe as you watched him walk out of the hallway, then heard a door slam. You slowly slid down the door to your bedroom, head in your hands as you cried. Cassian squatted down to squeeze your shoulder, but you pushed him away.            

               “Get away from me!” You screamed from your throat, and another loud sob left your body. You should never have left, maybe not feeling at all was better than this. You didn’t even notice Cassian leaving as you cried.

[mymoonisgrey]

B2B

❤︎ ໋𓈒 back to back, love to hate, hate to love— your relationship with gojo satoru was a mess, but, you can’t really leave, can you?

warnings. 18+, smut, satoru is a munch, yearning, brief cameo of yandere!satoru, breeding kink if you squint, borderline obsession and possessiveness, toxicity, masturbation (m)

wc. 7,43k

You were reminiscing on decisions you made in high-school that got you to this point.

You were never the type to generally date. It wasn’t your thing, never was—you once said your perdition would come as a man trying to ruin your life, or ruin you generally, body and soul.

However, the 19-year-old theory hit you hard, because Gojo Satoru weaved himself into your life like a cobweb you can't seem to dust. You didn’t give in so easily, no. You took your sweet time to finally get in the scene, without ever seeking advice from friends because somehow situationships always disappear when you tell a friend about them.

But Gojo? He was persistent. He had his hands in your pockets before you even realized he was slipping his fingers between yours. His charm was something built into his DNA, impossible to resist, even when you swore you would. He knew how to make you laugh when you were furious, knew how to touch you like he was mapping out constellations on your skin. And maybe that’s why, even when it hurt, even when you knew better, you always came back.

The fights were cinematic—shouting matches in rain-soaked streets, doors slamming, voices breaking on words too sharp to take back. But the reunions? They were something biblical. You’d fold into him like he was home, let him press his apologies into your skin, your lips, your throat. And just like that, you’d start again. Back-to-back, love to hate, hate to love. A cycle neither of you wanted to break.

Because both of you had flaws neither of you could fix, but only learn to love. There’s constantly something to worry about—whether it was Utahime’s closeness to him and how it managed to get on every nerve of yours—or how men swarmed around you like ants on glucose, it was fucked up. He once had to verbally warn his ex-best friend to leave you alone.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

OCTOBER

You walk in with a sense of dread—you ‘broke’ up with Gojo two months ago, and it has been like... the longest you two have been separated since high school. Jujutsu Tech was lively and it made you nostalgic for the days you ran around as a student rather than a sorceress-to-be, life was much easier back then anyway, wasn’t it?

You know you’ll see him as usual, he runs this place, walks like he owns it because hell—if someone had the power he did, they’d be a lot cockier and haughty than he is. Satoru is considered humble compared to the rest of the power-hungry geezers you put your neck out there for.

The memories flood in before you can stop them. The late-night missions where exhaustion blurred the lines between camaraderie and something deeper. The way he’d lean into you, mask slipping—only for a second—before the world called him back. The stolen moments in between duty and destiny, the whispered confessions between bruises and battle scars. You remember the way he looked at you then, like you were something sacred, something he wasn’t quite allowed to have but couldn’t help but claim anyway.

And then, the downfall. The slow unraveling, the fights that started small but snowballed into something monstrous. The jealousy, the frustration, the push and pull of two people who loved too hard and hurt even harder. You remember walking away that night, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back, the ache in your chest that felt like a wound that would never close.

You shake the thought away, forcing yourself back into the present. You weren’t here for him, not really. You had a job to do. And yet, as you step further into the familiar halls, you can’t help but feel it—the pull, the inevitability of it all. Because no matter how far you run, how long you stay away, it always leads back to him.

Back-to-back. Love to hate. Hate to love.

Your line of sight drifts to the bright green fields stretching out, where a couple of students train one-on-one—blades clashing, curses forming, sweat glistening under the afternoon sun. Your gaze flickers, unintentional, to those three students: pink hair, black hair, and brown hair with a voice loud enough to carry over the clash of sparring.

Then, your eyes find him.

That white, silvery hair you know the soft texture of like your own name. He’s dressed simply—a white tee, his usual slacks, hands tucked into his pockets. A pair of God-knows-how-expensive sunglasses shields his eyes, but you know what’s behind them. That easy smile graces his lips, effortlessly relaxed as he watches his students, his posture all confidence, all control.

Your stomach churns with something familiar, a tangled mess of longing, resentment, and something you won’t dare name. And then—your heart plummets, crashing straight to the pit of your stomach when his head snaps with surgical precision, turning directly toward you. Of course, he felt it. He always does.

His gaze pins you in place, a tether snapping taut between you, even from across the field. There’s no mistaking it, the way recognition flickers behind those ridiculous shades.

You almost want to disappear, but it’s too late. How the hell—scratch that. Of course, he’d know. Him and those freak-show eyes you love so fucking much.

Your face remains neutral, betraying none of the storm beneath, despite the way your fingers dig into your palms, nails carving crescents into your skin. He doesn’t look away. Instead, he smiles, slow and easy, like he has all the time in the world. His eyes flicker downward, just for a second, shameless and languid, before locking with yours again. And in that moment, through the tinted lenses, you catch it—a glimmer of iridescent blue, a ghost of something unspoken.

His lips part, and you swear you see the tip of his tongue dart out to wet them. His head tilts, the corner of his mouth quirking like he’s thinking something inappropriate—no, scratch that, he definitely is.

Then he raises a hand in a lazy wave, and you can hear it in your head before he even says it. Miss me, baby?

God, you hate him. And even worse? He knows you don’t.

You spare him a nod, offering a brief, almost nonexistent smile, before turning away and heading toward the administration building.

Your pulse is erratic, but you keep your steps measured. Controlled. Like he didn’t just unravel something inside you with a single look.

This is why you never did love—because how the hell are you supposed to just... forget someone and move on? Like flipping a switch? Like love is something that fades if you just give it enough time? That wasn’t you. You weren’t built for that kind of indifference.

And as for him...

You don’t know.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That his life—his thoughts, his wants—are no longer yours to consider. But there’s an itch in the back of your mind, a whisper of doubt crawling up your spine.

Would he ever get over you?

Would he even try?

❤︎ ໋𓈒

Gojo had never moved toward his office as quickly as he did now, his long strides purposeful, nearly frantic, his heart hammering in his chest. Seeing you—hell, even just feeling your presence—had turned his entire world on its axis, and no amount of cocky bravado could hide it. Who the fuck was he kidding? He needed you back. Pronto.

The moment he shut the door behind him, his back hit the wood with a heavy thud, his head tilting upward as he stared at the ceiling. His breath was uneven, hands twitching at his sides.

And then there was the other problem.

The one currently straining against the fabric of his pants.

"Fuck," he muttered, his brows knitting together as the ache in his chest twisted into something darker, heavier. His body felt like it was fighting itself, caught in the crossfire between want and restraint.

He had no idea what the hell he was even horny for—you hadn’t been wearing anything particularly revealing, hadn’t even done anything except stand there looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. And yet, his entire body reacted like it had been starved for you. Because it had.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before unbuckling his belt, frustration coiling hot and tight in his stomach. He palmed himself through his slacks first, the friction barely enough to ease the throbbing pulse of his cock, already leaking against the fabric.

His sunglasses were thrown somewhere across the room as he pulled himself free, hissing at the rush of cool air against burning-hot skin. His cock was hard, thick, an angry red at the tip, drooling precum like it was begging for relief.

The only cure was you.

He spat into his palm, a filthy, wet sound breaking the silence, and wrapped his fingers around himself, squeezing at the base before giving a slow, torturous stroke upward. "Shit," he groaned, his voice husky, dripping with need. His shirt bunched between his teeth as his free hand gripped his desk, knuckles going white.

His pace picked up, faster, rougher, as images of you flooded his mind. You, with your legs spread wide for him, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body arching, gasping his name like a prayer.

"Fuck, baby..." he panted, hips jerking into his fist, his strokes messy, erratic. "Miss this fuckin' pussy... goddamn, you made for me. Shit—gonna fuckin'—"

The orgasm ripped through him, his whole body shuddering as thick ropes of cum spilled over his fingers, his stomach, his mind blanking out in white-hot pleasure. His breath was ragged, uneven, body twitching as the aftershocks coursed through him.

And then...

The silence hit. Hard.

Post-nut clarity slammed into him like a freight train.

What the fuck was he doing?

This wasn’t enough. Not even close.

He needed you. Bad. Toxicity be damned.

Because no matter how fucked up the cycle was, no matter how many times you tore each other apart, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t letting you go. Not again.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

The only time Yaga ever felt generous enough to take his hardworking sorcerers out to dinner—some looked forward to it, others did not. It was just simple barbecue, nothing extravagant, but the company always managed to make it lively—especially Shoko, who was an absolute menace when she got drunk.

The air was thick with the smell of sizzling meat, sweet and smoky, mingling with the distant scent of cigarette smoke. The usual bustling sounds of downtown Tokyo surrounded you—laughter spilling from izakayas, the occasional honk of a car, the chatter of normies oblivious to the weight the people at this particular table carried.

Nanami, naturally, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his displeased grunts audible every time someone—usually Gojo—spoke too loudly. His arms were crossed, his beer barely touched, his patience thinning with every passing second.

Shoko was already a drink in, lazily leaning against the table with a lopsided smirk. Her brown eyes were hazy under the dim lighting, and the way she swirled the ice in her glass told everyone she was only just getting started.

You sat beside her, one hand propping up your cheek, the other absentmindedly pushing around the meat sizzling on the grill in front of you. There was something about the atmosphere tonight—lively, warm, yet… off. Maybe it was the way you felt his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, even as he pretended to be fully engrossed in whatever ridiculous conversation he was having with Nanami.

Or maybe it was the way your stomach twisted, knowing he wasn’t just looking.

He was remembering.

His posture was lazy, his usual grin in place, but his fingers drummed against the table with slow, rhythmic taps. You knew him too well—his restless energy, his smug amusement—but this? This was different. His legs were spread wide, arms slung over the back of his seat, and beneath the cover of his dark lenses, his gaze flickered, tracing the curve of your cheek, your lips, your throat.

He looked calm. Completely at ease.

And yet, beneath the table, his fingers curled slightly, the ghost of a grip.

Fuck.

The thought hit him like a truck.

He hadn’t been able to get you out of his head since this afternoon. Since the moment he saw you standing in front of Jujutsu Tech, looking like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wanted anyway. The way you had looked at him—stiff, hesitant, like you were trying so hard to act unbothered—had sent a wildfire through his veins.

He had barely made it to his office before undoing his belt, his mind already painting too-clear images of you, the way your lips parted, the way your legs felt wrapped around his waist. He had gritted his teeth, hissing your name under his breath, fisting his cock like a starved man—fast, desperate, chasing something that didn’t exist outside his head.

And now, here you were. Sitting just a few feet away, oblivious—or maybe not—to the fact that earlier today, he had been thinking about nothing but you while spilling all over his own hand.

His jaw flexed.

You shifted slightly in your seat, rolling your shoulders as if shaking off the weight of his gaze. The movement made the hem of your top ride up just the tiniest bit, exposing a sliver of skin, and Gojo—despite his reputation, despite his control—felt something snap inside him.

His fingers stopped drumming.

The air between you grew thick, unbearably so, like a taut rope ready to snap.

You still didn’t look at him.

And he didn’t look away.

This was bad.

He needed you back.

Toxic or not.

The weight of his gaze was suffocating. It pressed against your skin, coiled around your throat, settled in the pit of your stomach like something dangerous. You swallowed against it, forcing yourself to stay still, to not react—but your fingers twitched, and your heart pounded, and you knew if you sat there a second longer, your composure would snap.

You leaned toward Shoko, murmuring a quick excuse before pushing back your chair, slipping away before your legs could betray just how unsteady you felt. You barely registered the bustle of the restaurant, the warmth of the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and soju. All you could focus on was the pounding in your chest, the way the tension clung to you like a second skin.

The bathroom door shut behind you with a quiet click. You exhaled sharply, pressing your back against it, your pulse loud in your ears.

What the fuck was this?

Two months. Two fucking months. You should’ve been over it by now. Should’ve built an iron wall around your heart, should’ve let time do its thing and dull the edges of what you felt for him.

And yet, it took nothing. Just a look. Just the ghost of a smirk. Just the knowledge that, beneath that cocky mask, there was something else—something darker, something desperate.

A muscle in your jaw ticked. You refused to be the one to break.

But you should’ve known better than to assume Gojo Satoru would let you leave first.

Out at the table, he was still staring at the closed door.

He knew you weren’t running from the conversation at the table. He knew you weren’t going to throw up from too much soju. He knew exactly why you left. And fuck, if that didn’t send a sick thrill down his spine.

With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen blank—but that didn’t matter. His movements were smooth, calculated. He glanced up, feigning distraction, catching Shoko’s gaze. She squinted at him, trying to focus through her haze of alcohol, but before she could voice the question forming in her mind, he was already standing.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stepped away from the table, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

Shoko blinked slowly, then exhaled, swirling the ice in her drink.

“…This is gonna be a mess,” she mumbled to herself.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

The bathroom door slammed open so hard it rattled against the hinges.

Your breath caught.

Satoru stood in the doorway, tall, imposing, his presence swallowing the small space whole. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you both in, the air turning suffocating in an instant.

You straightened, fingers twitching at your sides, but you didn’t move back. You held your ground, even as your pulse roared, even as something electric crawled down your spine.

His hands were still in his pockets, his stance deceptively casual, but you weren’t fooled. His broad chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, his jaw tense. Those sunglasses of his—arrogant, infuriating—were gone, stuffed somewhere in his pocket, and that meant his eyes were on you.

Unfiltered. Unhidden.

And you felt them.

The weight of them. The hunger in them. The sharp edge of something between obsession and anger.

Seconds passed.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched, taut and fragile, like something was about to snap.

And then, finally—

“…Why are you here?” Your voice was steady, but there was venom beneath it.

His lips curled, slow, deliberate. His head tilted just slightly, like he was amused, like he wasn’t the one who had cornered you in a fucking bathroom like a desperate man.

“You tell me,” he said smoothly. “You ran first.”

Your fingers twitched. “And you followed.”

His eyes dragged over your face, slow, taking his time, like he was savoring something.

“You left me with a problem,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. “Not my issue.”

Gojo clicked his tongue, taking a single step closer. Just one. Just enough to make the space between you feel nonexistent.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he mused, voice dipping lower, dangerous now. “You’ve always been my issue. Even when you don’t wanna be.”

His scent curled around you—clean, sharp, tinged with the faintest trace of the cologne you still remembered, the one you once pressed your face into his neck to breathe in.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs.

This was dangerous.

You knew it.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmured, voice dripping with something dark. “You have any idea what you did to me earlier?”

Your breath hitched.

Shit.

You knew exactly what he meant.

But you refused to acknowledge it.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, planting a firm hand against his chest, shoving him back—just enough to put space between you. Just enough to make it clear you weren’t playing his game.

“Don’t start,” you bit out, your voice cutting, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath was still uneven.

Satoru barely moved, barely reacted. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched, like he found it cute.

That pissed you off more than it should have.

“Start what?” he asked lazily, tilting his head. “You’re the one running, sweetheart. And for what? You really think you’re over me?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t think—I know.”

He snorted. “Sure. That’s why you’re shaking right now, right?”

Your nostrils flared. “Fuck off, Satoru.”

“Or what?” His voice dropped, teasing but sharp. “You’ll run again? You’ll pretend like none of this ever happened?”

You hated how easily he got under your skin. Hated how he knew exactly where to poke, exactly which wounds to press his fingers into.

“I don’t have to pretend,” you shot back. “It already ended. Two months ago.”

His expression darkened, his smile slipping just slightly. “Yeah? And you’ve been real happy since then, huh?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him see how your fingers trembled slightly where they dug into your skin.

“Actually?” You forced a smirk. “I’ve never been better.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

And for the first time tonight, something flickered in Gojo’s expression.

Something ugly.

Something that twisted and burned behind his eyes.

His lips curled—not in amusement, but in something bitter, something close to anger.

“You really wanna play that game?” he murmured, stepping forward. “Fine. Let’s play.”

He reached up, his fingers gripping your chin—not harshly, but firm, tilting your face up to his.

“Tell me,” he continued, his voice lower now, something dangerous coiled beneath it. “When you’re lying in bed at night, when it’s quiet, when there’s no one else around—do you still touch yourself thinking about me?”

Your stomach clenched, heat flashing through your veins, but you didn’t let it show. Didn’t let him see how that single sentence knocked the breath out of your lungs.

You scoffed instead, eyes narrowing. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Gojo grinned. “Yeah? But you like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

Your mouth opened—but no words came out.

And Satoru saw it.

His grip on your chin tightened, just barely, his thumb brushing over the corner of your lip, his eyes dipping down—watching, waiting.

You hated him.

Hated how easily he broke past your walls.

Hated how, even now, even after everything, your body still reacted to him like this.

Hated how much you fucking wanted him.

And he knew.

Of course he knew.

A slow exhale left him, his breath fanning over your lips, and you felt it—the shift in the air, the way the tension between you snapped from hostility to something darker, something that burned.

“I jacked off to you today,” he murmured, his tone almost conversational, but there was a roughness to it. A rawness. “Couldn’t even fucking help it.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I was pissed, you know?” His thumb dragged down, tracing the curve of your jaw. “Seeing you. Watching you act like I don’t fucking exist. Like you weren’t mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit out.

Satoru smiled.

And then he laughed.

Low. Mocking.

Like you just said the funniest shit in the world.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, and your breath caught at the way his voice dipped into something dark, something possessive. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your fingers twitched.

And then you did what your body screamed at you to do.

You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth clashing, hands grasping, months of tension snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight. It was resentment, and love, and lust, and every unsaid word swallowed into the heat of the moment.

Satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands snapping to your hips, yanking you flush against him.

And fuck—he was already hard.

You felt it, pressing against you, his body burning hot, his grip rough as he spun you, backing you against the sink.

“You always do this,” you panted against his lips. “You always—”

“Always what?” he murmured, dragging his teeth along your jaw, his hands slipping under your shirt, burning against your skin. “Make you want me?”

You shuddered, fingers tangling into his hair, tugging harshly—and he groaned, low and wrecked.

“You fucking love it,” he said against your throat.

You hated that he was right.

But you weren’t about to let him win that easily.

Your hand slid down, palming him through his slacks, and his breath hitched, his hips jerking into your touch.

“Fuck,” he bit out.

You smirked. “What was that?”

His grip on you tightened, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

And then he was yanking your head back, capturing your lips in another kiss, and you knew—this wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Your fingers curled tighter into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and the sharp hiss that left his lips sent heat flashing straight down your spine.

But just as fast as it started, you wrenched yourself back.

Breathless.

Satoru’s grip on your waist tightened for a fraction of a second—like he didn’t want to let go. Like he physically couldn’t. But you pushed against his chest, and he let you slip through his fingers, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you put space between you.

A smirk curled your lips as you leaned back against the sink, crossing your arms. “What happened to all that confidence, Satoru?”

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his jaw ticking.

“Don’t fucking start,” he muttered.

“Or what?” You tilted your head, faux innocence dripping from your tone. “You’ll break?”

The muscle in his jaw clenched harder. His hands twitched. His eyes—fuck, those fucking eyes—burned into yours with something wild, something unrestrained.

And then, just when you thought he was going to snap—he laughed.

Not his usual laugh. Not the carefree, cocky one he tossed around like spare change.

This was different.

Low. Dark. Wrecked.

Like he already knew he was losing.

Satoru took a slow step forward, closing the distance you put between you, his fingers dragging along the edge of the sink counter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You wanna play, baby?” His voice was soft. Dangerous. “Fine. Let’s play.”

You didn’t move when he caged you in, his hands bracketing your hips, his breath fanning against your cheek.

“But we both know how this ends,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Enlighten me.”

His lips brushed against your jaw—so close, but not touching. Just there. Just teasing.

“It ends with you on your knees,” he said, voice thick with something sinful. “Or maybe I’ll be on mine. You know I never minded.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you let your lips curl into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you need me more than I need you.”

That got him.

His nostrils flared. His fingers flexed against the counter. His whole body tensed like a live wire about to snap.

And you had him.

For a split second, he looked like he was going to crack, to give in—

But then—

He stepped back.

The loss of his warmth, the absence of his presence, sent something hollow through your chest.

Satoru exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his head tilting back toward the ceiling. “You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered.

And then he looked at you—really looked at you.

Like you were something unattainable. Like he could reach for you, but you’d slip through his fingers.

Like he was already mourning the loss of you, even though you were right there.

Something inside you clenched.

Because Satoru never looked at you like that.

Not like he was breaking.

Not like he was crumbling under the weight of you.

And that—that scared you more than anything.

You turned, grabbing the door handle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was sharp.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

And that second was all he needed.

In one swift movement, he was there again—right behind you, his chest pressing flush against your back, his fingers gripping your hips with bruising force.

“Go ahead,” he murmured into your ear. “Walk out that door.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the handle.

His hands slid down, slow, deliberate, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

“But we both know you won’t.”

Your breath hitched when he rocked against you, his erection pressing firm against the curve of your ass.

Your fingers clenched around the handle.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “I’m going insane.”

You closed your eyes. “Then let me go.”

His laugh was soft. Bitter.

“Never,” he whispered.

And then his fingers dug in, and he spun you—slamming you back against the door.

His hands were everywhere, mapping out the body he had memorized, relearning every curve and dip like he was starving.

“You think I don’t miss you?” he rasped.

Your heart pounded.

He kissed you before you could answer.

Desperate.

Teeth and tongue and months of loneliness crashing into you all at once.

His hands slid under your thighs, hoisting you up, pinning you between him and the door.

“I can still taste you,” he murmured against your lips.

Your breath stuttered.

His grip on you was bruising, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking, biting, marking.

“You think you can just leave me?” His voice was rough. “Think you can just walk away?”

Your head tilted back, breathless, overwhelmed.

“You’re mine,” he muttered against your skin, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the edge of your waistband.

You gasped when his hand dipped lower.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t. You never could.

Because even now, even after everything— You still wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, yanking them down with a sharp tug, and your breath hitched as the cool air kissed your heated skin.

“Satoru—”

“Shh,” he hushed, lips dragging along the column of your throat. “S’okay, jus’ me, baby.”

His voice was low, raspy, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest as he palmed between your legs, fingers running over the damp fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned. “What, you missed me that much?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

He didn’t like that.

Without warning, he pressed the heel of his palm against your clit, and your hips jerked involuntarily.

“There’s my answer,” he murmured, lips ghosting against your ear.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pushed your panties aside, two fingers sliding through your slick folds, teasing.

“Y’know,” he mused, voice like velvet, “I thought jerking off earlier would take the edge off. But look at me.”

You felt him grind against your thigh, the thick outline of his cock straining against his slacks, hot and heavy.

“Didn’t work,” he continued, dragging his fingers through your slickness, circling your clit with lazy, taunting strokes. “Still fuckin’ starving for you.”

Your breath hitched when he pushed a finger inside, slow, teasing, curling it just enough to make you gasp.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he murmured, adding another finger, stretching you out. “my pretty pussy.”

Your head tilted back against the door, a sharp moan slipping from your lips.

His pace quickened, fingers thrusting in and out, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit, every motion calculated, precise, like he was pulling you apart piece by piece. “Feel good, baby?”

You nodded frantically, hips bucking into his hand.

“voice, honey, use it.”

“Y-yeah,” you choked out. “Feels so fucking good.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers suddenly disappearing—making you whine at the loss—before he spun you around, pressing your chest against the door. “Hands up,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, pressing your palms against the doorframe, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. The anticipation burned through you, every nerve in your body attuned to him.

A loud thud echoed behind you, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found Satoru on his knees, his striking blue eyes locked onto you with a dark, ravenous hunger. His fingers hooked into the band of your flimsy panties, tugging them aside with ease before his nose brushed against the sensitive heat of your core.

“Ah, fuck,” he exhaled, his voice thick with desire. “Yum.”

The warmth of his breath sent a shiver coursing through you, and then—oh god—his lips parted, his tongue swiping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your knees tremble. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he pulled you closer, his grip firm on your thighs.

“You smell so good,” he muttered against your slick skin, his words vibrating against your core. “Fuck—been thinking about this for the past two months— why’re you depriving me of this, wifey?”

Your face twists from anticipation, and moreover, irritation at how he seemed to always think he owned you. news flash, he does.

“you’re acting like—“ you gasp out breathlessly before—His mouth latched onto you, devouring like a man starved. The wet heat of his tongue worked expertly, tracing and teasing, alternating between languid strokes and eager, desperate sucks. Every movement sent shocks of pleasure crackling up your spine, your fingers clenching uselessly against the doorframe as your body melted into his touch.

“Satoru—” you gasped, hips jerking instinctively toward his mouth, craving more. He chuckled against you, the vibration making you whimper.

“So needy,” he murmured, his tongue flicking wickedly before he sucked your clit into his mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened as he buried himself deeper, his own groans mingling with the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your legs shook, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach. He could feel it—he always knew. With one hand, he slipped two fingers inside you with ease, curling them just right, pressing into that spot that had you biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxed, voice thick with arrogance and lust. “Let me hear you.”

Your hands trembled against the doorframe, fingers pressing uselessly into the wood as a whimper slipped from your lips. Satoru’s pace was relentless—his tongue dragging through your folds, his fingers curling inside you with devastating precision. The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, heat pooling low as he worked you over like he had all the time in the world.

“Look at you,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Dripping all over me—fuck.”

You gasped as he pressed his palm flat against your lower stomach, holding you in place while he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking against the swollen nub. The pleasure hit you like a wave, rolling through you in sharp, dizzying bursts.

“Satoru—I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Go ahead. Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body seized, pleasure snapping through your core as your orgasm crashed over you, hard and unrelenting. Your knees buckled, and Satoru caught you effortlessly, keeping you steady as you trembled beneath his touch. He groaned as he licked you through it, his fingers stroking you lazily, coaxing out every last aftershock.

When you finally slumped against the doorframe, boneless and breathless, he pulled back, licking his lips like he was savoring the taste of you. His eyes, darkened with lust, raked over your trembling form.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, rising to his feet. He cupped your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You good?”

You nodded weakly, still floating in the haze of pleasure.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Think you can take more?”

Before you could answer, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around to face him. He kissed you—deep, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands wandered, fingers tracing the curve of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze and letting out a loooowww whistle.

The moment your silence stretched too long, Satoru knew he had you.

A slow, cocky smirk curled on his lips as he rolled his hips forward, pressing his hardness against your core, just to hear the way your breath caught in your throat.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, voice low, rough—wrecked.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as he lifted you, pinning you between the door and his body, the heat of him searing straight through your clothes. You barely had a moment to gasp before his lips crashed against yours, desperate and bruising.

It was messy. Uncoordinated. More need than finesse.

Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.

You wanted to hate him for how easily he unraveled you, how quickly he made you forget why you were supposed to be angry, but the way he groaned into your mouth, like he was starving for you, made it impossible.

"Fuck," he muttered, breaking away just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide. "I've been thinking about this all day."

His fingers found the waistband of your pants, yanking them down in a single, impatient motion, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare skin.

"God, baby," he groaned, voice shaking. "You have no fucking idea."

You swallowed hard, gripping at his shirt as he reached down, palming himself through his slacks. The outline of his cock was thick and heavy, and when he popped open the button and shoved his pants down, your mouth watered at the sight of it—hard, flushed red at the tip, pre-cum already leaking.

He gave himself a few strokes, his eyes locked onto your soaked cunt, before he pressed the blunt tip against your entrance.

"You’re already dripping," he murmured, smug. "Missed me that much, huh?"

You wanted to argue, to shove him back and wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but the second he pushed in, stretching you open inch by inch, your brain short-circuited.

"Shit," you gasped, head tipping back against the door.

Satoru grunted, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

"Tight as ever," he hissed. "Like this pussy was fucking made for me."

You dug your nails into his shoulders, your walls clenching around him as he gave a sharp thrust.

"Shit—" His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. "You’re gonna kill me."

And then he started moving.

There was no build-up, no easing into it—just raw, desperate thrusts, his hips snapping against yours, his cock driving into you so deep it had you seeing stars.

Your moans filled the small bathroom, drowned out only by the muffled sounds of the restaurant beyond the door. The thrill of it—the risk, the absolute filth of being fucked up against a public bathroom door—only made it worse.

Satoru must have felt the same, because his grip on you turned bruising, his pace brutal.

"This what you wanted, huh?" he growled, lips brushing against your ear. "Wanted me to ruin you like this?"

You could only whimper in response, your legs tightening around his waist.

"You love it," he groaned. "Love letting me fuck you like this, even when you hate me."

His teeth found your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before soothing it with his tongue.

"Fuck, baby," he panted, "I should keep you like this forever. Stuck on my cock, whining like a bitch in heat."

The filthiness of it sent heat rushing straight to your core, your walls fluttering around him, making him curse under his breath.

"That's it," he muttered. "Come on, baby, give it to me."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and your body jerked at the sensation.

"Fuck—Satoru—"

"I know, baby," he gritted out. "Come for me. Come on my fucking cock."

The coil in your stomach snapped, and you came with a sharp cry, your walls clenching down so hard on him he nearly collapsed against you.

"Shit, shit, shit—"

His thrusts turned erratic, sloppy, his breath ragged against your skin as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna—"

And then, with one last thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a low, wrecked groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting, clinging to each other, the aftershocks still rippling through your bodies.

And then—

Reality crashed down.

His head dropped against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Fuck," he murmured, voice hoarse.

You didn’t respond, still coming down from your high, your mind too fogged to process anything else.

But then he spoke again.

"You’re never leaving me."

Your breath hitched.

"You hear me?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his iridescent blue eyes burning.

"This—" He gestured vaguely, his chest still heaving. "Us. It’s never gonna stop."

You swallowed hard. "Satoru—"

"I don’t care how fucked up it is," he interrupted, voice cracking. "I don’t care if we tear each other apart." He sniffled, You swallowed, your throat tight. His words pressed against your skin, heavier than his body pinning you to the door.

"You can’t say that," you whispered, voice barely there.

Satoru’s gaze didn’t waver. He just looked at you, eyes burning with something you weren’t ready to name.

"I can," he murmured. "Because it’s true."

His fingers ghosted over your cheek, sliding down the column of your throat, pressing lightly—just enough for you to feel his touch, like he was mapping you all over again.

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your body still ached for him, how every inch of you still burned from the way he took you.

"You don’t own me."

He exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I know," he admitted, his voice a broken rasp. "But you still belong to me."

Your breath stuttered. "That’s not the same thing."

"Isn’t it?" he asked, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you like you were something fragile. "Tell me, then. Tell me you don’t feel it, too."

You didn’t answer.

Because you did.

You felt it in the way his body curled over yours, in the way his breaths mingled with yours, in the way he held you—not with possession, but with something deeper. Something unshakable.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then another on your cheek, then lower, down to your jaw. He was shaking. His lips trembled against your skin.

"I thought about you every fucking day."

His confession poured into you like warm honey, thick and golden, coating every inch of your chest.

"I know you think this is just obsession," he continued, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. "That I’m selfish and I only want you because I can’t stand the idea of someone else having you. Maybe that’s true."

His hands slid up, wrapping around your wrists, pulling them down from where they’d been pressed defensively to his chest.

"But it’s more than that," he said, kissing your palm. "It always has been."

Your fingers curled slightly against his cheek, as if testing the weight of his words. "Then why do we keep ruining each other?"

He let out a breath, slow and quiet, like it hurt to say the truth out loud.

"Because I don't know how to love you without ruining myself, too."

Your heart clenched.

Satoru lifted his head, his gaze searching yours, his lips parting slightly before he said it.

"And you can’t leave me anyway."

You blinked. "What?"

His hands flexed at your sides, gripping tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"Something’s already taken root inside you," he whispered, almost reverently. "You know it, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, your breath catching as something deep inside you—something instinctual, something unspoken—stirred at his words.

Because you did know.

It wasn’t just the way your body still felt like it belonged to him. It wasn’t just the way your heart raced whenever he was near.

It was something more. Something permanent.

Satoru swallowed, his thumb brushing over your lips, his voice raw, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Tell me I’m wrong."

You couldn’t.

His eyes darkened, something deep and knowing settling in them.

"That’s what I thought."

His hands found your hips, gripping them, his thumbs tracing slow circles.

"You’re never leaving," he murmured, softer this time, like a promise. "Not now. Not ever."

You shivered, your head dropping against his chest, your breath unsteady.

Because for the first time in all the years of back-and-forth, of fights and reconciliations, of leaving and coming back—

You believed him.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want to leave anyway.

Satoru’s arms wound around you, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.

His lips pressed against your temple, slow and lingering, and then—

"Marry me."

The words were quiet, barely louder than the sound of your own heartbeat.

Your body froze, rigid, like glass refusing to budge. Satoru only pulled you closer.

"We both know this is forever."

His hands skimmed your sides, like he was memorizing you all over again.

"So let’s stop pretending otherwise."

Your throat went dry.

Because as crazy as it sounded, as reckless and fucked-up as this love was—

Maybe, just maybe—

He was right.

Back to him, you guess. Forever this time.

FIN.

❤︎ ໋𓈒 a/n. hello loves, i was feeling very uninspired towards my long fic “All I Need” so im posting this. I’ll hopefully be back on track once i jot down my ideas for chapter five. I hope you enjoy this one-shot, based on B2b by charlixcx.

© All Rights Reserved mymoonisgrey

[lightlycareless]

just had to get it out of my system 2.0

warnings: none too grave. naoya unintentionally makes you feel insecure about your weight.

Naoya, the I’ve never had an official girlfriend before so I gotta make the best of it, deciding to show off his muscles by carrying you.

Naoya, the doesn’t know how to shut up not even for his own good, unsurprisingly ends up saying insensitive things to you when realizing he can’t carry you as effortlessly as he wanted—and if that wasn’t enough, he also had to be quite dramatic about it.

“Oh, Y/N—! You really have to lay off the mochi!” He jests, finding no unwarranted cruelty behind his words nor the hurt in your eyes as he continued to tease you. “You’re quite heavy—"

Naoya, whom even after you manage to jump down from his grasp and storm away, doesn’t find anything wrong with his actions. His words hadn’t come from genuine malice, after all.

But it’s not until the love-deprived Naoya, the one that quickly had come to realize he couldn’t live without you after seeing you for the first time, suffering the greatest of tortures at your persistent silence, that he finally realizes his mistakes.

That, alongside the consistent threats from your siblings, who were just waiting the slightest mishap on his part to prove their accusations, pushed him to do so.

However, Naoya didn’t even give them chance to retaliate, swiftly showering you with gifts to showcase how regretful he was—and how it was ok for you to indulge in the mochi you’ve dejectedly avoided since then.

And, of course, making it his personal challenge to demonstrate you weren’t too heavy, but rather, he was too weak.

How he managed to do such feat in such little time only serves to refute the misconceptions your siblings and friends had of him (or more like no longer applied) and once more show how utterly devoted, he was to make you happy.

“I need you to help me with something.” Naoya suddenly says, his request, while bold, doesn’t startle you.

“Hm? What is it?” you ask. “Is it paperwork again?”

“No, nothing like that. Just… stay there and—” with one swift movement, Naoya lifts you up, making you squeal and instinctively hold onto his shoulders, a combination of fear and shame envelopes you soon enough where you’re begging him to put you down.

“Please, just—let me go!” but he remains, only to continue surprising you upon realizing he wasn’t carrying you with both his arms, but rather… just one.

It’s confusing to you, to say the least; you didn’t know whether to indulge in your shock and gush at his undeniable improvement— or wonder why he insisted, after all, didn’t he label this endeavor agonizing to perform…?

Naoya wins you to it, however. Concern was written all over your face, there was no way he couldn’t point it out.

“You should know by now that I never back up from a challenge.”

“I didn’t know carrying me was a challenge…” you pout. “Seemed like punishment.”

“Oh, princess, having you like this can only be a pleasure.”

“Alright, alright!” you fluster, urging him again to put you down before a crowd gathers. “If you wanted to show off there were a million other ways to do so… instead of calling me fat and then working out to prove yourself wrong.”

“Fat? I never called you fat.” Per usual Naoya fashion, he would attempt to gaslight you and act as if that sensible moment had been nothing but a figment of your imagination, or, in this case, a misunderstanding. “I meant to say that’s how I get whenever I see you.”

“What? What do you mean that’s how you get? How can you get fat—” the understanding of his subtly crude words suddenly hits you, making the redness in your face burn even brighter as you decisively fight against his hold, just to avoid the embarrassment. “Oh, my god… You’re gross!!”

“Well, you can get as angry as you want, still doesn’t lessen the truth.”

“…When are you ever going to stop being gross?”

For someone like Naoya, you might as well be requesting the impossible.

But who are you kidding? It wouldn’t exactly be your Naoya if you asked him to be literally anything else but his genuine self.

And you’re not that far off either when it comes to perversions, he’d come to learn delightfully so in due time—but that’s a story for another time 😊

he didn't see anything wrong with his words at first until he heard someone (like one of his friends or relatives) say the same thing towards you and THEN was he like UH NO.

:)

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Finding Yourself - C.SC [Part 2]

🐢Who: Choi Seungcheol (Seventeen) x female reader 🐢What: 18+. Dark themes. Mafia au. Angst. Fluff. Suggestive. Slow burn. Mafia Boss Seungcheol. Single parent Seungcheol. Strangers to friends to lovers. Chan is reader’s little brother. Hansol is Seungcheol’s son. 🐢Word count: 21k 🐢Warnings: Characters with autism/ADHD. Selective mutism. Mentions and depictions of being overwhelmed/sensory overload and meltdowns. Degrading language, including mental disability slur. Gang typical content: threats, violence, torture, weapons, injury, blood, morally fucked up characters, mentions of past forced sex work. Mentions of being branded. Suggestive content & sexual conversations. Brief misunderstanding. 🐢Summary: “In an attempt to protect your little brother, you run away from home and the gang your father forced you into as a teenager.

You truly thought you were done with that life. But months later, when members of the Centaurs gang find you and your brother squatting in their property mid gang-fight, they take you back to their headquarters and force you right back into it.

Suddenly, you find yourself living in the home of the leader of the oldest, most famous gang in the entire country, and you very quickly realise that he isn’t the ruthless monster everyone thinks he is.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Finding Yourself Part 1 – Finding Yourself Part 3

Disclaimer: Okay, so I feel like I need to point out that I do have both autism and ADHD, and I have done a lot of research around both during my own discovery/diagnosis periods; even now I’m constantly learning that more aspects of myself are very common in people with autism/ADHD so there is truth behind how the characters are portrayed in this fic. Yet, with that being said, both autism and ADHD are very vast in that you can have a room full of people with both disabilities and yet every single one of those people are incredibly different, which means that the characters in this story who have autism or ADHD are not accurate portrayals of every single person with either. There are 4 clearly stated autistic people in this fic throughout and they are each different personalities and how their disability affects them. So please don’t leave comments or send rude asks accusing me of misrepresentation or anything like that just because a character you’ve watched in a movie isn’t written the same as these characters, thanks.

Although most of your time over the following weeks is spent with Seungkwan as the two of you watch over the boys while they learn and play together, you feel like your time with Seungcheol feels like more somehow.

Maybe it’s because it’s always just the two of you in his office, side by side on the loveseat together, to discuss everything you know about the Vultures and how Seungcheol can take them apart so severely that they’ll never put themselves back together again. Maybe it’s because you both quickly lose track of time as you talk bent over his notebook together for hours. Maybe it’s because even when he closes the notebook and declares his brain is too fried to talk work any longer, you remain side by side on the couch to talk about everything and anything that comes to mind. Maybe it’s because the first time that you don’t stop yourself from flexing your hands when you start to get overloaded, Seungcheol notices and doesn’t stop you, just silently closes the notebook before shutting the study door and opening the window to let the cool night air in with the subtle sounds of nature to help you relax.

Ever since the first time Seungcheol saw your stimming, he’s paid closer attention to the signs and often reaches out to stop you from sitting on your hands or pressing your legs down so that you don’t bounce them. He silently encourages you and even keeps fidget toys on the coffee table now for you to play with as the two of you work and doesn’t tell you to sit down when you get up to walk around or pace sometimes. He just carries on talking and always manages to land his eyes on you when he looks up as if he’s keeping track of you in his periphery.

It’s the first time anyone has ever taken the time to see you; to understand and let you just exist as you’re supposed to. You don’t think you’ve even given yourself such care before. But thanks to Seungcheol’s gentle encouragement and silent support, you think you’re starting to find yourself little by little.

“Hey- oh,” Seungcheol greets as he walks into his study one evening and finds that you’ve rearranged the furniture. “Uh, what happened in here?”

“It was wrong,” you declare, as you frown at the study while looking around it in dissatisfaction. “It still is.” You huff and go back to moving the heavy desk for the third time.

“Alright, there’s clearly something here,” Seungcheol walks over and tugs you away from the desk to hold your hands, even as you tug slightly in a weak attempt to free yourself. You’re not sure what you want right now: if you’re okay with the touch or would rather he be across the room. “What’s going on, is something wrong, sweetheart?”

“I told you; it’s wrong. Everything is wrong, Seungcheol.”

“The room? We can move the furniture as much as you want if that’s what you need right now, but I don’t think it is.” You pull your hands from his hold with a huff and return to the desk.

For a few minutes, Seungcheol silently stands and watches you adjust the desk in such tiny increments that he really wouldn’t even know you’ve moved it if he hasn’t got his attention glued to you. When he sees you lift and lower one end a few times without changing the desk to a different position, he suddenly thinks he understands and hums.

“Come on,” he says, walking over to take your hand into his. You look at him with a frown. “I think I know what will help, come on.” Although you’re confused, you trust the man, so you obediently follow him with your hand in his.

It’s now that you suddenly realise the truth of that; that even though you’ve only known him less than two months, you trust Choi Seungcheol; the big, bad boss of the most feared gang in the country.

Of course, you know that he’s no saint by any means, he’s come home with bloodied knuckles and other people’s blood speckled on his neck where he hasn’t noticed it when clearing up before coming into the manor. You know he can be ruthless and vicious, but he’s also the most understanding and accepting person you’ve ever met, and he’s raising the sweetest little boy. Seungcheol really can’t be a truly bad person to have such a caring son as Hansol.

The realisation that you would blindly follow this man without question makes you stop in your tracks in pure shock, despite being on the stairs.

Seungcheol immediately comes to a still a few steps in front of you and turns to look up at you worriedly. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I trust you,” you mutter.

Seungcheol blinks a few times, dumbstruck by the sudden admittance before he walks up the steps until he’s on the one below you and looking at you with something strange on his features and in his shining eyes that you really don’t understand. “Yeah?” You nod in confirmation without an ounce of hesitation. Seungcheol smiles and lifts his hand off the banister to gently brush your overgrown hair out of your eyes. “That makes me really happy to hear, sweetheart. I trust you too.”

“I didn’t realise I trust you until now. I don’t think I’ve ever trusted someone like this before. It’s weird.”

“Like what?”

“So quickly and completely.”

“You trust me completely?” You nod. “With everything? With Squirt?”

“His name is Chan,” you inform simply; information that none of them know despite the pair of you having lived in the manor for almost two months now.

Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide in genuine astonishment. “I didn’t think we’d ever know.”

“They don’t. You do.”

“Just me?” You nod. “Oh, sweetheart.” He lets out a breath and cups your cheek for a moment before he lowers his hand again. “Come on.” Seungcheol turns and leads you down the stairs to grab your shoes and coats to put on at the back door before going outside.

When you’re standing side by side at the playground barely lit by the moon overhead, he lets go of your hand and walks over to the huge metal framework to start climbing.

You remain in place and watch him bewilderedly until he looks at you from a couple of metres off the ground with a grin. “Come on, climb with me.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” It’s not normally a convincing argument, but when Seungcheol says it, it seems like enough, and you find yourself walking over to start climbing.

Your movements are timid at first, you don’t think you even climbed much as a child, and you’re still recovering from months of little food and lack of real exercise, so it’s harder than it should be for you to pull and push yourself along the bars and ropes.

But after a while, you look up to find Seungcheol and when you notice his soft smile on you, you realise that you’re smiling too. “Come on, you can almost see over the wall from the top!” He enthuses and turns to keep climbing to the sheltered platform at the very top, leaving him mostly in the shadows once inside.

When you clamber into the shelter a few minutes later, he’s laid on a blanket with a pillow under his head and another at his side. He pats the blanket on his right, so you crawl over and lay down curled up on your side facing him. From his left, he grabs another blanket and lays it out over the both of you before settling on his side to face you.  

“Feel better?” He asks softly when you’re both comfortable.

“I needed to climb?” You ask.

“I think you just needed to put your body to use. That’s why you were moving stuff and kept lifting the desk up and down; to use your muscles. I don’t suppose you do much of that other than carrying Chan. Maybe that’s part of the reason you like carrying him so much, actually.”

“Oh, maybe,” you agree. “That would make sense. I used to train and stuff before leaving so I’m not used to doing so little.”

“We have a home gym, state of the art and everything, you can use it whenever you want, Pearl.” You stare at him for a moment before stating your name, earning a confused look. “Who’s that?”

“Me.”

“You?” You nod. “Oh…oh, that’s your real name.” You hum in confirmation. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” He shuffles a little closer and takes your hand from where it lays on the blanket between you. “It means a lot to me that you do, more than I can put into words. I’m really fucking happy you trust me so much.”

“I think I’m happy too,” you admit. “It’s like I have a friend.”

“What? Sweetheart,” he frowns and let’s go of your hand to slide his hand up your arm and then to your back to pull you closer, right to his chest.

You’ve never done this before, cuddled, not with anyone other than Chan. You quickly decide that you like it and shuffle closer to tuck your face into his neck while putting your right arm around his waist.

Seungcheol curls his arm around you and turns his head down to kiss the top of your head. “I am your friend, we all are. There’s no like a friend at all, we are.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ve always wanted friends.”

“And you have us, for as long as you want us.”

“A long time would be nice.”

“It really fucking would.”

The very next night after had Seungcheol taken you out to the climbing frame, when you enter his office expecting to be empty as he usually arrives after you, he’s already there.

For the first time in two months, you see him wearing sweatpants and a matching, unzipped hoodie, showing the black compression shirt clinging to his firm torso underneath. You’re too thrown off to do anything but stare from the doorway at the sight of the man in such casual clothing when he’s usually always ready to leave the house for work purposes or just back from work; sometimes in suits, sometimes in neat jeans and dark t-shirts, and sometimes in his expensive motorbike leathers.

“What?” He asks where he’s leaning back against his desk in wait with his palms on the edge either side of his hips.

“Never seen you casual,” you answer, coming back to reality, and start to edge towards the seating. Though he chooses now to push off the desk and pick up the material that had been hiding behind him to toss to you, so you’re forced to stop in your path to catch it. “What’s this?”

“Figure you don’t have any workout clothes, so I got some today. Kinda guessed your size, so if it’s wrong, it’s your own fault for wearing baggy trousers and crewnecks all the time.”

“They’re comfy,” you mumble in defence while adjusting the cool material in your hands to take in the matching leggings and sports bra in black, other than the coloured stripes around the top of the thighs. You blink at it dumbly for a moment, then look at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Are you a pervert, Seungcheol?”

In an instant, his eyes turn even wider than normal, and his face visibly warms. “What?! No!”

“I assume you expect me to wear this and work out with you, based on your own outfit.”

“Why does that make me a pervert?! I asked the woman what typical woman’s workout gear is and she told me that’s the most popular set! Blame her!” He gestures pointlessly, flicking his arms out as if to motion to a woman who isn’t even present.

“And you didn’t once look at this and consider that I will essentially be topless and wearing a second set of skin on my legs? I don’t even know if I can wear underwear under this kind of material.”

Seungcheol chokes on his sudden inhale, earning a questioning look from you. “I-I’m fine.”

“You’re red again.”

“Shut up!” He stalks past you out of the room suddenly, only to backtrack and offer his hand while keeping his pink face directed away from you. He looks so childlike and cute that it makes you giggle before accepting his hand and holding the clothes to your chest while he leads you out of his office and down the stairs.

Although you’ve been all over the manor at this point, just to learn where all the hallways lead in case of emergency, you’ve never been down into the basement after learning that it’s just storage and the gym with no sensible exits, only tiny windows along the tops of the outer rooms, meaning you’ve had no reason to go down there until now.

Despite being curious about the layout and what the rooms and halls you pass contain, you focus on Seungcheol and his quick steps as he leads you through the barely lit basement. You can’t tell if the path is so engrained into him that he doesn’t need more lighting to find his way, or if his eyesight is just much more reliable than yours in the dull light.

You’re mostly relying on your hearing to tell you when you enter different spaces, with your eyes glued to Seungcheol’s hand in your own and your feet in your peripheral so that you don’t trip. When the echoes of your steps give away that this room you’ve just entered is much larger and far more open than the halls and smaller rooms you’ve walked through to get here, you correctly guess that you’ve entered the gym.

Though Seungcheol doesn’t pause or turn on a light, he continues forward, slippers slapping across the linoleum, until he stops to open a door and urge you inside.

Finally, he turns on a light and you have to blink and squint for a few seconds to grow accustomed to the sudden white light. Only then are you able to peer around and understand that you’re now standing just inside of a changing room, with lockers along one wall and exposed showers at the back behind you.

“Okay, get changed and come back out. It’s just us here and I promise I’m not going to come in unless you call me, okay?”

“Why would I call you?” You give him a bewildered look before turning to walk to the benches in the centre of the room and put the clothes down.

“If you get hurt or something.”

“I think I’m perfectly capable of getting changed without hurting myself.”

“Right, right, okay, whatever, just get changed and come out,” he decides while waving one hand dismissively before backing up, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Not wanting to make Seungcheol wait around, you quickly change into the leggings and sports bra while wondering how Seungcheol managed to accurately guess your clothes size. At least, based on the tag he correctly guessed your size, because even though the sports bra fits fine, the leggings are practically trying to absorb themselves into your skin and you have to remove your underwear to gain the extra little space to fit them more comfortably over your ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter while looking at your reflection and taking in how tight the material is on you. You’ve never been a fan of such tight clothing simply because you don’t like feeling so constricted, but at least the material is soft enough that you think you’ll be able to handle this long enough to work out and then never force yourself into again.

Part of you wants to change back into your own clothes and tell Seungcheol that there’s no way you can wear this, but the other part of you doesn’t want to disappoint him by not wearing the clothes he went out of his way to buy for you. You figure after all the man has done for you over the past two months, the least you can do is wear the outfit.

You’ve never been self-conscious about your body; it’s not something you’ve ever much cared about, others perception of your physical body, yet today you hesitate before opening the door as a strange little concern of what Seungcheol will think of your body flashes through your mind. Thankfully, it truly is only a rapid worry and goes as soon as it arrives, so you don’t hover any longer than a second before leaving the changing room.

“People really wear this stuff regularly?” You wonder, drawing Seungcheol’s attention from where he’s arranging equipment on the open matted area, the only area he’s turned the lights on for.

“Yeah, that’s-” he cuts off abruptly when his eyes land on you while you approach him.

You see his lips move and can’t tell if he’s saying something to himself too quietly for you to hear or just imitating a fish. Either way, he looks ridiculous with once again wide eyes and his arms slowly dropping downwards as his hands grow lax.

It seems as if he’s somehow forgotten that he’s got a 1kg dumbbell in each hand and only remembers when one of them lands on his sock clad foot. “Fuck!” He exclaims, doubling over until he’s lowered to the mats with his hands clutching the impact site on the top of his right foot.

“Least it was only light,” you comment as you stop beside him, your slippers left next to his own at the side of the mats.

“The fucking corner landed on bone,” he grunts. You eye the bright green, hexagonal weight, and reason that yeah, that would hurt, even if it is made of neoprene as opposed to metal.

After a few moments of just standing in wait while watching him, Seungcheol straightens up with his hands on the tops of his thighs to look at you. Though he quickly looks away and removes his hoodie to toss at you.

“Please put that on for my sanity,” he pleads awkwardly.

“You’re red again,” you comment while you do as he asked and pull on his hoodie to zip up. It stops at your mid-thigh and past your hands. “This is a safety hazard, surely.”

Seungcheol looks at you as you flap the sleeves. His pinched expression smooths out and a gentle smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “A cute one at least.”

“I don’t think the cuteness of a hazard makes it any better, Seungcheol,” you point out, looking at him flatly.

He laughs softly and gets up to step closer to you and picks up one of your arms. “No, but it’s what we’re dealing with,” he reasons as he folds up the sleeve to the middle of your forearm to free your hand, then swaps to repeat on your other arm. You quietly watch him work, unaware that his gaze isn’t even on the material he’s handling but instead glued to your curious expression while his own is nothing but fond.

After an hour of Seungcheol refusing to let you do anything too arduous, he declares the work out over and guides you through a cool down that doesn’t do much to deter the rabbiting of your heart when the attractive man is still insisting on physically guiding you.

For the past hour, Seungcheol has been right by your side; manually adjusting you with his hands on your body and intense eyes tracking your form to make sure that you’re not about to hurt yourself by positioning yourself wrong. You’ve tried to tell him that you know how to do it all properly, you did more taxing exercises than this daily back when you were a Vulture, yet the stubborn ass doesn’t accept your words and reminds you that you’re months out of practice, before moving you into the next exercise.

To your relief, he deems you sufficiently cooled down, despite your pink cheeks, and lets you get up and grab a bottle of water from the drinks fridge to start swallowing the contents down.

“Aren’t you going to work out?” You ask a few seconds later as you watch him tidy up from a safe distance out of his reach.

You’re not an idiot, you know that Seungcheol is a beautiful man; you’ve known that from before you even met and simply had the knowledge confirmed the first time you laid eyes him in person. But you’ve met plenty of attractive men in your life and you’ve never felt your heart race just because their hands gently correct your posture, or their eyes remain focused on you intensely with nothing inappropriate in the dark shine.

That probably makes it even worse; that Seungcheol wasn’t even checking you out or trying to cop a feel. He was genuinely just trying to help and get you healthy again, like he always does.

Maybe his touch might’ve lingered a few times, but you refuse to assume that it was him wanting to touch you and not just that your perceptions of what a reasonable time frame is, differs from his own. You don’t want to think anything inappropriate of the man who has been nothing but kind and understanding to you, you don’t want to cross any boundaries even in your mind.

So even though this is the first time you’ve genuinely felt yourself gain even a little attraction to anyone, you push it down and do your best to ignore the way it’s impossible to miss his bulging arms in the short sleeves of his compression shirt and the way it makes heat tingle in your lower stomach.

“Hm?” Seungcheol replies, looking over at you briefly, then back to stacking the colourful dumbbells on a little rack that doesn’t match the rest of the black and silver equipment.

Suddenly, you wonder if he had bought more than just the clothes for you today while you thought he was out working. It doesn’t help your newfound attraction in the man to think about it; that he really did go out of his way purely for you, so you push that thought aside too.

“Aren’t you going to work out?” You repeat your question.

“I work out in the mornings.”

“Then you wore that just to show off,” you deduce and bite back a laugh as Seungcheol almost trips on the resistance band he’s picking up. “You’re very clumsy for a legendary Choi Centaur.”

“I’m not!” He argues, turning away in a manner you can only describe as sulky, to stalk over to the unit and shove the bands in the containers.

“You dropped a dumbbell on your foot and just almost tripped on a resistance band.”

“Not my fault,” he mumbles poutily and picks up the last item to put away. “Grab your stuff so we can go get a snack. Then you can change, and we can go back to my office and work on the plan.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seungcheol trips over his own slippers.

For the past few weeks, Seungcheol has allowed you to leave the manor grounds to go out into the middle wall where the Centaurs mostly work from and keep supplies, protected by the two walls around the ring of warehouses and buildings.

At first, he had shown you around with the intention of letting you know how he runs things and what he has at his fingertips so that you can accurately make suggestions of how he can take apart your father’s gang. 

But then once you entered the garage where the head mechanic was swearing at his team for messing up a basic task again, and the short man had rhetorically asked a question about which tool to use for a task, you had answered. More to yourself, but Seungcheol heard and called the head mechanic over.

When Seungcheol queried the mechanic about what the correct tool was, Jihoon had responded with a quip about his team not even knowing basic mechanical skills despite knowing much more complex stuff, and then the tool name. Seungcheol had pretty much handed you over to the mechanic then and there, wished you luck with Jihoon’s temper, then left the pair of you to figure out where to go from there.

Judging by the way Seungcheol grumbles when you turn up late to your workouts and meetings after being introduced to Jihoon, you don’t think Seungcheol intended for you and Jihoon to become friends.

After that first meeting, Jihoon often calls you out to the garage to assist him; he says he prefers your straightforward approach and focus than his team’s puttering, and you enjoy the time with the mechanic too much to care about Seungcheol’s grumping.

Your father never really allowed you to do stereotypically masculine things such as getting your hands dirty or even learning theoretical knowledge on how cars work; though you still did your own research and hungrily consumed every drop of information you could. So being able to finally scratch that curious itch about mechanics makes something within you brighten and lighten, which means as far as you’re aware, Seungcheol can sulk all he wants; you’re never going to turn down Jihoon when he asks for your assistance or offers to let you watch and learn.

“What the fuck are you doing with that?!” Jihoon yells when he notices one of his mechanics touching Seungcheol’s favourite motorbike from across the garage to where the two of you are sitting on the ground. There’s an engine sitting on a mat in front of you so that he can more accurately explain how it all works while pointing out the different parts, for today’s lesson.

The two men abruptly back away from the motorbike but Jihoon is already getting up to stalk over and grab a rag to whip it at them harshly. Only when they apologise and repeatedly bow rapidly does he tell them to get lost and then turn to buff out their greasy fingerprints from the sleek, cherry red paint job, grumbling under his breath as he goes.

Now that Jihoon is across the garage and you’re not listening to him talking, you can hear a couple of the mechanics talking between themselves a little behind you at the car they’re working on. You don’t really pay any attention though until you hear “the kid” and tilt your head ever so slightly to focus on their low voices and spy on them from your peripheral.

“Seriously, should just get rid of him, I ain’t gonna bow to a retard when the boss dies,” one grunts. Your jaw immediately clenches, and anger starts to simmer in your veins.

“Shut up, man, you can’t say shit like that,” the other warns and to your relief, he actually sounds like he’s truly scolding the man and not just trying to prevent him getting in trouble.

“Why not?” The first man asks with a scoff. “Who’s gonna stop me? Boss ain’t here, Woozi’s across the garage and I doubt that dumb bitch is even listening.”

“Fuck off, she’s smarter than you. She caught your mistake yesterday; that’s the only reason you’re calling her names. Well, that and she’s not interested in you, got your back up, huh?”

“Reckon she’s fucking the boss; that’s the only reason she’s here.” He grunts as he adjusts something under the bonnet.

“None of our business.”

“Whatever, just as long as she don’t pop out another retard like that annoying fucking kid.”

That’s as much as you can handle.

You get up and turn to approach. Both men are entirely unaware of your presence until you grab the back of the second man’s overalls to yank him out of the way. He stumbles back with a yelp and the first man looks over curiously, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His eyes fly wide in panicked shock when you knock down the prop holding the bonnet up and then pull it down harshly onto him with a resounding thud while he screams in pain.

“What the fuck?!” Jihoon exclaims and runs over to pull you back and lift the bonnet up to free the man, who immediately slinks to the floor while writhing in pain with his hands on his back. “Why the fuck did you do that, Pearl?!” Jihoon yells, turning burning eyes on you.

“He was shit talking Solie,” you answer, glaring at the man.

Immediately, Jihoon’s anger at you is directed to the man. “What?” He hisses.

“She-she’s lying!” The man wails. “C-crazy bitch!”

Jihoon steps closer and shoves the man over onto his front with his foot before pressing it down on the impact spot from the edge of the bonnet, where the man is gripping, making him scream in pain. “Don’t you fucking dare call her that,” Jihoon warns lowly and takes his phone from his pocket. “Coups will want to deal with this personally.”

“No, no, p-please, Woozi,” the man pleads through sobs while trying to remove Jihoon’s foot from his back. Jihoon just pushes down harder until there’s an audible crack, making the man wail louder, as he lifts his ringing phone to his ear.

It only takes a few rings for the call to be picked up, then Jihoon speaks. “Hey, Coups, you’re gonna wanna come here, got something for you to handle.” That’s all he says before waiting a second for a response then he hangs up and tucks his phone back into his overalls pocket. “Clear the garage,” Jihoon orders, looking over at the second man, who simply nods before rushing off to tell all of the other mechanics to make themselves scarce.

“Won’t he try to run?” You comment when Jihoon moves away from the man to inspect the slightly dented bonnet.

“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” Jihoon replies with a shrug then looks at you with a little smirk. “But also judging by the fact this is bent; I think you slammed it on him hard enough that moving that much is going to be too fucking painful. Didn’t know you had it in you, Pearl.”

“Say what you want about me, I don’t care, but talk about an innocent kid like that, especially Solie, I’m not going to let that go.”

“Good, proves you’re one of us, unlike that piece of shit.” Jihoon glares at the sobbing man on the floor. He’s still laid crying on his stomach as if he’s either given up trying to move or simply can’t. 

It’s almost ten minutes before Seungcheol arrives from around the other side of the middle wall where he had been meeting new recruits with Mingyu, Soonyoung and Wonwoo.

Wonwoo is the man in charge of organising all of Seungcheol’s men while Soonyoung is in charge of training them; something that still surprises you based on how innocent and upbeat Soonyoung always seems in the manor. You’ve never seen him outside of the inner wall, but you can only imagine he’s a completely different man.

In fact, you think the only man who is pretty much the same in the manor and out here is Jihoon. Sure, he plays with Hansol and Chan, and he laughs with everyone in the house a lot more than out here, but he is still to the point and no nonsense in both places. You like that about him; his consistency and that there’s no pointless guessing with him. You always know what he wants and expects because he’s straightforward about it.

Seungcheol enters the garage alone with a dark, intimidating scowl already on his face knowing that something has to have gone wrong for Jihoon of all people to call him away from work. “What happened?”

“This fuckwit decided to shit talk your son,” Jihoon informs bluntly, arms crossed over his chest casually where he’s leaning against the car beside the bonnet, which no longer closes properly.

“I-I didn’t,” the man on the floor sobs. “P-please.”

“Woozi doesn’t fuck around when it comes to family,” Seungcheol growls while turning the man over onto his back before yanking him up from the ground by the front of his overalls, making him scream in pain. “What the fuck have you done to him already to make him like this?” Seungcheol wonders, looking over at Jihoon, then shaking the man pointedly to make him cry out again without moving his lower body at all, only his arms that scramble to grip Seungcheol and try to fruitlessly pry his strong grip away.

“Pearl slammed the bonnet on him,” Jihoon smirks, motioning to the dent at his side.

Seungcheol looks over at you. “You paralysed him?”

“That was likely a joint effort, Woozi stood on his back,” you reply rationally. “He was moving before then.”

“Good point,” Jihoon agrees. “We both had a part in it.”

“Only been out here for two weeks and you’re already teaming up to fuck up people’s lives,” Seungcheol mutters, giving the pair of you a look as if he’s not sure he quite approves of this new teamwork, yet he doesn’t say anything more and instead looks back at the man in his hold. “Alright, they started it but I’m going to finish it.”

“Please don’t kill me,” the man begs, practically choking out the words.

“Oh, that would be too kind, I want you to live and suffer,” Seungcheol replies sweetly and drops the man to the floor abruptly, earning echoed screams of pain. “Sweetheart, you should go wait outside.”

“Why?” You question as you watch Seungcheol drag the man over to the drain before lowering to his knees and pulling a butterfly knife from his pocket while the man whimpers and continuously begs for mercy.

“Because this isn’t going to be pretty.”

“As if I’m innocent,” you remind with a scoff while folding your arms over your chest.

Seungcheol lets out a sigh then motions to the man as Jihoon stops behind him with a blow torch, a small piece of flat metal and a pair of heat safe gloves. Jihoon nods and kneels down to make sure the man stays in place while Seungcheol gets up and walks over to you.

Silently, he takes your hand and leads you further away from the pair to the midpoint between them and the exit. There, he turns you to face him while all but whispering your name. “Please, go outside; I don’t want you to see me like this,” he requests softly, giving you such an earnest, pleading look that you nod in agreement before you fully register your own decision. He lets out a relieved breath and cups your cheek with a grateful little smile before letting you go and stalking back over to Jihoon and the sobbing man, stern expression returning.

Confusedly, you exit the garage and close the door firmly before moving to sit on the bonnet of Seungcheol’s car in wait.

Although there is plenty of noise around you from the nearby buildings and people milling around, you can still hear the agonised screams coming from within the garage a minute later.

It doesn’t last long before you hear nothing more from within the garage.

You’re only outside for a few minutes before Seungcheol exits while wiping his bloodied hands on a rag. Thanks to the fact he had removed his jacket once you left the garage to not get it dirty, his arms are exposed in his short-sleeved t-shirt, and you can see more blood splashed up his forearms.

“That was quick,” you comment as he approaches you and shrugs his jacket from where it’s slung over his shoulder, onto the bonnet at your side while still wiping at his hands.

“He passed out part way,” he explains simply.  

“What did you do to him?”

“I already told you that I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“I’m not seeing, you’re telling.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs and looks up at you instead of his hands. You can see specks of blood on his jaw and throat that you know he’ll miss with the rag; he might not even know more than his hands and arms are dirty.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask Jihoon.”

“Why are you so fucking interested?”

“I just want to know what you did; he deserves to suffer after what he said.”

Seungcheol stares at you for a moment before responding. “What did he say exactly, sweetheart?”

“Tell me what you were doing, and I’ll tell you what he said.”

He makes a frustrated sound yet relents. “I was cutting out his fucking tongue, happy?”

“Did you finish?”

“What?”

“You said he passed out; did you stop then or finish the job?”

“Of course, I fucking finished the job,” he grunts and looks down to start scrubbing at his arm harshly. “Now tell me what the fuck that piece of shit said about my son.”

“He called him a retard. Twice,” you inform, taking the rag from Seungcheol’s hand as he freezes, so that you can wipe at his skin with the too dry material much more gently than he had been.

“I should kill him,” he growls.

“No,” you argue levelly and gently tilt his head up so that he’s looking at you instead of burning holes into his own arm with his dangerous glare.

“He fucking-”

“Death would be too easy, right?” You remind and cup his cheek to tug him closer, until he’s standing between your knees, and you can gently start wiping away the speckles on his jaw. “I don’t know if he will recover from the back injury, but if so, it will take a long time. And I know from experience that a person with their tongue missing, even only a small part of it, will suffer, often with phantom pains. Death would be too easy.”

Seungcheol stares at you for a few minutes as your tender touch soothes him, even if your only intention is to clean him and not calm his anger, but it does. When he tilts into your palm, you look up into his eyes and find him looking at you in a way that makes your heart flutter.

“Death would be too easy,” he agrees quietly. “Thank you.”

“You can’t see yourself, you always miss your neck,” you point out, focusing back on wiping down his skin as best as you can with the stained rag.

“I didn’t mean that, though yes, thank you for always cleaning up where I miss.”

“Mm, don’t want the boys seeing that.”

“No, we don’t,” he agrees and straightens up when you remove your hand so that you can clean that side of his face too. “I meant for standing up for Hansol, thank you; for having my family’s back.”

“Of course, you took me and my brother in, your family has accepted mine and that…well it’s more than I’ve ever had. I’m endlessly grateful to you, Seungcheol, and to Hansol for taking Chan under his wing and being so wonderful to him. I’d do anything for you both, as long as it doesn’t negatively impact Chan, of course.”

“I’d never want you to do anything that does,” he promises. “I won’t ever put you in a dangerous position willingly and I’d tear the city apart to hurt anyone that tries to hurt you.”

You look at him with brows furrowed questioningly. “Why? I’m not your family or inner circle.”

“You really think that?” He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re not just in the house because I want to keep your brother safe and with Hansol. You’ve proven yourself over and over again the past almost three months. You’ve given me all the information you have on the Vulture and his fucked-up cronies and helped me plan every move we’ve made so far. I’ve been trying to chip away at that gang for years but never had the chance because no-one we’ve caught fucking talks. I’ll give ‘em that, they know how to keep their mouths shut fucking tight.”

“That’s the torture resistance training,” you state matter-of-factly.

“What?” Seungcheol mutters. “Torture resistance training? Like they’ve been tortured so they know how to keep quiet?” You nod in confirmation. “Did…did you go through that too?”

“Yeah, we all do before getting our brands.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe he forced his daughter to go through torture like that.”

“You don’t know the half of what that man is capable of, Seungcheol,” you reason, before looking down at his arms and frowning. “I think you need water to clean up properly; this rag is too covered in blood now.”

“There’s wipes in the glovebox,” he motions to the car, so you nudge him back to give you space to slide off the bonnet and walk around, open the car, and reach inside with your hand not smeared in blood to grab the packet of wet wipes. They’re the same brand as the ones placed all over the manor for when Hansol, and now Chan, need to be cleaned without sending them to the bathroom to wash their hands and face.

Something about cleaning the blood from the man’s neck with the wipes from the packet with cartoon dinosaurs on it, makes you start to giggle.

Seungcheol watches you amusedly, and very bewildered, for a few seconds before questioning you. “What’s funny?”

“Just cleaning up the big bad Choi Centaur boss with wipes embossed with cute dinosaurs.”

“Oh,” he mutters, then chuckles. “I’ve never thought about it before, but I guess that is pretty funny. Hansol really likes these ones; they’re not too wet without drying like right away, and they don’t smell of anything.”

“Mm, they’re good ones, Chan likes them too. He never usually likes wet wipes but he’s fine with these; he says they’re soft.”

“They are, but you’re also just really gentle. Hard to imagine the woman who just slammed a man in a car and broke his back is this…tender.”

“Only to those who deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

You land a stern look on him. “Don’t bullshit me, Choi Seungcheol, you deserve to be cared for and treated tenderly. You’re not a truly bad man. You have done a lot of fucked up shit and will continue to, so your soul isn’t ever going to be pure, but your heart is.”

You watch as a barrage of emotions flicker over Seungcheol’s face, eyes darting between your own as he searches for any hint of uncertainty, yet when he finds none, he presses his lips together and inhales slowly and deeply.

When he lets the breath out, it’s a little shaky. “I think- I think if anyone else tried to say that to me, I wouldn’t believe them,” he admits quietly, voice tinged with emotion and a little weak in places as if your honesty has sucked the strength from his very core. “But I trust you, with everything in me and that- that’s kind of fucking terrifying, if I’m honest with you.”

“I can imagine you don’t trust easily, being who you are.”

“No, I really fucking don’t,” he lets out a broken little laugh before stepping closer to remove the packet from your left hand and wipe from your right hand to toss them onto the car behind you so that he can pull you into his arms in an embrace so warm despite the man only wearing a t-shirt on his torso in the early spring weather. “You are one of the most important people to me, sweetheart, so please don’t ever do anything to break my trust. I don’t think I could come back from a betrayal by you of all people.”

“Ditto,” is your simple response against his shoulder, making him laugh slightly.

He holds you a moment longer then lets you go. “Come on, I’m done with work for the day.”

“It’s not even lunch time.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he replies, grabbing everything from the bonnet to toss onto the backseat of the car carelessly. “Come on, I want to spend the rest of the day with you and the boys.”

“Oh!” You light up and rush to get into the passenger seat, excited to spend time with your favourite three people in the world.

Even though you’ve barely entered the house, you can hear Chan’s distressed wailing easily. A huge part of you wants to sprint straight to him so that you can soothe him and fix whatever the issue is, but you know the difference between his cries, and this isn’t a pained one.

Knowing that your brother isn’t hurt, you manage to keep your cool long enough to remove your boots at Seungcheol’s side and step out of your dirty overalls to toss into the laundry room. It leaves you in the exercise leggings Seungcheol had brought you, which you have actually gained quite fond of even if you only wear them under your overalls, and an oversized t-shirt you think might be Mingyu’s. Then you rush towards the playroom upstairs with Seungcheol right on your heels.

You don’t realise that his eyes are glued to your ass dumbly as he follows a few steps behind you up the stairs, until he tries to stand on a step that doesn’t exist at the top having not been paying attention, and he falls forward right into you, taking you both down to the floor with a loud thump.

“What the fuck, Seungcheol?” You grunt, shoving him off of you to turn over and look at him incredulously. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He’s blushing embarrassedly and not looking at you as he scrambles to his feet and helps you up.

“What was that?” Junhui calls from the bottom of the stairs.

“Just fell, it’s fine!” Seungcheol returns.

“You fell? You never fall.” The cook mumbles away as he wanders back to his domain to work on lunch.

“How have you hidden how clumsy you are from them all?” You wonder.

“I’m not clumsy,” Seungcheol defends, doing his best not to pout as he turns you around and walks you to the playroom with his hands on your shoulders.

As soon as you step into the large room, you understand the issue.

Over in the crafts corner, Seungkwan is trying to soothe your brother where he’s laid on the floor kicking and screaming with paint on his raised hand, while Hansol watches with a concerned frown.

Silently, you grab the wipes from the shelf and walk over to begin cleaning at Chan’s skin. He calms as he feels the paint being washed from his hands.

“Oh, it’s the paint,” Seungkwan realises with a soft exhale.

“Mm, he doesn’t like slimy textures,” you inform.

“I know he doesn’t like actual slime, but we’ve never tried paints, so I didn’t realise it counts.”

“He likes painting but it’s better with those paint sticks so there’s less chance of getting on his skin.”

“Ah, I’ll order some,” Seungkwan says and finally notices Seungcheol standing a little behind you. “Oh, Coups, you’re back early for lunch today.”

“Mm, decided to give myself the rest of the day off, which means you get it off too and we’ll take over, once we’ve both showered, that is.” He motions between himself and you.

“Both showered?” Seungkwan smirks at his boss, who scowls in return, making the younger snigger. “Alright, alright, you two can take over after you’ve showered.”

“Separately,” Seungcheol adds, making you look at him curiously and notice how he’s almost glaring at Seungkwan, who you find grinning when you look at him. You don’t quite understand what’s going on between the pair right now, though quickly decide to ignore it and instead turn back to finish cleaning up your brother.

“Yeah? Then why are you still standing there as if you’re waiting to go together? Your rooms are on opposite ends of the floor.”

“Shut up. I’ll be back quickly.”

“You’re going to come paint with me, daddy?” Hansol asks, then begins to bounce excitedly when his father nods in confirmation; it makes Seungcheol’s ire melt away and a smile lifts his features seeing how happy his son is to spend time together.

“I’ll be right back, ‘kay, bud?”

“Kay!” Hansol agrees and turns to hop back to his easel and splat his hand into the paint tray to smear colours over his paper, turning it an even murkier brown than his efforts already have.

Seungcheol pulls a slight face at the mess his son is making, knowing he’s going to have to try and get him to paint a legible picture, or get equally as messy himself, before turning and leaving while mentally reminding himself to not wear clothes he wants to keep paint free.

Once you’ve got Chan cleaned up and back on his feet, he glares distrustfully at Seungkwan when the man tries to encourage him back to his own easel.

“We can be extra careful now that I know you don’t like how paint feels, Squirt,” Seungkwan promises, yet Chan steps closer to you as if you’re going to protect him from the mean man and his slimy paints.

“Why don’t you sit and watch Solie paint for now and when I’m back, we’ll try it together, hm?” You say to Chan softly while patting his hips gently in encouragement. He looks at you. “We can paint the sea, how about that? With some nice blues and greens and when it’s dry, we can display it in our room, yeah?” Chan looks much more enthusiastic now that you’ve mentioned the sea and nods. “Okay, good, you sit down and watch, I’ll be back soon, okay?” Another nod before he toddles over to sit on the floor near his own easel yet watches Hansol.

“One day I’ll remember the sea is his weakness,” Seungkwan muses. You laugh softly and get up. “Enjoy your shower, Pearl!” He sing-songs as you leave the room, earning a puzzled look from you that he just giggles at before turning and jolting forward to stop Hansol squirting red paint directly from the bottle onto his picture.

By the time you’re back in the playroom, Seungcheol is already present and to your surprise, he’s not kneeling with his son, who is on brown mess number four, but behind Chan. Your brother is standing with his back to Seungcheol’s chest and his tiny hand in the man’s while Seungcheol carefully helps Chan brush blue over his paper, only a little paint on his brush at a time to minimise the risk of paint splattering onto Chan’s skin.

Seungkwan is nowhere to be seen, and you think it’s the first time you’ve seen Seungcheol alone with both boys, but you really don’t mind that the nanny left. Although Seungcheol hasn’t spent anywhere near as much time with Chan, you trust him entirely with your brother.

Seungcheol looks at you when you near them. “Hope you don’t mind I started Squirt off without you, Kwan said you plan to paint the sea with him.”

“Not at all, you’re doing a great job together,” you enthuse and brush back Chan’s hair from his eyes. He looks at you with a proud grin that makes you smile back. “How about you keep painting, and I’ll see if Solie wants to expand his palette past brown?”

“Is that okay, Squirt?” Seungcheol asks Chan softly. “That I stay with you?” Chan thinks about it for a second while glancing at the man behind him yet nods as soon as he looks at their progress in front of them. It makes Seungcheol beam at the quiet boy accepting his assistance despite you being right by his side and available to help. “Great, I’m really enjoying painting with you, Squirt, it’s really nice.” Seungcheol continues to talk softly to Chan while you walk over and kneel down beside where Hansol stands.

“So, what are we doing here, Sol?” You wonder.

“I want to make a rainbow, but it keeps going brown,” Hansol admits with a disappointed sigh. “Uncle Kwan doesn’t understand and keeps drawing a rainbow for me to paint over but it’s not what I want.”

“You want it all swirled together?”

“Yeah!” Hansol nods. “But it goes brown every time.” The sigh he lets out is world weary verging on frustrated. “I don’t understand, Aunt Pearl.”

It’s the first time Hansol has called you aunt, and it throws you off for a moment. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder to see if Seungcheol heard, but he’s focused on what he’s doing, and you don’t want to distract him from Chan, so you turn back to Hansol. “If you over blend, it’ll go brown; it’s what happens when you mix all the colours together, basically.”

“Oh. So, I can’t make a swirly rainbow?” Hansol pouts at you sadly. “I wanted to make it for Uncle Gyu for his gift.”

“Gift?”

“Mm, it’s his birthday today.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that” you admit.

“He doesn’t like presents other than things I make.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And Squirt. I asked Uncle Gyu in secret, and he said he would love a picture from Squirt too if he wants to make him one, so we been trying. But” he sighs heavily and looks back at his brown, almost dripping paper. “It’s all crap.”

“Hansol!” Seungcheol scolds, proving that he has been listening, even if not consciously, so he must’ve heard his son call you aunt and just not cared. It makes you feel like they really have accepted you into the family the group has here, and your heart warms in your chest.

“What?!” Hansol replies, looking at his dad with big, genuinely innocent eyes. “At least I didn’t say shit!” You can’t help it, you start to laugh, making Hansol giggle proudly while Seungcheol sighs exasperatedly behind you.

“Please don’t laugh, Pearl, now he’s going to think it’s funny to swear and I don’t want him picking up that bad habit. Especially so young,” Seungcheol reasons.

“You’re right, you’re right,” you concede, trying to stop your laughter, though a few giggles still slip through while Hansol continues to grin at you with sparkling eyes. “Swearing is bad, Solie, you’re far too young to have the habit. At least wait until you’re ten.”

“Pearl!” Seungcheol exclaims, making you and Hansol burst into giggles while the man dramatically lets out a breath then turns his attention solely to Chan. “You’re the only one I can rely on to be good mannered, Squirt. Don’t take after your sister and Hansol.” Chan blinks at Seungcheol a few times then turns back to his painting with a little urging sound while moving their connected hands back to the paper. “Okay,” Seungcheol chuckles softly. “We’ll focus on our masterpiece and those delinquents can do their own thing.”

“Alright,” you start when you’ve stopped laughing and moved closer to Hansol. “Let’s clean all this up so we can start fresh and make Uncle Gyu the best swirly rainbow he’s ever seen.”

“Hell yeah!” Hansol cheers. Seungcheol sighs.

“Hey,” Jisoo greets softly as he sits at your side on the bench at the side of the playground, where you’re watching Seungcheol and the two boys play after lunch.

They’re probably burning off all the calories they consumed not even twenty minutes ago, but you don’t mind. The three look so happy that you know Junhui won’t even mind having to make them snacks so soon after lunch.

“Hi,” you respond, smiling at the man a little before looking forward again.

He doesn’t say anything more, just watches the three with something a little longing in his eyes. You don’t know Jisoo that well; he’s probably around the manor the least as one of the leading paediatric doctors at the busiest public hospital in the area, while also being at Seungcheol’s beck and call as Centaur’s secret private doctor. Jisoo is always busy, but when you get the chance to see him, you often find him quietly watching Hansol with this same look in his eyes.

Although it’s not really your place, you can’t help but let your curiosity win out. “Do you want your own?” You wonder, glancing between the man on your left and the three darting around the apparatus with their feet slapping over the rubber tarmac rapidly and laughter in the air.

“Hm?” Jisoo hums questioning while looking at you, so you motion over to the three.

“Kids, I’ve noticed you look at Hansol that way a lot.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise I’m that obvious.” He chuckles and lets his gaze find the seven-year-old again, so you copy. “I don’t necessarily want my own, no.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know about Hansol’s mother?”

That makes you look back at him intrigued. “No, nobody has ever mentioned her.”

“She was my best friend. We came here together from LA almost ten years ago. She wanted to study Korean cuisine; she loved to cook and wanted to open her own restaurant and I…I was so in love with her that I didn’t want to be without her, so I applied to study medicine here and as soon as I got accepted, we came over.”

“Oh…I assume you didn’t get together.”

“No,” he smiles at you a little then turns back to watch the three play and you turn too, figuring you’ve probably been staring at him for too long, especially for such a personal topic. “I wasn’t brave enough to ever tell her how I felt and at the time, I always assumed she didn’t know. But I learned with time that she always knew, just never cared.”

“That doesn’t sound like you were her best friend, even if she was yours.”

Jisoo lets out a short, soft laugh. “You’re right; I was just so infatuated that I didn’t realise that it was always me making the effort and caring more.”

“What a bitch.”

“Mm, she was, but you know what they say about hindsight.”

“No?” You look at him confusedly and seeing you turn to him in his periphery, he looks at you.

“Hindsight is 20/20.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that everything is clearer after the fact. Like 20/20 vision.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” you murmur and turn back around. He does the same. “How did she become, well, Hansol’s mother?”

“She worked at a restaurant Coups frequented, and they hit it off. I tried to keep her away from him; I knew he was bad news just from the like, aura or whatever but she was into it. Which shouldn’t have surprised me; she had terrible taste in guys in high school; always went for assholes.”

“Seungcheol isn’t an asshole.”

“No, he’s not, but I didn’t know that. I never gave him the chance and treated him harshly and dismissively. He just mirrored it back to me and often teased me by silently rubbing it in my face that he had her; putting his hands all over her, kissing her way too inappropriately for public settings.” He chuckles. “And again, I completely missed that she clearly knew what he was doing and why and always went along with a pleased giggle. I just thought she was giggling because she liked it, not that she liked flaunting that she was fucking someone that wasn’t me.”

“She just wanted your attention,” you understand, and he hums in confirmation. “And then I assume she got pregnant along there.”

“Yeah. Coups put her up in a safe house to protect her and keep the baby secret and she played along; fooled us both that she wanted it and wanted to marry him when he asked. But then two months after Hansol was born, she left. Confessed she never wanted to have the baby but doesn’t believe in abortion, so she played along; let Coups think she loved him while planning to leave the entire time.”

“She played you both?” You gawp at him, and he just nods in confirmation. “I think I hate her.”

Jisoo laughs and looks at you. “I know you say that for Coup’s benefit, but I’m taking it as you’re on my side too.”

“I am,” you assure without hesitation, making his eyebrows lift slightly in surprise. “I don’t really know you, but you seem like a nice guy, sweet; you don’t deserve to be treated so poorly. I hope that’s where you realised what a bitch she is and kicked her aside.”

“I wish I had been that smart,” he gives you a sad little smile. “I asked her to stay with me because I loved her and couldn’t live without her. I was in the middle of my studying and couldn’t leave. My family put all they had into my education, and I couldn’t disappoint them by wasting their money to follow her back to LA. I even said I’d return with her the second I could get a transfer, but she refused no matter how much I cried and begged. She didn’t even look upset to see me so broken and it still took me weeks of barely functioning in a country with no-one by my side before I accepted the truth.”

“That she’s a giant bitch.”

Jisoo nods. “That she’s a giant bitch,” he confirms, making you smile, which he returns before you both look back at the three. “I didn’t see Hansol for a few years until he was rushed into the ER while I was on rotation, and he was suffering his first allergic reaction. That was when I finally realised that Coups is not a bad guy; when I saw him stay beside Hansol’s bedside all through the night without rest and refused to take his son away until he had been triple checked over. I’ve stuck around since, but sometimes when I look at Hansol, I see her and it hurts, even now.”

“That fucking sucks.”

Jisoo chokes out a laugh at your response, though makes a noise of agreement. “Yeah, it does fucking suck. But I love that boy and I’m so grateful that Coups lets me be his godfather and uncle and live under the same roof despite it all.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He really is. You’re good for him, you know?”

“What?” You give him a bewildered look. “How?”

“He’s always been a great dad; I truly couldn’t deny it even if I wanted to. I’ve never seen a parent love their child so fiercely, but up until the past few months, he hasn’t been in the house as much. He gets home a lot earlier now, puts Hansol to bed pretty much every night and it’s done them both the world of good. Hansol’s a generally happy kid, but he used to have a lot of days where he was quiet and withdrawn because he missed his dad; cried for hours, but now he doesn’t get the chance to miss him.”

“Oh, that’s good then, I’m glad I can apparently do that.”

“Me too. He’s happier too, Coups, I mean. I don’t know what you’ve been doing but keep it up. A happy boss means we’re all happier,” he jokes and pats your hand on your thigh before he gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ve got a late surgery tonight.”

“Oh, I hope it goes well.”

“Thank you, Pearl, I hope it does too.” He smiles at you gratefully before walking off inside.

A few minutes later, Chan rushes over to you with his hands clasped in front of his crotch. “Wee,” he declares, so you get up and take him to the closest bathroom so that he can use the toilet. “Per,” he calls as he sits on the toilet, swinging his legs while you wait just outside of the cracked open door to give him privacy to do his business.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask, peering over at him.

“I like Sunny,” he informs simply, making you smile knowing exactly who he means for the fact he calls one person Sunny due to struggling to say his name.

“You like Seungcheol?” He nods in confirmation. “Me too, Squirt.”

“Sunny like us too?”

“Yeah, he likes us too.”

“And Solie?”

“Solie likes us, yeah.”

“I like Solie lots.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

He wiggles off of the toilet when he’s done, so you turn back around and wait for him to finish the routine, smiling as he sings to himself while washing his hands to make sure he washes them for a sufficient amount of time.

When you hear him nearing, you push off of the doorframe to give him space to exit the bathroom without opening the door wider. Silently, he takes your hand and the two of you walk to the backdoor to put your boots back on.

“Per?” Chan asks when you’re tying your own boots while he waits with his own already zipped up securely. You hum questioningly. “I sleepover Solie?”

You look at your brother in surprise. “You want to have a sleepover with Solie?”

“Solie said we sleep in his bed and watch Nemo.”

“Oh,” you smile in understanding, knowing that mentioning Chan’s favourite movie is a very persuasive way to get the six-year-old to agree to almost anything. “I think it would be nice for you to have your first sleepover with someone other than me.”

“Oh, no Per?”

“No, baby, just you and Solie.” He frowns uncertainly. “I can see if there is a room I can stay in near to Solie’s bedroom, so I’ll be close by.”

“Per stay close to Squirt.”

“You’ll be safe even if I’m not there, we’re safe here, aren’t we?”

“Safe with Sunny.”

“Yeah, baby, we’re safe with Sunny.”

“I like Sunny.” You can’t help but laugh softly before taking his hand and going outside.

Seungcheol is sprawled over the bench catching his breath while his son bounces away on the trampoline, higher than he ever does with Chan knowing that the younger doesn’t like anything but essentially bobbing on the trampoline.

“Tired out?” You tease as you lean on the back of the bench and peer down at Seungcheol while Chan happily rushes over to stand in wait at the side of the trampoline for Hansol, before they both run to the slides; Chan’s favourite playground activity and one Hansol is always more than willing to indulge his best friend with, no matter how many times they go up and down.

“I think I’m officially getting old, sweetheart,” Seungcheol declares, making you laugh before you circle around the bench. “Just sit on me, I’m too tired to move.”

With a shrug, you sit on his thighs sideways with your feet just touching the ground, and he gawps at you. “You told me to,” you reason.

“I didn’t expect you actually would.”

“Oh, is this one of those things where people say things they don’t actually mean for some bizarre fucking reason?” You mutter and start to get up, but Seungcheol abruptly sits up and winds his arm around your waist to keep you on his lap.

“My lap is always available for you,” he declares.

“It’s a sturdy lap,” you comment and pat the side of his thigh between the gap in your own, making him chuckle. He swings his legs around to plant his feet on the floor while turning you until your back is against his chest and his chin is on your shoulder.

You’ve not been held like this in a long time, and even then, it hadn’t made your stomach flutter with butterflies, just twist with disgust at the touch of the men you had to lure. There wasn’t a choice but to let those men touch you back then, but you know that Seungcheol would let you go without complaint if you said you didn’t want him to touch you.

That security is probably why you lean back against his chest and let your arms lay over his, other than your rapidly growing feelings for the man, of course. Those definitely influence your decision to get comfortable in his hold and hope that he can’t feel the way your heart skips a beat or two when he tightens his grasp on you to hold you even closer.

For a little while, you sit in a peaceful quiet, contently watching the two boys make laps with the slides and smiling hearing them giggling away together happily.

Then, you remember what Chan had said and figure this is a good time to bring it up. “Chan said Solie asked him to have a sleepover,” you inform.

“Oh, yeah, he’s been bugging me to let it happen as if I would ever say no. I just kept saying it’s not my decision but Squirt’s and somehow Sol took that as I haven’t said yes and kept asking until I agreed this morning.”

“You hadn’t. If you just said that he needs to ask Chan, then you hadn’t actually given him explicit permission so asking Chan wouldn’t make logical sense until he knows for certain that you’re okay with it.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of it like that. Alright, I see the point and will try to remember to be more explicit in the future.”

“And here I thought you don’t want him swearing,” you joke, then start to giggle when he thunks his head against yours in playful scolding.

“Does Chan want to have a sleepover?”

“He wants to try, I think, especially as Solie said they can watch Nemo.”

“Ah, the way to the little turtle’s heart,” Seungcheol replies with an understanding hum.

“Yep, but he didn’t realise I wouldn’t be there. I said I can see if there’s an empty room near Solie’s I can stay in, so I’ll be close.”

“Ah, I’m afraid there isn’t. We’re at the end of the hall opposite each other and Kwan is on one side to him and it’s a storage room next to mine, then the other guys follow those rooms.”

“Oh.”

“Well, you could stay in my room though.” You look at him as if he’s crazy. “I didn’t mean with me!” He defends while straightening up. “I can sleep in another room for the night, and you can have mine.”

“I’m not taking over your room, Seungcheol.”

“It’s just for a night and if it makes Chan more comfortable so they can have their first sleepover, I really don’t mind.”

“No, that would mean you’re away from Hansol too, I refuse to do that.”

“Ah, right. I mean, I’m pretty sure he’d be okay, I’ve spent nights away before so it’s not like he’s never had a night without me. I don’t know how I’d sleep though; I never sleep well in beds that aren’t mine, or at least if I’m alone in them.”

“Well then, you definitely have to keep your own bed.”

“Mm…what if…and I’m not being a pervert before you say as much, but my bed is fucking huge, seriously, it’s ridiculously big I hate changing the fucking sheets so it’s the only reason I let the staff in to my room-”

“Does that mean you clean your own room and don’t have a woman do it, Seungcheol?” Your teasing jibe earns an unimpressed look from the man, which you giggle at.

“One day you’ll let that go.”

“Never.” You grin as he sighs. “So, what were you saying, anyway?”

“We could have our own sleepover,” he suggests timidly and bites on his bottom lip before continuing to talk while you stare at him blankly. “J-just like, because then we’re both right opposite the boys’ room and so they know where we are and we know where they are and they can enjoy their first sleepover with another kid, and my bed is big enough that we will have plenty of space without even touching, like another two grown adults could fit between us and we’d still not fall off the edges.”

“That sounds like an unnecessarily big bed, Seungcheol.”

He lets out a breath you hadn’t noticed he was holding. “Yeah, it kinda is. Comfortable as fuck though so I’m keeping it until it’s ruined.”

“That should take some time, in theory, unless you piss the bed.”

Seungcheol sputters. “I don’t…Hansol has a few times though, but it’s been thoroughly cleaned since then and I’ve invested in really good mattress protectors, it should last.”

“Good to know,” you murmur and turn back around to watch the boys, still going up and down the slides.

Honestly, just watching the repetitive play bores you so you have no idea how Hansol happily goes along with it when he’s usually so easily bored. Even you would’ve asked Chan to play something else by now, but Hansol just cheers when Chan jumps off the bottom of the slide then races him around to the steps.

“Jisoo told me about Hansol’s mother,” you announce gently, aware that it’s likely a touchy subject.

“Oh, I wondered what you two were talking about,” he admits with a sigh while his arms tighten ever so slightly around you. “It’s kinda a sore subject, that betrayal, and I wish Hansol had grown up knowing a loving mother but I’m glad she left before he could form memories of her.”

“Does he know she won’t come back?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I didn’t want him asking over someone who isn’t worthy of the title of mother, so I told him as soon as he was old enough to understand that she isn’t a nice person and we’re far better off without her.”

“And he accepts that?”

“Mm, yeah, why? Has he said something about her to you?”

“No,” you assure and pat his hand on your waist gently. “Today was the first time anyone has ever mentioned her. I was just wondering about what you said of him asking to have a little brother.” You motion to the pair loosely. “I wondered if he was hoping she’d be back so you can give him a sibling.”

“Oh, nah, he really doesn’t care about her at all. I asked where he expects me to get him a little brother and he said the same place I got him.”

“His mother?”

“I said that, and he pulled a face and said find another mother.” Seungcheol chuckles. “As if it’s that simple.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

He scoffs harshly. “No fucking way, that bitch can rot for all I care.”

“But you haven’t found someone else since?”

“Never been interested. I already have my son; I don’t need another child and he’s my whole life. Outside of him, I work, and that’s it. I really don’t want to have a relationship with any of the women I meet through work, well…those women aren’t of interest to me. Most of them try to get my attention thinking it’ll give them status.”

“And the other women? Who don’t want to use you?”

“Gay.” The way he says it makes you laugh. “Lesbians seem to love me, just not in that way,” he jokes with what essentially sounds like a giggle. It’s very cute.

“That does limit your options then,” you muse, giggling along with him.

“Mm, how about you?”

“Oh, I have no idea what lesbians think of me.”

Seungcheol laughs and lowers his head to put his face against your shoulder, even if the material must be cold against his skin. “I imagine lesbians are very interested in you as much as straight men are.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a lesbian, so I can’t comment on that.”

“I’d say I’d introduce you to one, but I don’t want to.”

“That’s a bit possessive of you,” you mutter, giving him a look when his head jerks up to look at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Keeping all the lesbians to yourself like that.”

He relaxes and snorts a laugh while rolling his eyes. “What do you care whether I do or don’t, huh?” Though suddenly, his eyes are wide again and looking at you a little alarmed. “Wait, are…are you a lesbian?”

“Would it matter if I were?”

“Uh…I’m not homophobic or anything.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Would it bother you if I am a lesbian, Seungcheol?”

“Uh…”

“It would?” Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “How can you claim to not be homophobic yet be bothered by that?”

“Are you?” He whispers, expression starting to pinch a little.

“No.”

He lets out a breath and nods before turning you back around properly to face the boys where they’re still playing on the slides. “I think Chan could do this all day,” he comments before you can say anything more about the previous subject. Although you don’t really understand what just happened in that conversation, he’s being so evasive that you don’t push it. The last thing you want is to piss the man off by pushing him when he clearly doesn’t want to talk.

So instead, you just hum vaguely and remain quiet, stewing in your own thoughts and mild frustration at not understanding, while watching over the boys.

Although there is technically plenty of time after dinner for the boys to play more, they’re both beyond excited about their sleepover, so while Seungcheol takes Hansol to give him his bath and get ready for bed, you take Chan to your room to do the same.

“Per sleepover Sunny?” Chan checks, repeating the question for the nth time as he prods the toy floating in the water in front of him.

“Yes, Channie, I’m going to have a sleepover with Seungcheol while you have yours with Hansol. We will be across the hall all night,” you remind him patiently, knowing that he needs a lot of reassurance for such a big change in routine.

“We watch Nemo. What Per and Sunny watch?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you respond honestly to the new question; it’s a good sign that your reassurances are settling in Chan’s mind and becoming less of a need. “I don’t know if Seungcheol has a TV in his room.”

“Watch Nemo with us.”

“It’s okay, you and Solie can watch Nemo and Seungcheol and I will talk or something.”

“And bedtime cuddles?” He wonders, looking at you. “I have cuddles?”

“I’m sure Solie will give you cuddles, should I ask him for you?”

“But want cuddle you.” He frowns. “Want Per cuddles.”

“Well, how about I watch some of the movie with you and we can have cuddles, but I’ll go after the sharks?”

“Mm, then Solie cuddles?”

“Sure, baby, I’ll ask Solie to give you cuddles when I leave.”

���Okay,” he agrees and turns back to his toys.

Once Chan is out of the bath and contently playing on the bed wrapped up in his towel to let him dry off naturally and not irritate his sensitive skin, you tie your hair up out of the way and quickly hop in the shower to scrub paint flecks from your forearms and wash over the rest of your body before getting dressed.

To your surprise, Chan isn’t on the bed anymore when you exit the bathroom but standing on the floor pulling his pyjama bottoms up his legs, the shirt already on his body and partially buttoned from how you left it when you took it off him last time.

It’s the first time Chan has tried to dress himself so calmly. Usually, he’s already frustrated by now after getting his limbs in the wrong holes, but he looks determined as his tiny hands work on snapping the elastic of his trousers against his hips just like you do to make him giggle. You smile to yourself seeing him copying your little quirks, even if he doesn’t find his own actions giggle-worthy.

When Chan’s hands move to the front of his shirt, you honestly almost cry. Buttons, zips, and any fastenings other than Velcro have always been so difficult for him, too fiddly for him to navigate and the reason you never bought him anything that used any while you were homeless, so that he still had some independence despite having had to be glued to your side all of the time.

But Seungkwan has gained the habit of buying the boys matching clothes and the pair always look so happy and cute when they’re wearing identical clothing that you never try to argue and are always happy to help Chan get himself dressed and undressed for the sake of his and Hansol’s joy.

Yet today, today your precious little brother devotes his entire focus on painstakingly threading the little plastic circles through the slits. It takes some time, a handful of minutes per button, but he gets three out of four buttons through the openings before realising there isn’t another one for the topmost button. He’s confused for a second and doesn’t realise he’s threaded them in the wrong holes but then he lights up and bounces on his toes while his hands flap at his side.

“Did it! I did it!” He exclaims to himself then looks up intending to run to the bathroom to show you yet finds you already in the bedroom, so he stays in his place and his movements grow bigger, seeing you smiling and looking so fucking proud of him. “Look, Per! I did it!”

“You did,” you reply almost breathlessly then walk over to kneel in front of him and gently cup his beaming features. “I’m so proud of you, Chan.”

“I proud too!”

“Good, you should be,” you approve and lean forward to kiss his forehead. “I love you so much, my clever little brother.”

“I love you, my clever big sister.” He darts forward to hug you, squeezing you tighter than necessary due to all the joy running through his limbs, but you don’t mind and just squeeze him back with another kiss on his slightly damp hair.

“We need to get haircuts soon,” you comment as he backs up to bounce over to the bed and grab his turtle to squeeze and wriggle happily.

“No,” he complains, pouting at you and falling still. “No touch my hair!”

“I know you don’t like it, baby, neither do I, but both of us need a haircut before we get annoyed with our hair.”

“Per cut it?”

“I mean, I can, but it’ll not be very pretty.”

“Don’t care. Per only touch my hair.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll ask someone to get some hairdressing scissors for me and we’ll do it soon.”

“And Per hair too?”

“Uh, yeah sure, why not?” You shrug. “I’ll cut my own hair too; there must be video tutorials for cutting your own hair.” Chan just nods in approval and returns to smiling happily as he gallops over to you and tugs on your hand to signal you to get up.

As soon as you’re on your feet, he’s dragging you out of the bedroom and you let him, even if you know he’s left his damp towel on the bed so it’s going to ruin the bedding, but that’s a problem for the morning. Right now, it’s all about Chan.

Neither you nor Chan have actually been near Hansol’s and Seungcheol’s rooms before, you haven’t had a reason to until now, so you’re both a little hesitant as you near the end of the hall and can hear Hansol and Seungcheol talking in the left-hand room.

“Hurry, daddy! I want it to be a surprise ready!” Hansol encourages.

“Bud, I’m going as fast as I can,” Seungcheol reasons. You stop and lower to a crouch to keep Chan still and signal him to be quiet while he pouts confusedly at you.

“Well go faster!”

“Hansol,” Seungcheol warns. “I know you’re excited for your first sleepover, but you still need to be respectful, okay?”

“Sorry, daddy.”

“Good boy. How about you set the movie up while I finish this, yeah?”

“Okay!”

You wait patiently, even with Chan still sulking at you in your arms for making him wait, until you hear Seungcheol declare it’s finished and Hansol claps and cheers excitedly.

“It’s perfect, daddy! Thank you!” There’s a little ‘oof’ from Seungcheol as you assume Hansol has thrown himself at his father in an enthusiastic hug, before the man chuckles softly.

“You’re welcome, baby. Do you want me to stay for a bit or leave you alone?”

“Can you stay? I’m a little nervous, what if Squirt doesn’t like my room?”

“I’m sure he will, you’ve even got your sea light out for him.”

Chan wiggles in your hold at the mention of a sea light and you know you can’t make him wait anymore so you get up while releasing him, giggling as he scrambles forward and pops into the room.

“Squirt!” Hansol shrieks and runs over to hug Chan just as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. You smile seeing the two boys embracing with matching grins, and pyjamas, and look over at Seungcheol to see that he’s looking at them just as fondly from where he’s sprawled over his son’s large bed comfortably. Now, you notice what Seungcheol must’ve been doing.

Dangling from the ceiling to half cover the bed are a few sheets, attached to the ceiling with grey duct tape, making you wince a little at the thought of the strong tape pulling the paint from the ceiling when it’s removed, but Seungcheol clearly doesn’t care and can easily afford to have the ceilings redone for the sake of his son’s happiness.

In amongst the sheets, you can just about make out the sight of some fish stickers stuck onto the fabric and your heart only grows bigger and warmer with love for Hansol and his clear adoration for your brother.

It’s not technically true, but you think Hansol is the best big brother Chan could ever have.

“Look, Squirt!” Hansol encourages, taking Chan’s tiny hand in his slightly bigger one to lead him to the bed and help him up onto it before climbing up too.

Chan looks at Seungcheol before crawling over to lay at his side, making Seungcheol’s whole expression melt as he stares at the quiet little boy, who is already looking at the stickers he’s spotted. He makes an excited noise and points up to them.

“Yeah! Fishies!” Hansol cheers and starts to tug on the hanging sheets, but his dad makes a noise, stopping the boy and gets up himself to pull the sheets around the bed most of the way so that Hansol doesn’t accidentally pull them down.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Seungcheol encourages, motioning to the space on Hansol’s right, so you wander over and climb up onto the bed and finish pulling the sheet around the bed carefully.

The sheets are too thin to entirely block out the light from the copious lamps Hansol has in his room instead of using the main overhead lights, but it does dull it a little and makes the space oddly cosy.

“Look, there’s turtles and jellies and sharks and starfish and…” Hansol goes on pointing out all the different types of fish stickers over the sheets looking down on you all while Chan follows along with wide eyes glued to wherever the older boy points and his mouth parted in wonder.

A tap on your head makes you look up at Seungcheol where he’s propped up on his elbow on the pillow and his arm across it above the boys’ heads so that his hand is above your own head. “Is he okay with the dark?” He whispers to not disturb the boys. You nod. “Are you?” Another nod so Seungcheol smiles and grabs his phone and another little device from the bed behind him. He taps around on his phone and the lamps outside of the sheets all go off.

Chan gasps and starts to panic not having expected it, wriggling around ready to crawl over to you, but Hansol puts his hand on Chan’s chest to pat his fingers against the younger’s torso while making soothing sounds. “It’s okay, Squirt, it’s okay, daddy turned them off from his phone. It’s okay, he’s going to turn on something really cool, just lay with Solie, okay?” Hansol shuffles closer to Chan to put his arm around him and hold him, much like you imagine his father has done to him many times to soothe him. It works and Chan settles back down, tiny hands gripping onto Hansol’s sleeve and feet rubbing together restlessly but otherwise he’s perfectly still in wait.

A few seconds of Seungcheol fumbling with the device later, gentle blue light comes out of one end, and when you look at the sheets, you see a sea effect projected onto the material. The light moves in time with the gentle rolling sound of the waves coming from the device, simulating being underwater. Although you know it’s entirely for Chan’s benefit, you find yourself instantly soothed and curl up a little as your eyes track the shadows of the waves above you.

“Do you like it, Squirt?” Hansol whispers after a few seconds. You don’t need to look at your brother to know he’s nodding in awed agreement. “Good. Daddy bought me the light when I used to cry a lot, to help me calm down, but I don’t cry all the time anymore so you can have it if you want. I know you like the sea and fishes. We can get a tent and cover it in fishie stickers and put comfy pillows and blankies and the light and it will be nice, right, to lay in and watch and be like swimming with the fishies, right?”

Then, the one thing you were positive wouldn’t happen, at least not for a long time does, your little brother speaks. “Fishies,” he says softly. Hansol gasps, but he doesn’t say anything more and just holds Chan tighter with a bright smile on his face.

You can only handle it for a few seconds longer before you kiss each boy on the head, earning another beam from Hansol as you’ve never kissed him before, and he clearly loves the affection, before you quietly slip out from the sheets and leave the room.

In the hallway, you slide your back down the wall until you’re crouching with your face in your hands as you cry silently.

You’re only alone for a few seconds before familiar hands touch your arms gently, then you’re pulled in against Seungcheol’s firm chest as he holds you tight on his crossed legs in the middle of the corridor to let you grip onto his t-shirt and cry against his shoulder.

To your relief, Seungcheol doesn’t say a word at all, he just holds you and makes the occasional soft, soothing sound as his hands gently pat and stroke your arm and back. It’s easy to see where Hansol has picked up his calming habits, and it makes you choke out a small giggle, spotting the clear connection between father and son.

“Are you laughing?” The man questions in a puzzled mumble. You nod against his shoulder while giggling harder at his confusion. “So just to clarify, this isn’t sad crying?”

“N-no.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” he relaxes. “I mean, you can cry if you’re sad; you’re allowed to be sad and feel your emotions and all that, but seriously, I don’t think I would know what to do if you’re sad.”

“This is nice,” you answer with a few sniffles as you motion to how he’s holding you protectively in his strong arms in the circle of his thighs, making you feel nothing but safe.

“So, if you get sad, I can just hold you and let you cry and that’s enough?” You nod in confirmation. “Okay, I can do that,” he declares with determination in his voice, making you giggle again. “As much as I think your giggles are fucking adorable, I’m really confused right now, sweetheart. Why the tears?”

“I just got overwhelmed, but in a good way. I think it’s the first time I’ve been overwhelmed and it’s not a negative thing.”

“Oh, because of the boys?”

You hum and nod, watching your hand as you smooth out the creases you made in his t-shirt at the centre of his chest. “I never thought he’d trust anyone enough to talk to them, but Hansol has given him a safe space and…” you take a shaky breath in as tears prickle at your eyes again. “It just makes me so happy that Chan has him, he loves him so much.”

“It’s mutual, Sol adores his little Squirt,” Seungcheol adds, tilting his head to rest against the top of yours. “I’m really happy you came to us, sweetheart, both of you. You…you make us both so fucking happy, I don’t think we’ve been this happy before.”

“Us either.”

“You’ll stay, won’t you? Even after the Vultures are dealt with and it’s safe for you to be out there, have your name out there without being hunted down, you’ll stay?”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

He lets out a relieved breath before turning his head to press a kiss atop your head. “Me either.”

“Your ass probably wishes we were somewhere different right now though,” you muse, making him snort out a laugh as he straightens up.

“You just ruined a really heartfelt moment,” he points out, though he doesn’t sound at all upset about it and unwinds his arms from you, allowing you both to get to your feet. “Come on, they’re alright without us for a bit, let’s freshen you up a little,” he suggests, though the way he takes your hand into his and leads you into his room as he talks gives away that he isn’t really giving you an option.

You peer around the huge bedroom as you cross through, but you don’t really get to take it in, not that it looks like there’s that much to take in anyway, as he guides you into his ensuite and flicks the light on.

A surprised squeak leaves your lips when he abruptly turns and picks you up to plop onto the counter beside the sink. He smirks at you amusedly for a second then walks over to the unit to grab a face cloth.

“You don’t need to manhandle me, you could’ve just asked,” you scold as you shuffle to get comfortable and lean back against the mirror behind you while your feet swing from side to side contently.

“You would’ve questioned why I’m asking you to sit on the counter.”

You don’t respond for a second as you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that he’s right. As he approaches you with the little cloth in hands, he’s got that smug smirk back on his lips, making you sigh. “Okay, yeah, I would’ve but that’s because there’s no logical reason for me to need to be sitting on the counter right now.”

“Then why didn’t you get down?”

“You put me here, you want me here for a reason, even if you haven’t said what that reason is.”

“To look after you.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you watch him wet the cloth under the running cold water. “I’m capable of looking after myself; I’ve been doing it for twenty years at least.”

“I know you’re capable, I’m not refuting that, sweetheart, but everyone deserves to be looked after too.”

“Then who looks after you?”

“The guys all do in different ways; by helping me stay sane at work, making sure I don’t overwork myself, looking after my son so that I know he’s safe and I’m not constantly worrying about him.”

“And who holds you when you cry?”

Seungcheol pauses as he squeezes out most of the water from the washcloth. Then he shrugs and moves over in front of you to tuck one curled finger under your chin and tilt your head back a little to allow him to begin delicately dabbing the cool cloth over your tear sticky cheeks. “I don’t remember the last time I cried.”

“Oh, I cry a lot,” you confess shamelessly.

“You do?” He raises his eyebrow in surprise. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you cry.”

“I can usually hold it off until Chan’s asleep and I can shut myself in the bathroom, so he doesn’t see. I know it’s natural and everything, I’m not ashamed of how I cry when I’m overwhelmed by things or emotions, but I still don’t want him to see and get worried.”

“I understand, I wouldn’t want Hansol to see me cry either.”

“Chan has seen me cry before, multiple times, I haven’t always had the chance to hide it, but he gets so worried and overwhelmed and tends to have a meltdown so then we’re both a mess.”

“Well, now you have me, and the other guys too, they’d all help. You can tell Chan that if you ever need help, he should come get one of us.”

“I don’t know if he would leave me without explicitly being told to get someone, and I often can’t talk when I’m overloaded.”

“You go nonverbal?”

“If it’s really bad, yeah. But I just meant the whole crying thing makes it hard to talk.”

“Ah.” He makes a noise of understanding and tosses the cloth into the sink to replace it with the hand towel on the rack to pat your skin dry. “Do you know sign language?”

“A little, and I’ve taught Chan what I know, but our dad always lost his shit when he saw us doing it, or me learning, so it just…seemed like it wasn’t worth the beatings when I knew only I would use it with him in private and he verbally talks to me anyway.”

“Your dad beat you for learning sign language when Chan doesn’t even talk?”

“At first, he was okay with it, when Chan was really little, and everyone assumed he was just delayed a little so at least a few signs would help understand what he wants until he talks. But then he blamed it on why Chan didn’t try to talk and banned anyone from giving him any of his aids or signing so that he’d be forced to talk.”

“What a piece of shit.”

“Mm, only got worse when he got diagnosed with autism and dad just…stopped loving him.” 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with a pathetic excuse of a father like that, both of you. And I’m really glad you left and you’re here now where you can both be cared for like you deserve.”

“Thanks, Seungcheol, me too.”

“You know, you don’t have to call me Seungcheol all the time.”

“Well, I’m not calling you that stupid alias,” you retort, features scrunching in distaste while he puts the towel neatly back.

He laughs, which only grows when he sees your disgusted expression. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what? That’s all anyone calls you, some variation of that or Mr Choi. Is that what you want me to call you?”

“Fuck no.” Now it’s Seungcheol’s features that twist in revulsion, making you giggle amusedly. “Never call me Mr Choi, I don’t even like it when people say it, but I have to leave it be with them, the whole head of the Centaurs status shit. But you, don’t you dare call me Mr Choi.”

“Well, that’s all I’ve ever heard you be addressed with. Or daddy, but if you try to get me to call you that you’ll just confirm that you’re a giant fucking pervert.”

Seungcheol lets out your name in a gasped exclamation with eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Don’t say shit like that!” You start to cackle at his extremely flustered expression. “I-I wasn’t even thinking that!”

“Now you are.”

“Please shut up.”

“Sure, daddy.” He scrambles to put his palm over your mouth as his cheeks darken. You only laugh and let him, eyes sparkling with mirth above his palm.

“Stop. I don’t…I’m not into that.” You give him the best disbelieving look you can over his hand. “I’m not!”

You move his hand away from your mouth so that you can speak. “You’re red.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” he groans and slumps down until he’s squatting in front of you and hiding in your knees. “I regret suggesting sharing my bed with you.”

“I’ll ask Kwan if he wants a sleepover then,” you decide with a shrug.

The words are barely out of your mouth before Seungcheol is up on his feet at his full height and staring at you darkly. “No.”

“You said you regret-”

“I didn’t mean that,” he puts his palms on the counter either side of your thighs, making him lean down closer to you to reach, as his intense gaze burns into your innocently blinking eyes. “You are never to have a sleepover with anyone but me, understand?”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“Because I don’t want you in their beds.”

“But you want me in yours?” You reason, raising your eyebrow a little in question.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches a little as he mulls over his answer before he responds so simply that you think it’s ridiculous both how long he takes to reply and how your stomach flips from the single, lowly spoken syllable. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

He raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to say something more, but his son calling him stops the man in his tracks. Seungcheol lets out a soft breath before he drags his gaze over your face, eyes lingering on your parted lips, then he pushes away from the counter and leaves you sitting there with a racing heart and warmth blooming on your cheeks.

You’re not stupid, no matter what your father said about you, you are perfectly capable of understanding social cues when your mind isn’t so messy and stressed. You’ve been sent off to seduce too many men to not know what someone looking at your lips like Seungcheol just had means.

The information that Seungcheol wanted to kiss you, even if only for a moment, sends a strange feeling through your body that you’ve never felt before. It’s like anxiety and excitement rolled into one fizzling sensation throughout your veins and settling heavy in your sternum. You think that this might be what it feels like to have reasonable hope that someone likes you back.

By the time the boys fall asleep after Seungcheol has read them three books, and they’ve watched both Finding Nemo and Finding Dory tucked up in between you and the man on Hansol’s bed, that sensation in your chest has long fizzled out.

Though when you’re laid in Seungcheol’s ridiculously big bed, rubbing your feet together nervously as he showers and gets into his pyjamas in the ensuite, the bubbling in your chest returns with a vengeance.

You can’t stop thinking about what happened in the bathroom; the possessive way he had demanded you only climb into his bed, the way his intense gaze had lingered on your lips. Once you start thinking about that, it makes you consider other things he’s said and done over the past few months; how tenderly he treats you, how his cheeks frequently turn a shy pink in front of your eyes, how his touch always hovers longer than explicitly necessary when it’s on you.

For so long you’ve convinced yourself that it’s just how the man is; that he’s attentive and affectionate to all of his friends. Which isn’t even a lie because you’ve seen him lean into Jisoo when the doctor tends to his wounds, and you’ve seen him sling his arm around most of them, even plant a noisy kisses to cheeks when he’s feeling playful. But he never lingers. Not with them.

The more you think about it, the difference between how he treats you to any others, you realise the little things; how he seems to edge closer to you whenever you’re within arm’s reach until he can brush his hand against you, how he pays such close attention to you that he can sense what you need before you do sometimes, how even if he’s in the middle of yelling at his men for their mistakes, the second he sees you, the anger in his eyes melts away and the light returns to them, even just for a second before he focuses back on his job.

You don’t want to let yourself get carried away with the possibility that Seungcheol has liked you for even longer than you’ve liked him, but you’re already halfway up in the clouds by the time he returns and slips into the bed at your side despite the fact there really is no need to be so close when the mattress is so wide.

“You’re red,” he comments in a soft, teasing voice as he settles on his right side facing you, his right hand up underneath the pillow below his head and his left reaching for you under the covers to rest on your stomach.

When you turn onto your left side to face him, his hand slides over your waist to settle on your back, holding you close. You stare at him for a moment, nervously chewing your bottom lip while he watches you in wonder of what you’re thinking yet remains patiently quiet for when you’re ready to talk.

He’s always so patient, so good to you. He does so much, goes out of his way and you think that perhaps it’s time you try to return the effort.

Your hands tremble ever so slightly as you lift them between you to touch his jaw feather light. He breathes out your name in a whispered question, but he doesn’t do anything else when you crane your neck up to softly press your lips to his. You hear him inhale deeply through his nose at the delicate kiss, but before he can react otherwise, you pull away and remove your touch from his skin.

“That-that’s what you wanted earlier, r-right? In the bathroom?”

He stares at you for a moment with such a serious expression before he sighs. To your utter confusion and slight horror, his features turn down and he pulls away from you, severing all contact as he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Don’t do that again,” he warns quietly.

Your heart starts to crack as the rejection seeps inside and drags it down out of place towards your stomach. You really thought he wanted to kiss you, wanted you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer and although you want to get up and leave before you start to cry, you’re frozen in place, body running hot and cold as the realisation that you misunderstood and fucked up runs rampant through your mind, spinning and whirling every thought up into one colossal fucking mess you can’t even try to figure out how to fix.

“Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper that makes him sigh towards the ceiling. “I-I thought you want-”

“No, Pearl, don’t say that. You should never do shit because you think I want you to, that’s not what I want at all. I don’t want you to kiss me because it’s what you think I want. You should only kiss someone because you want to.”

“Oh.” That growing fear in your chest suddenly stops before it can spill up your throat. It doesn’t retreat, only halts in its path as you try to work your way through his words with your mind still flashing with the previous thoughts. “Can you clarify that?” You request.

“Clarify it?” He looks at you. “What do you mean?”

“It kind of sounds like you’re not against me kissing you, just that you want it to be because I want it, not that I think you do.”

“Uh.” He pauses and turns his head to face the ceiling again as he swallows thickly before he nods. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. Don’t kiss me for my sake.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Good,” the word is barely out of his mouth in a barely audible whisper before you’re leaning up over him on your left elbow to cup his cheek, tilt his head to you and press your lips to his. A soft, alarmed noise vibrates in his throat, and he reels back to stare at you with wide eyes. “Pearl, I just said-”

“Yeah, and I said I won’t,” you remind him. “Do you really think that now I’m free of all that shit, I’d kiss someone if I don’t want to?”

“You want to kiss me?” You nod. “Oh.” Then he’s reaching up to curve his left hand around your jaw and neck as he surges in to kiss you, not a drop of hesitation left in him.

It’s not even a few seconds of kissing before he’s wrapping his arm around you to pull your body up onto his until you’re straddling him and letting his tongue into your mouth when you gasp at the sudden manhandling.

You find you don’t mind it at all when it’s Seungcheol.

“You,” Seungcheol breathes out when he drops his head back into the pillows instead of keeping it lifted to meet you easier, even if you could’ve easily lowered down to him, but it seems he forgot that to be an option.

“Me,” you reply, even more breathless than the man as you let your weight settle more firmly on his hips and lower your torso until your chests are touching.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy for months,” he declares and smooths his hands down from your waist to grip handfuls of your ass with a low groan. “Especially in those fucking leggings.”

“You bought them.”

“Best and worst purchase I’ve ever made. Fuck, your ass looks so good in them, baby, but all I can remember when I see how fucking tight they are, is you wondering if you can even wear underwear under them.”

“I can’t,” you inform bluntly and watch amusedly as his head tips back a little with a soft groan while his fingers curve firmer into the flesh of your ass cheeks over your clothing. “I tried, but even that tiny amount of material makes it impossible to pull the leggings up to my hips so they just bunch and make my ass bulge over the band and-” Seungcheol cuts off your explanation with a heated kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head to pull you in and the other still groping at your ass as if he’s trying to imbed his hands into your flesh so that he never has to let go.

“Well,” the sudden voice from the doorway makes you both sit up and look over in alarm not having heard anyone approach, but Mingyu is standing in the doorway looking partially amused and partially shocked. “Just came to say that we’re all going out now for drinks, so it’s just the four of you in the house.”

“Uh, right, yeah, right. Have uh-” Seungcheol starts, then has to clear his throat, so that his voice isn’t so thick and rough with arousal, so obvious that Mingyu is smirking now. “Have a good time. Happy birthday, Gyu.”

“Happy birthday,” you repeat softly.

Mingyu’s expression softens as he looks directly at you instead of his boss and smiles at you. “Thank you, Pearl.”

“Hey!” Seungcheol complains. “Don’t I get thanks?”

“You refused to let us use the card,” Mingyu defends poutily.

“Of course I’m not letting you use the fucking business card to get drunk!”

“It’s his birthday,” you reason, turning your head to look at Seungcheol. “It’d be your gift to him.”

“He doesn’t like gifts.”

“Your gift to your men for working so hard,” you correct yourself without missing a beat and hear Mingyu snort out a badly concealed laugh as Seungcheol sighs heavily.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking manipulating me like this,” Seungcheol grunts and motions vaguely to the dresser, so Mingyu scuttles over to grab Seungcheol’s wallet to grab and bring over, with an excited grin on his face as he does so.

“You’re the best,” Mingyu breathes out gratefully as Seungcheol finds out the correct card to hand over to the tall man.

“I should think so,” Seungcheol grumbles.

“I was talking to Pearl,” Mingyu points out, then giggles and jumps away as Seungcheol darts his arm out, but with you still on his lap and quickly reaching up to put your hand on his arm and stop him, the man doesn’t have the chance to hit the birthday boy. “Thanks, daddy!”

“Fuck off!” Seungcheol exclaims as Mingyu leaves the bedroom while dramatically kissing the card in his hands. “If they bankrupt me, it’s on your shoulders, sweetheart.”

“Is there not a limit on that card?”

“No, I don’t think I can set it up either, it’s one of two cards, company cards let’s say, but Seungkwan has the other explicitly to use for Hansol’s benefit and he knows he’ll be punished if I see anything suspicious on the statements.”

“Get the app up, let’s look; I know how to do all that,” you reason as you climb off his lap and sit expectantly against the pillows that you prop up at the headboard. When you’re settled and can see Seungcheol again, you find that he’s just sitting there and pouting at you. “What?”

“We were in the middle of something,” he reminds and places one hand on your thigh to squeeze a little, suggestively.

“Yes, and now I’m very aware that the door is open, and the boys can walk in any at second, so I’d rather they don’t see me naked and bouncing on your cock.”

Seungcheol gawps at you in stunned disbelief for a moment then dazedly nods and turns away to grab his phone from the side table. His movements are slow and a little stilted all the way until he’s at your side with his right arm around you and his phone in his left hand as he unlocks it.

“What?” You ask and he hums questioningly. “You went really weird there.”

“Just really fucking threw me off hearing you saying that. Didn’t expect it at all and now I’m just wondering what kinda dirty shit you’re capable of saying.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, daddy.” He makes an unimpressed noise and lightly taps your arm with his right hand in scold while you giggle amusedly.

“You’re a brat, aren’t you?”

“I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“No,” he refutes with a sigh. “You’re not doing that, sweetheart, if we’re going to do this then I want you, not some version of you that you think I want. Don’t play into any of the shit you were taught to bait men, I just want you and what you like, okay?”

“I’m not sure I know what I like, I’ve never had the chance to really explore that. Sometimes I had some leeway with the targets but generally I was given a character to play and stuck to that to get the job done,” you admit and take his phone once he’s got the banking app unlocked and the correct card open.

“Have you ever had sex because you want to?”

“No, never had someone I wanted before.” Seungcheol doesn’t respond, letting you think the topic is over. “Okay, I can add a limit, what should I put?” You ask, then type in the number he mumbles, before you press confirm. “You should probably text them to let them know there’s a limit.”

“If they hit that limit tonight, I think money is the last of my problems, they’ll all have alcohol poisoning, sweetheart.”

“Ah, right, suppose. I don’t know how much all that costs.” You shrug and lean your head on his shoulder as he locks his phone and tosses it aside on the bed carelessly so that he can hold you with both arms.

“Sweetheart?” He starts after a few moments of calm silence while his fingers draw mindless, innocent patterns against your thigh. You hum to show you’re listening. “I need to ask what it is you want from me.”

“I thought we already discussed this months ago,” you murmur puzzled.

“I don’t mean that, I mean this, us.”

“Oh. I want you.”

“How?”

“You’ve got a kid, Seungcheol, you know how that works.”

“No,” he chuckles softly. “I’m not asking how sex works. I’m asking if that’s all you want from me, sex.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Baby,” he lets out a soft breath and adjusts you both so that you’re sitting up and looking at each other. “I mean what relationship do you want from me? Is it just sex, or do you want more?”

“Oh,” you understand, nodding slowly as your eyes widen ever so slightly for a few seconds. “You’re asking if I expect you to be loyal to me and stuff. You’re a gang boss; I know loyalty to a woman isn’t part of that and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up. Being a gang boss doesn’t mean that at all! My dad was always loyal to my mother, and he raised me to be the same. I don’t sleep around, sweetheart. If we do this, I’m only going to fuck you until you tell me you don’t want me anymore.”

“Does that mean you’d keep fucking me even if you don’t want me?” You frown. “I don’t like that, Seungcheol.”

“No, not at all. Of course, I’m not going to fuck someone I don’t want but I’m…I’m pretty fucking sure I wouldn’t be the one to end this.”

“What makes you say that? Neither of us know what will happen, you could meet someone else or get bored of me or something else.”

“Because this isn’t just sex for me. I get if you just want it to be about sex and I can do that, I’ll keep my feelings to myself and not try to blur lines, but I want to be with you.”

“W-with me?” You whisper and shuffle a little. “And feelings like…romantic?”

“Yeah, baby, feelings like romantic, as in I want to be in a committed relationship with you; I want to be yours and call you mine, but I’m not going to bitch and whine about it if you don’t want that. I’m a grown man, I can accept rejection so just…what do you want from me, baby? Do you want me like that or just sex?”

“I’ve never liked someone before,” you rush out and watch as his expression falls, making you realise that your words sound like a rejection. “No! Wait! Don’t-don’t look sad, I didn’t mean as if I still don’t. I like you, Seungcheol and I’ve never liked someone before, never done relationship type stuff so I don’t know how to do it right, is what I mean.”

“Oh,” he lifts his left arm so that he can cup your jaw and brush his thumb over your cheek tenderly. “You like me? Like really and not just attracted to me?”

“Yeah, I like you and I don’t know how to be a good girlfriend or even a mediocre one, but I’d really like the chance to try with you.”

“I haven’t been with someone in a long time either, not since Sol’s mother. I’m out of practice, so we can learn how to do it together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as a smile lifts your cheeks and his own features naturally mirror your joy as it grows. “Let’s learn together, Cheolie.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out and surges in to kiss you in a way he hasn’t yet. Before, the kisses were all heavy and intense and although there is plenty of passion in this one too, it doesn’t feel as if lust plays a part in it at all, only pure adoration. “That sounds so fucking cute, baby, always call me Cheolie.”

“Okay, Cheolie,” you agree simply and can’t help but giggle at the dopey smile he gives you from so close that his nose almost brushes yours. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“As in not tell anyone?”

“I just don’t want to get ahead of ourselves in case it doesn’t work out.”

“Oh, right, well that makes sense, it’d be awkward to announce we’re together today then realise in a couple weeks we’re better as friends and have to say we’re over.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, that’s fine, we can wait. I’d really like to be entirely certain before the boys know too.” You nod emphatically in agreement. “Though there’s a slight problem.”

“What?”

“Mingyu has definitely already told the guys he walked in on us.”

“Oh. How do you know that?”

“He’s one of my best friends, I know him. Know all of those nosey assholes and they definitely all know that we’re at least…physical.” You snort a laugh at his choice of phrasing. “Hey, don’t laugh at me, I didn’t want to say fucking when we haven’t done that.”

“Yet.”

He makes a strange hum of agreement in response. “Y-yep. Yet. Haven’t fucked yet.”

“Soon.”

“You want me to die, don’t you?”

“No. Whose cock am I going to bounce on then?”

“Alright, enough,” he grunts and abruptly tackles you to the bed, making you yelp and then giggle madly when he manhandles you to lay down facing away with his arms around you. “Stop talking like that or you’re going to wake up with something pressing against your ass.”

“I don’t think I’m into that,” you comment thoughtfully. “We can try it though, if you want.”

He groans and buries his face in your neck. “Please shut up and go to sleep, for the sake of my sanity.”

“But I’m not tired,” you complain.

“Want to watch TV?”

“You have a TV in here?” You crane your neck up to look around as best as you can, but you can’t see a TV on any of the bare walls. “There’s no TV.”

“It’s in the bed.”

“What?” You roll onto your back as Seungcheol lets you go to reach above you to the top of the headboard where there’s a little shelf behind it and he retrieves the remote. You watch as he presses a button at the top of the device and then the footrest of the bed opens up and a TV slowly rises from the end. “Whoa.”

“Cool huh?”

“That seems like a bad idea,” you comment and sit up to crawl over and poke at the TV once it’s still, so that you can test the stability. It’s surprisingly solid.

“It’s safe, these TVs are made extra sturdy to account for being in a bed.”

“Are they sex proof?”

“What?” He sputters and looks at you as if you’re crazy, but you’re still focused on testing the stability of the huge screen on the rack, which has been cleverly designed to match the bed and not be an eyesore. “You’re not supposed to fuck against it, babe!”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean movement of the bed itself, is the frame stable enough to protect the TV from those movements?”

“I would assume so; I’ve never had the chance to test it.”

“We’ll have to do that,” you decide and turn to crawl back over to where he’s partially propped up so that he can look at the TV without having his neck at an awkward angle.

“Oh, will we?” He muses as you fit yourself against his side with your arm across his waist and head on his shoulder.

“Mm, you’re going to have to fuck me really hard to really test the durability. And many times, so-” His right hand lifts from your waist as his arm is around you, and covers your mouth, making you peer up at him and find his dark gaze on you.

“Stop it before I lose my cool and risk mentally scarring the boys by testing that right now.” For a second, you almost goad him on, but you really don’t want the boys to see that, or hear it, so you nod in agreement. “Good girl.” He removes his hand from your mouth and cranes forward to peck your slightly pouty lips. “What shall we watch?”

“Does it have to be an adult movie?” You ask as you turn to settle back down and watch the screen where the streaming app are showing as he waits for your answer.

“No.”

“Good, because I really want to watch Cars.”

“Cars?” He laughs, already going into Disney+. “That’s not what I expected.”

“I wasn’t allowed to play with cars or learn anything about them, but I could watch this,” you explain.

“You really like cars, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug, eyes glued to the screen to watch Seungcheol navigate the app to search for the movie. “I was just never allowed to find out, so it’s stuck with me.”

“Well, Jihoon says you’ll be a good mechanic and he’s more than happy to keep training you.”

“Even though I dented that car today?”

“I think he likes you even more now.” He chuckles and kisses your head. “Do you want to keep working with him?”

“Yeah, I like it there with him, we just…click, I think. It’s nice.”

“I’m glad you’ve gotten closer with him; he used to spend most of his time complaining about his team but now he talks about you and your lessons, how quickly you’re learning. I think it’s kind of cathartic for him, almost, having someone there who he doesn’t want to choke with a wrench.”

“That would be impractical.”

“Oh, but he’s a determined, demonic entity when he’s pissed off, he’d make it work.” He chuckles. “Anyway, let’s watch this and then if you’re still awake after, we’ll get a snack before starting the next one, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me, Cheolie.” Seungcheol presses a kiss to your head then plays the movie and gets comfortable with his right arm securely around you and his left hand holding yours on his chest where you can feel the content beating of his heart against your fingers.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

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[enhani-ki]

idk if you're open to it but i feel like you'd give a good representation of writing ni-ki anyway! can you make a story of him falling in love with a male reader? like its just hits him out of the blue and baam ... he likes *a* guy .. crazy stuff!

love all your works to the fullest!! 💕

double take - male!reader x ni-ki

warnings: a little suggestive, cursing, etc.

the sun was just starting to set. it casted long shadows over your small town as you made your way towards the gathering at ni-ki's house.

his dad had invited your family over, just like old times. the whole neighborhood was going wild because after all, it wasn't every day that nishimura riki, the kid who used to play hide and seek with you, racing you to the vending machine, and played video games with you until your thumbs ached, just came back after years of living in Korea.

you had heard bits and pieces about his life through your parents, but you never really reached out.

what would you even say? "bro, remember when we used to dance together?" you doubted he had time for nostalgia, not when he had debuted as an idol, traveling the world, and living the dream he always wanted.

still, his dad's invitation left you no choice. and part of you was a little bit… curious.

he was taller, way waaay taller. you knew you had grown too, but next to him? you weren't sure if it was enough to count.

his once soft cute features had sharpened. he's got more defined jawline now and his nose got even more pointy, and despite everything, he still looked easygoing, laughing shyly as family friends and neighbors showered him with compliments.

does he even recognize you?

his eyes met yours and you looked away, not really sure why.

"hey, y/n!" he called out with his now deep voice, lifting his hand to dap you up just like old times.

ni-ki clasped your hand and pulled you into a firm hug. and he's so strong now too.

"hey," laughed awkwardly. "i guess you're ni-ki now?"

"you know i'm just riki." he smiled, scratching the back of his neck again.

you felt a little relieved, maybe he hadn't changed too much.

the two of you stepped aside and started catching up. a little strange at first but the conversation picked up quickly as you both tried to bring up old memories and filling all the years you had missed.

and at some point, he sighed resting his head on your shoulder without warning.

"i'm so tired from the flight," he murmured.

your body tensed.

you felt relieved again knowing he's still comfortable with you but you also felt nervous

because he probably didn't notice… but you like guys now.

i mean, you always did.

and to ni-ki's defense, he was just always like this too, he became comfortable with physical touch especially with guys after years of being surrounded by his group members.

the next day, you were walking through the neighborhood talking about some dumb story from middle school when, out of nowhere, his arm draped over your shoulders.

ni-ki was smiling, listening to you while looking ahead. "man, i miss this place," he said, completely oblivious to how stiff you had just gone.

"y-yeah," you replied, forcing yourself to act normal.

and it made sense that he wouldn't think twice about casually leaning on you or wrapping his arms around your shoulders,

or pulling you close during a game.

"let's see how good you are." ni-ki said, dribbling the ball between his legs, smirking smugly before passing you the ball, like he know he's about to win.

he was on you again, guarding so close. his body pressed against yours, chest to back, arms spreading wide as he tried to block your movements that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his breath came fast and uneven... just like yours.

and your heart was already racing from running around, now it feels like it's going to burst out for a completely different reason.

it's okay, focus. just play.

you tried to step back but ni-ki was right there and he was just so fucking big. his hands kept trying to swipe at the ball.

you moved fast because you were too distracted, and-

foul.

you had practically shoved into him, and he stumbled slightly, blinking at you in surprise.

"whew," ni-ki said and laughed, still panting. "you play dirty like that?"

"sh-shut up," you muttered, reaching for the ball again to distract yourself.

and then in a desperate attempt to shake off whatever this was, you threw it at the hoop with way too much force that the ball smacked against backboard so hard it ricocheted off and bounced into the grass.

"…bro."

"i'm sorry! you're just... too close."

he walked towards you and patted your head. "my bad, sorry."

later, you had just stepped out of the shower. the steam were still clinging to your skin as you ran a towel through your damp hair. the only thing covering you was the towel wrapped loosely around your waist, while water droplets sliding down your chest.

you weren't expecting company.

which is why you froze the moment you saw ni-ki in on your bed, strumming nonsense on your guitar.

both of you just stared at each other with wide eyes. the silence was probably thick enough to choke on.

and ni-ki? he should've been used to this, right? because after all he lives with six guys, sharing dorms, and seeing shirtless bodies all the time.

this shouldn't feel different.

his eyes flicked down just a quick second before he turning his head to the side.

you gripped your towel tighter, "what the hell are you doing in my room?"

"i-" he swallowed, still refusing to look at you. "i was waiting for you."

"In my bed?"

ni-ki groaned, rolling onto his stomach, wishing he could just disappear into the mattress. "we were supposed to go spy on the date, remember?"

his sister's going on a date tonight and he convinced you to go with him because he needs "something" he could find so he can use it against her later.

such a little brother.

but yeah, you did agree to that.

you sighed, running a hand through your damp hair. "you could've knocked."

"i thought you were done..."

your fingers curled around the edge of your towel with your heart still beating a little too fast.

and ni-ki, while still half-buried in your bed, exhaled a breath and peeked at you from the corner of his eye then quickly, he shut his eyes and groaned into your pillow.

"put some clothes on."

"yea- yeah," you muttered, already turning away. "good idea."

"…you're killing me here."

it was late, way past midnight, and he was lying on your bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling.

you were on your bed, already half-asleep, but still mumbling about how he could've just gone home instead of insisting on staying over.

he said it was easier this way, he said he didn't feel like walking.

but he just doesn't want to leave.

you rolled onto your side, your arm dangled off the bed, and your hand peeked over the edge, right in front of his eyes.

he swallowed before reaching out. he let his fingertips ghost over the back of your hand, touching and tracing the lines of your skin.

then your hand twitched.

and ni-ki can't help but intertwine his fingers with yours.

you stirred awake, mumbling groggily. "that's not a ghost, right?"

ni-ki let out a breathy chuckle. "it's me, dumbass."

your heart ached at his touch, biting your lip as you curled your fingers tighter around his.

"...come up here."

next day, you stood next to him. ni-ki didn't know but he was staring, reaally staring because he was.

your head barely reached his shoulder as you walk together, he also had to slow his steps just so you wouldn't fall behind. and when you stretched to reach something high, it was instinct for him to reach over and grab it for you.

it made him smile.

he didn't even realize he was smiling until you turned to him, brow raised.

"what?" you asked, giving him a weird look.

"no- nothing."

and you weren't convinced. "no, seriously, why are you looking at me like that?"

he shrugged, tilting his head slightly. "just… you're kinda small, huh?"

you blinked at him. "no, i'm not?"

ni-ki chuckled before leaning close to your face, "yeah, i bet you are."

he said it like he was challenging you or something.

your jaw dropped, stopping in your tracks as he continued walking. "what the hell?"

you glared at his back before quickly catching up, grabbing his arm and pulling it over your shoulders, forcing him closer.

ni-ki stiffened for a second. his heart were stuttering, but he gave in easily too, pressing a quick kiss to your head, before resting his head on top of yours.

"don't react."

a/n: thank you so much for showing love! it keeps me going.

also this is my first time writing ni-ki and male!reader pairing, so glad this was requested! ><

i know i should've leaned more towards him falling for the reader but i also feel like it wouldn't really be a big surprise to him because it's you/him, the reader.

i actually wanted to make them strangers instead of already knowing each other then i also saw a video (the video attached below) where ni-ki was singing the song double take by dhruv during live and omg i just got so inspired by it lol!

hope you like it! <3

マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, marking, restraints, sexual tension, slow burn, sylus isn’t a normal king, this isn’t a medieval setting, there are cars and indoor plumbing ‘round here, reader has hair for the sake of plot — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024). tysm for reading! — now playing: tender strength - yu-peng chan, hoyo-mix

Willing His Majesty to behave and him actually doing so are two foreign points on a map. 

It’s kind of your fault, really. 

You almost don’t. Nearly preserve your aloofness, your decorum. But then you do let your formalities slip for the briefest second, and that’s what heralds this mess. 

A traitorous sigh slips past your lips, summoning the attention of your wintry-haired charge.

Warmth pours throughout your person, a prickly spike of embarrassment clotting your veins. You stiffen, staring at the dark, heavy curtains shielding the dining hall from the sun’s brilliant spill. Try to ignore how your skin tingles beneath the curious study of your king. How those scarlet eyes crinkle mirthfully, wittingly, and you know all too well no good will come from that look. 

He’s in a playful mood, isn’t he? And you’re about to serve as his court jester. 

“Are you alright, dear friend?” he intones, loud enough for only you to hear, ignoring the monotonous prattle of his guest across the table. 

His voice curls around your brain, seeping through the folds of it. You straighten, arms stiffly folded behind you, quietly clearing your throat to ward off the spell of dizziness threatening to take hold. Curse him for sounding so devastatingly hot. For being so terribly distracting, so unfairly handsome.

You murmur an apology, not once taking your eyes off the far wall to look at him. To do so would be dangerous. Get you into more trouble. You hope by ignoring him, he’ll leave you be, but—

Well, His Majesty is a stubborn man, and once he gets going, there’s no stopping him.

He fiddles with a fork on the dining table with long, skillful fingers. Smooths out the little wrinkles forming in the tablecloth, adjusting himself in his wing-backed seat into an uninterested slouch. “You’ve been awfully huffy today. Are you bored?” 

A little, you inwardly reply. You don’t care much for politics. For these fickle conversations of wealth, alliances, and nobility. You merely follow orders, keeping your opinions to yourself unless they’re explicitly requested. 

Being a knight proves to be much more entertaining than serving as a tactician or advisor. At least you can keep your hands and feet busy instead of rotting away at a desk, ripping out your hair and fretting over the intricacies of running an entire nation. 

You remain quiet, tuning out His Majesty’s attempts to get you to break character. 

But, as mentioned before, your king is a persistent man. 

He sighs, slipping further down in his chair. Props his temple on his knuckles, an ankle resting on the pocket of his knee whilst the free set of fingers drum on the chair’s arm. “I don’t blame you if you are. She’s not very entertaining, is she? Nor is she very bright.”

You snort despite yourself. Quickly remember your decorum, a scowl twisting up your lips. Your eyes shoot to your wayward king. “Majesty!” you admonish on a whispered yell.

A smirk pulls at his lips. He playfully narrows his eyes at you from behind the shelter of his hand. Has you right where he wants you, feeding into his childish games. Just like old times. 

Your staring contest, however, is short-lived when the sharp click of a teacup meeting its saucer echoes through the stilled dining hall.

“I’m sorry,” quips a voice doused in vitriol from the table’s other end, causing your attention to snap to its source. “Am I interrupting something?”

The Queen of Universum ingests the pair of you with sharp, mead-infused eyes, vexation tugging at her red-painted lips. Like two scolded children, you straighten, King Sylus sitting up in his seat with a brilliantly fake smile.

“Of course not. Please, continue with your monologuing,” he says with a theatrical flourish of his fingers. He would roll his eyes if he could; you just know it.

You disguise a laugh as a cough, piping up when the queen’s glare snaps to you. You try not to bristle beneath the weight she carries. Beneath the thin stretch of her lips. She doesn’t like you very much. Of course, you don’t care for her, either. 

She’s made it perfectly clear that she views you as a threat to her plans—marrying her daughter off to your king to forge an alliance between your countries, to spread her family’s reign. No room for love. She’s mentioned more than once that your familiarity with the king is inappropriate, a threat to his crown. How scandalous it would be for him to take you as his bride instead of someone with noble blood.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers curling into a fist at your back until your nails bite unforgivingly into your palm. 

Like you don’t already grapple with the notion every time he touches you or smiles a little too charmingly in your direction.

You’re not fit to be a contender for his heart; not fit to be a queen. 

Her eyes finally slip away from you, refocusing on the center of your musings. Your relief is short-lived as an impish smile rounds her lips. You swallow thickly, the queen’s body language boding danger.

“Is it truly necessary for your lapdog to be here? Her presence is spoiling my meal.”

You blink rapidly. Incredulously, mouth spilling open.

Lap—

Lapdog?

I’m sorry, what?

If you had hackles, they would raise. Instead, your nostrils flare, the tendons in your neck pulling, jaw set in a rigid line. An omniscient smirk cants the queen’s lips. She knows just how to creep beneath your skin, how to wrap her claws around your pride and pull it apart. 

How dare she compare you to a bloody dog! You’re loyal, yes. At His Majesty’s beck and call. His shield. Have been for years. But to be compared to an animal, of all things—

He feels the malice sloughing off your skin in waves. Eyes you warily in his peripheral before raising a hand to quell your silent rage.

“Down, girl,” he teases, and you glower at him. 

It seems he also wants to play along with these dog jokes.

Leaning forward, your king perches his elbows on the dining table. Twines his fingers together, resting his chin atop his knuckles, a deceptively sweet smile boasting his teeth. Having known him for as long as you have, you can easily sense the irritation pouring over the tense set of his muscles. The stiffness between his shoulder blades, peering through the tailored pleat of his jacket.

“My Lady,” he begins, words bathed in silk. “I’m not sure how you treat your subjects in Universum, and frankly, I do not care. But here, we address our people with dignity and respect regardless of race, color, status, or creed.”

The queen’s expression morphs into one of mortification. She straightens in her seat, a steady creep of redness inhabiting her cheeks as she studies the doily texture of the tablecloth. You resist an urge to cheer.

“While you are my guest, you are expected to behave with poise and grace. And I would greatly appreciate it if you did not disrespect my friend here like that again.” 

Scarlet eyes briefly flit to you, shining with a spark of fondness—a tenderness that sets your body alight with heat—before returning to the queen. 

“Or anyone in my kingdom, for that matter. Understood?” His Majesty concludes with a raised brow, sparing no room for argument.

Pride swells in your chest, warm like the soft embrace of a fur shawl on a wintry day. He’s shut her up in his own way. Read her to filth with the poise and regality of a man of his stature, and you’re envious of his composure. They don’t call him a king for nothing. 

You straighten at his side, mouth twitching with the threat of an arrogant smile, and your chin lifts slightly. Defiantly. 

She studies her lap, pulling at her fingernails. You watch a kaleidoscope of emotions stroll across her face before a nervous titter falls from her lips. 

“My apologies, Your Majesty. That was very inappropriate of me.” Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips while she sweeps a chocolate ringlet of hair behind her ear. “I was only hoping that the two of us could have a little…chat.” She looks at you, a note of caution stirring beneath her lashes. “Alone.”

Sylus sits back with a scoff as if he’s just as confused by her request as you are. It’s rare you leave his side. Rare you’re not in his shadow, head on a swivel, fingers wrapped about your sword. You’re even present when he’s sunk beneath the murky pull of sleep. 

“Does her being here pose some sort of threat to you?” he interrogates around a smirk.

“Not so much a threat as it is a distraction.”

A distraction to whom, you wonder. It’s a ridiculous request. You’re his bodyguard, for the Gods’ sake. You wouldn’t put it past her to make an attempt on his life in your absence. Forgo the pleasantries and proposal for marriage and end his lineage here and now. Not that she could.

Your mouth works around a protest, yet it dies in your throat when your king calls your name after some time spent deliberating. He peers at you from his shoulder, and you snap to attention.

“Sorry, dear friend,” he says, tone sloping with repentance. “Would you mind giving us some space for a little while? I fear your presence is making our guest uncomfortable.”

You cast him a pensive look. Lips tremble and part. His expression softens, and he winks at you, turning up the dial of his charm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Of course, he will. His Majesty is more than capable of handling himself. Sometimes, you wonder what purpose you serve. He’s a hulk of a man, brimming with untapped power and bleeding intimidation. Most days, you feel you’re by his side to create the illusion of protection. 

Remembering your place, you step back and excuse yourself with a curt bow. You caution one last look at your charge before pivoting, briskly making for the door, ignoring the thunderous drum of your pulse in your ears.

You feel his eyes track your every move as your boots click soundly against the glittering, marbled floor. Feel the queen’s gaze drilling into your back, exuding a quieted smugness as if she’s won your silent war of wills. 

As the solid, ornate doors of the dining hall draw closed behind you, you catch wind of their conversation over your shoulder, and your heart plummets to your feet. 

“So,” begins the queen, voice steeping low. “I hear you are in need of a bride.”

—

You’re a mess of grit teeth and unease on the doors’ other side.

You’ve paced back and forth for what feels like an eternity, warring with your emotions. You’re not sure what has you more on edge: having been made to look like a fool in front of your king, or the implications of that statement when you departed from the dining room. 

“I hear you are in need of a bride.”

The conversation was inevitable. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

It’s the entire reason Universum’s queen has frequented your kingdom so much. Trying to set him up with her daughter, the princess, under the guise of uniting your people. You both know she’s greedy for power following her husband’s untimely demise, and His Majesty is teeming with it. 

You scoff, stopping your march to lean against the double doors, arms crossed over your chest. With a shuddering breath out, your face turned skyward, and your eyes shuttered closed, you try to compose yourself. 

If you keep huffing and puffing about like this, you might convince yourself that you care for your king more than you should. More than you’re allowed to. 

When you’ve begun to settle your nerves, the chorus of boots striking the carpeted floor piques your interest. 

You open an eye as dark figures of varying heights and sizes ease into frame, moving past you, carrying laughter and camaraderie with them. Crownsguardsmen. 

They regard you with quick bows and wary smiles, their banter lulling to a dull murmur in the face of their superior. You acknowledge them casually, still propped against the oakwood doors, not at all in the mood for formalities. 

Amid the gaggle of guards, a set of curious sienna eyes alight on you, widening with recognition before crinkling with glee. 

The smaller guard shoves through her comrades, briskly approaching you as her teammates walk out of sight. You study the top of her sleek, brown hair before she stops before you. And you stiffen, stammering as she snatches up your hands, her excitement palpable. 

Tara. You recognize her as a new recruit with youthful eyes and enough enthusiasm to power the entire Citadel. 

She reminded you of yourself when you first joined the king’s army. A young woman with a target on her back because of her gender and status. She possessed exceptional prowess with an array of weapons and vast knowledge of the kingdom’s technology. Yet, she was constantly beleaguered by her comrades and, oftentimes, her trainers.

You threw around your brass a little, ensuring she was treated as fairly as her male counterparts whilst she trained as a knight. Sometimes sparred or studied with her on your rare occasions of downtime. You were there to congratulate her when she’d been appointed a member of His Majesty’s royal guard.

With King Sylus on the throne, the Crownsguard became more progressive, opening its doors to anyone willing to lay their life down for him. Too bad a bunch of egotistical, chauvinistic airheads still occupied his ranks. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” Tara sing-songs, overflowing with zeal. 

You wince at the pitch of her voice, the brilliance of her smile. But you find her infectious, a soft chuckle ducking through your lips. You unwind one of your hands from her grasp, ruffling her hair affectionately. Had she been anyone else, you would’ve reprimanded her for forgoing the proper customs and courtesies. 

But are you really in any position to lecture anyone about etiquette right now?

“Good afternoon, Tara.” You’re surprised by the mildness of your voice. The fondness of it.

If she had a tail, it would surely be wagging. Your innards color with warmth at the thought. You’ve found someone else you want to protect almost as much as your king.

“How are you today, ma’am?” she asks, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts. 

Averting your gaze, you sigh, recalling what’s got you so out of sorts in the first place. You cross your arms, your spine reacquainting itself with the intricate carvings of one of the dining room’s doors with a muted thunk. “I’ve had better days.”

Tara’s expression pulls into one of curiosity. “Something the matter?” 

She steps closer, bursting your figurative bubble. With her hands clasped behind her back, Tara scrutinizes you, ducking this way and that, giving you a visual inspection. 

“Come to think of it, isn’t His Majesty having brunch with the Queen of Universum right now?” She pensively taps her lip with her index finger, eyes narrowing in thought. “Behind you?”

You flinch, watching her from down your nose. She’s eerily perceptive for someone so young. Invasive, pummeling you with a hundred questions a minute. 

“That’s strange. Aren’t you normally by his side? Did something happen? Did you get into trouble?” Tara goads, nudging you with her elbow.

You scoff, pushing off the door. For all the years you’ve known your king, you’ve never been in trouble with him. Garnered the ire of his advisor once or twice, sure. Pissed off his royal entourage with your sharp tongue, maybe. But you don’t think Sylus harbors a malicious bone in his body for you. You don’t think he ever could.

You cross the hall, perching your hands on an adjacent windowsill. The marble texture is cold beneath your palms. Grounding. You study the mixture of historical and modern architecture lining the horizon, a scene reminiscent of a dragon’s maw. 

The land of Insomnia brims with life beyond The Citadel’s walls, a nation once war-torn slowly rebuilding itself under the guidance of your genial king.

“No, I’m not in trouble.” You turn, sitting on the ledge. Your voice descends as if you’re having a conversation with yourself. “But not everyone seems to like the idea of me at the king’s side.”

Tara moves towards you with a placating smile, taking up one of your hands and squeezing it. “The queen doesn’t like you very much, does she?” 

Your silence serves as her answer. 

The smaller woman pats your hand, thumb smoothing over the rough patch of skin stretched over the clutch of it. “Well, I could’ve told you that.”

You cut your eyes at her in warning. What’s with everyone testing your patience today? Picking on you?

“You’re competition,” Tara matter of factly adds, maneuvering to lean against the windowsill beside you. 

You study the weathered tips of your boots before your gaze slowly rises to Tara. Her eyes gloss over with tenderness. With pity as a slow creep of heat inhabits the pit of your stomach. You avert your gaze, boring into the dining hall’s doors. 

You don’t have to ask what she means by that; you’ve heard the statement numerous times as of late. Your king’s recent treatment of you doesn’t help matters, exacerbating the rumor that you’re more than just his loyal subject.

As if sensing your internal plight, Tara decides to shift gears. You’re grateful for the reprieve, getting too hung up in your mind again. 

“So, do you really think the queen killed her husband?” she whispers, leaning in with a hand cupped around her mouth.

You chuckle. Leave it to Tara to fill the space with gossip. “I couldn’t say. But I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a bit of a bi—”

As if on cue, the grandiose doors of the dining room groan open, spilling the artificial light inside onto the carpeted floor. You and Tara snap to attention like two youths caught dawdling, stone-faced, the remnants of your conversation corked in your throats. 

How anticlimactic, you muse, watching several figures emerge from the room until your eyes alight on a familiar, riotous mop of white. 

Your breath thickens in your throat as scarlet eyes capture yours. The lips beneath them quirk before the towering silhouette they belong to, strides past you.

Tara’s hand brushes yours. You don’t have to look to know she’s giving you the most impish side-eye. 

The queen turns on her heel to face your king, her entourage scuttling about behind her. She’s half-hidden by the mass that is His Majesty, but beyond his bulk, you make out her red lips curving into a deceitful smile. Bile singes the back of your throat, your fists tightening at your sides. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty.” She punctuates her words with a small curtsy and head tilt. 

His Majesty stuffs his hand in his pocket, his wispy hair sweeping over broad shoulders. Boredom lances through his deep timbre, and you imagine his eyes rolling with disinterest. “The pleasure was hardly mine.”

An indignant sound salts the air, dredged from the queen’s throat. You bite back a laugh, recalling what got you sent out in the first place. Tara flinches in your peripheral, tamping down a laugh herself. 

Ignoring your king’s waywardness, the queen squares her shoulders and straightens her spine, her head held high. She clears her throat, holding out her hand for your liege to take. When he does nothing, she waggles it expectantly, wordlessly demanding he kiss it.

You watch the scene unfold with bated breath, tight lips. Inwardly cheer when Sylus scoffs, turning away from his obstinate guest. He waves a tired hand over his shoulder, summoning two guards stationed by the hallway’s entrance.

“Please ensure the queen makes it back to her car. Safely or harmed, I don’t care,” he tacks on under his breath.

The guards acknowledge him with nods and move to flank the queen and her royal retinue. The woman huffs, indignantly stomping her foot like a child deprived of their favorite snack. She grabs the tail of her dress and brusquely spins before being led out, carrying her jilted air with her. 

You resist a smile. Pride spools heavy in your chest. It’s almost like your souls are linked; your king’s never cared for rude nobles and their politics, mirroring your sentiment. 

He conquers the space between you in three measured strides. Pilfers the air from your lungs as electricity and pheromones spark between you, and you’re drawn into the ruinous stir of his eyes. 

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Tara dismisses herself with a bow, but not before discreetly nudging you in her retreat. Sylus barely acknowledges her, busy memorizing every detail of your face. Every tight breath slipping through your parted lips, every feathery flutter of your lashes.

You rapidly blink as if remembering where you are, keenly aware that the pair of you are alone. 

The king’s proximity throws you off-kilter. The earthy scent and comforting warmth he exudes permeate the thickened layers of your uniform, wrapping around your heart, squeezing, leaving you raw and exposed. Your jaw ticks.

His expression slackens, brows knitting in the inner corners, and he coyly cocks his head to one side. “Are you alright, dear friend?” The texture of his voice is gritty as sandpaper, yet it’s disarming in a way that leaves you weak-kneed with a heavy tongue.

“H-huh?” comes your foolish reply. You would kick yourself for how lovestruck you sound. 

Your king chuckles, a genuine sound reserved for hushed moments like these, tucked away from the prying eyes of his court. Your lips twitch before a slender finger pokes the space between your eyes, dispelling the dreamlike fog that once loomed overhead.

“I asked,” poke, “if you,” poke, “are feeling,” poke, “alright? You look a bit flustered.”

You swat his hand like an enraged feline, to which he chuckles, all manner of refinement thrown to the wolves. He’s as bratty as ever, a reflection of that child you once knew who’d shove you off the hill to be king of it. Who knew he’d grow to take an entire kingdom onto his shoulders?

You clear the phlegm from your throat, taking a step back, haughtiness meddling with your features as his hand falls listlessly at his side.

“I’m fine, Majesty. Though I’d be better if someone learned to keep his hands to himself.”

The monarch in question feigns innocence, blinking owlishly, a dramatic hand splayed over his heart. “What? I thought you liked it when I badgered you like this. When I kept you on your toes.”

You scowl, crossing your arms and impatiently tapping your foot. “Not when it borders sexual harassment. Need I remind you of your briefings, sir? Should we revisit them?”

He sputters, mortification descending on his face. You bite back a snicker. He’s much too handsome like this—playful, boyish, unguarded. An affectionate smile crests over his mouth when you let a bewitchingly sweet laugh slip. He takes a step forward, swaddling you in prickly static, dwarfing you by a good foot. Your traitorous heart thumps something wild, threatening to leap from your chest as the mirth melts from your face.  

“Would you believe that woman came to try to coerce me into taking her daughter’s hand?” rasps your king, voice descending into a secret. 

You swallow, staring between his eyes, unconsciously leaning back. You nod when words fail you. Bristle as a set of spindly fingers creep down your forearm in pursuit of your hand, scorching through the fibers of your coat.  

Your breath catches whilst His Majesty brings your hand to his lips, and he kisses it with as much fervor as he did in the gardens. It’s a simple gesture. An innocent one that feels perverse in a way, burning down to your core, the molten heat creeping back up to take residence in your neck and face.

“The only hand I wish to hold,” he smooths his thumb over the notches of your knuckles like a blind mind committing their texture to memory, “is this one.” Another brush of full lips makes you wince as if branded by hot iron. 

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Not with him so close, nor with the potency of his gaze drilling down to your soul. You wonder if he’s trying to kill you when he tugs you to him, a possessive hand falling to your hip. 

Whatever oxygen was left in your lungs abandons you in a sharp gasp, making way for a pleasant fuzziness and overwhelming heat. He snakes his arm around your waist before dipping you like the pair of you are waltzing, and your hand instinctively clasps around his shoulder to keep you from crumbling to the floor.  

Hooded eyes pan in, filling your vision with nothing but a beautiful wash of red. His stare centers in on your mouth, and he leans closer until your breaths intermingle, and your limbs feel like jelly, and you’re lightheaded, and…and—

You screw your eyes shut, pushing your palms against his catastrophically hard chest. He’s a dream forged by the Gods. Temptation sent to lure you astray.

“Majesty,” you gasp. You sound so incredibly pitiful, so breathless, and it makes you sick. “Majesty, please. You can’t—we can’t—” You twist your head, pillow-soft lips grazing your cheek instead of your mouth, pleasant tingles of sensation humming throughout your body.

“Can’t what?” he breathes, voice strained with the effort of containing himself whilst he roots his nose against the tender space behind your ear. He draws you closer against the hard press of his body whilst nosing along your jaw, ingesting the warm scent wafting off your skin.  

Your shoulder throbs beneath your uniform where two raw indentations reside. They’ve never truly healed after two years, the pain announcing itself in intimate quarters like this with your king. It’s a reminder of your anchor to him, to what truly lives beneath his skin. 

“The maids, the guards. What if—” You scramble for every excuse not to give in. Not to betray the oath you took to protect him. To always put him first, to never fall for him. “—what if someone sees us, Majesty?”

A bitten-off, barely there growl cleaves through your ramblings. Lithe fingers encase your jaw, coaxing you to look at your charge. A glacial thrill shoots through your body at the sight that greets you. White, mussed hair falls perfectly into his face, lips parted and glistening invitingly, eyes wrinkling with a mixture of anguish and yearning. He reminds you of something beastly, fighting to reign in his instincts. Fighting not to lose control. 

“You’ve known me for however long, yet you insist on calling me that.” 

He gathers your cheek into his pleasantly warm palm, angling your neck further back. You fight to keep your eyes open, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. You’re spilling over the edge. Teetering over that blurry line between daydreams and reality. 

“Majesty this, Your Majesty that.” Scoff. “Is this your way of shutting me out? Pushing me away?”

You haven’t the gall to tell him yes, too distracted by the flats of his nails dragging along your cheek, sweeping errant hair strands behind your ear. You shudder, and he pans in, your mouths but a whisker’s width apart.  

“If you carry on like this, I may have to punish you for your insolence.”

You suck in a breath at the underlying threat in his voice. Know it carries no weight. He’d never lay a finger on you outside of affection. But how wonderful it sounds, to be punished for your insubordination. 

Your noses brush, mouths ghosting over each other whilst careful fingers curl around your nape, scrawling through your hair. You fear that you might faint, the heat spooling in your belly threatening to burn through layers of flesh. You’re clutching the lapels of his jacket for dear life now. Torturing yourself, wanting to conquer what little space remains between your mouths and—

Forbidden. The accursed word echoes in your mind like the weighted chime of a church bell. It resounds so miserably in your mind, reminding you of your place. Your duty. You’re no noblewoman. No contender for his heart. 

“Please don’t,” you utter between a laugh and a sob. Begging is unbecoming of you, but when it comes to protecting your king and his crown, you would fall to your knees if you had to.

A pained sound tears through His Majesty’s chest, crackling like a hearth fire. You feel terrible for denying him again. For pushing him away like you always do. But many women regularly throw themselves at his feet, willing to ease his affliction—women of noble blood, of virtue. 

Grief furrows his brows, his eyes sweeping over your face. A forlorn smile touches his lips. He exhales loudly, shakily, his thumb cruising over the outward arc of your brow, his gaze tracking the gentle movement. 

“Of everything that resides within these walls, within this kingdom, you manage to elude me the most.” 

His eyes snap to yours, and you shiver beneath the weight they boast. He could easily flex his power over you. Command you to stay still while he ravages you. But that’s never been his style, has it? Another trait of his drawing you deeper into his spell. 

“Why do you run from me? Why do you continue to deny me? Why continue to deny yourself? I hear how your body calls to me. Your heartbeat, your scent. So ripe. So untainted.” 

The exasperation in his voice makes your stomach lurch. 

I’m not denying anyone, you wish to say. I just…I don’t know. I don’t—

“Where in the hells is he?!” a familiar voice ricochets through the empty hallway—your saving grace. Seems his advisor is on a rampage again. You’ve never wanted to kiss the stoutly man more.

“Impeccable timing as always,” sighs your king, rolling his eyes. He reluctantly releases you, his hands at his waist until your legs remember they are meant to support you. 

Just as you spring apart, smoothing out the wrinkles of your uniform, your hair spills in warm tendrils down your neck, puddling around your shoulders, water-falling from its usual updo. 

You blink incredulously, taking note of the impish smirk canting the king’s lips. Something silver gleams in your periphery. You watch with horror as he twirls your hairpin between dexterous fingers before bringing the warm, tarnished metal to his lips for a kiss. It’s an intimate sight. An image that makes a shiver wrack your spine, and you don’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered. 

“Y-Your Majesty, give that back!”

The monarch in question chuckles something smoky, dangling the ornate pin out of reach when you swipe at it. He has an unfair advantage over you. You contemplate kicking him, figuring the risk of losing your foot is well worth it. 

Your breasts scrub against him as you struggle on tippy toes, clawing at your hairpin with the ferocity of a cat. And as your nipples knot beneath the rough glide of your uniform, you are reminded of the devastating press of His Majesty’s body. By the Gods, it’s too much. You’re sure your face is all types of flustered now, heat spuming beneath your skin.

“My, my. Throwing yourself at your king like this. How scandalous,” he purrs, enjoying your plight a little too much. His twisted way of getting revenge. 

“Your Majesty, that is my mother’s,” you pant with beseeching eyes. 

He clicks his tongue, studying the pin. “That makes the spoils of victory that much sweeter.”

You watch with puffed up cheeks as he tucks the hairpin into his breast pocket, the jaded metal gleaming condescendingly at you. 

“Consider it collateral.”

For what, you haven’t the foggiest. 

With all the smugness of the world, your king brushes past you, his hands in his pockets. You stomp behind him, fighting to keep stride with his longer ones, clawing at his pocket when a moment presents itself. 

You try to sweep your hair into some semblance of neatness before the pair of you meet his advisor. Before curious eyes can form questions where there should be none. 

You hardly miss the enamored smile rounding his lips as he peers at you over his shoulder. 

“You lunatic,” you admonish beneath your breath, barely concealing the hint of fondness lancing through your voice.

— 

It all makes sense as you shackle his neck with a rusted collar. You can count on one hand how often you’ve had to do this in the past year. 

You step back after sliding your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. His eyes harbor a deep sadness despite the smirk on his face, baring a pointed canine. 

“What? No muzzle this time?”

You scoff, kneeling before him, defiantly peering into his eyes, a harsh forefinger pressed between his pectorals. “If you keep talking, I’ll have one of the twins fetch it from the car.”

He chuckles at your brazenness. Leave it to him to try to lighten the mood in an atmosphere rife with tension. Thick with urgency, with fear. He tests the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, ensuring they won’t give too much when they’re put to the test later.

As if on autopilot, you reach out to ease sweat-slicked hair from his forehead, and he pauses, those brilliantly devastating eyes drinking you in. 

He swallows, studying the ground. For the first time in a long time, you’ve seen true fear stain your king’s visage. 

“One day, I won’t leave this cage as the man you know and love.”

You scoff, masking your anxiety as you placatingly pat his thigh. You stand, swiping his coat on the way up, dust speckling its sleeves. You have to be strong. You’re slowly falling apart at the seams but must remain fearless. He needs all the strength you can lend him right now.

You give him a quick look, a brief upward pull of your lips, before turning away from your king, the cage’s heavy door squealing shut behind you. You err in your steps when he calls your name. Slightly tilt your chin over your shoulder.

“When that day comes, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Your grip on his coat tightens, jaw set in a terse line. “That day will never come,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, and you hurry up the sand-laden stairs towards the structure’s entrance. 

The twins address you with curt nods as you pass them on your way to the car. Night and soaring evergreens stretch overhead like a yawning beast. The moon peers through the treetops, sluggishly cresting its way to the center of the sky.

You sling His Majesty’s coat across the backseat. Stiffen when a familiar glint of silver catches your sight from behind his breast pocket. You grit your teeth, leaning against the car door to grant yourself a moment of respite.

“How do you stand this? Does it ever get any easier?” you recall Tara asking, her eyes glossing over with a thin film of tears as she squeezed your hands. 

She was still fresh to this lifestyle. To this harrowing secret lurking beneath the kingdom. You couldn’t blame her for being scared witless. No one wanted to see the king in pain. Only a handful of people knew of his true nature. What bubbled beneath his skin. 

It never does, you think, pushing off from the car and slamming the door shut. 

Your boots crunch soundly over dead grass and splintered twigs as you make your way back to the twins. You squeeze Kieran’s shoulder reassuringly, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He nods, his somberness hidden beneath the gaudy beak of his mask. 

It never gets easier, hearing him scream like that. Hearing him call to you in a voice so desperate, you feel it’s talons sinking into your heart. You’ve just grown more skilled at hiding your pain. Holding back your tears.

What use are you if you can’t even protect your liege from himself?

— tags: @f1c-recs, @mt2sssss, @samoankpoper21, @lovemesomesaltysylus

prologue | masterlist

[jaehyvno]

        arguing with bf!jongho

is either the most frustrating thing ever or one of your favourite things in your relationship

it all really depends on how pissed off and how serious the topic of argument is (which to be fair holds true for most if not all couples)

you can never start a play argument with him, forget play fighting

you had searched long and lost for something amiss in the house that you could use to have a fake argument with him. you had planned on recording it, put it on tiktok maybe, be one of those couples.

but jongho, this fucker, is such an ideal boyfriend. it's annoying.

laundry? done. the dishes you told him to do because you were tired? done. he'd even rescheduled playing football with his friends because you'd called him over, unaware of his previous plans. in short? perfect. boyfriend.

but fortunately for you and your devious plan, men were men. and their tendency to leave the toilet seat up was unavoidable. and so starts your plan.

"choi jongho!" you scream from the upstairs bathroom, knowing you'd garner his attention from where he's lounging in the living room. you hear the prompt "yes, baby?" from him. "come here, right now!" your no nonsense tone has him up in your bedroom in seconds.

when he gets up there you hear him shuffle in the bedroom before the door to the bathroom finally opens. he surveys you with furrowed brows. when the urgency in his eyes fades, he looks around the bathroom. "spider? insect that i need to kill?"

you cross your arms, glaring at your poor boyfriend. you point at the toilet seat, brow raised as you ask, "how many times do i have to tell you to put the seat down?" he chuckles. oh, the audacity. but also, the sassy laugh has you folding. sort of. he makes a half apology, reaching past you to put the seat down, then heads to the sink to wash his hands. you watch him do all that with a heated glare.

"this is turning into a repeated thing, jongho." mentally, you run through the few sentences you'd prepared. "it's like my opinion and preferences are not valued in this house. is that so?" you cock a brow at him, and he matches your face perfectly. "do my words just enter through one year and leave through the oth—" you had started trailing off mid sentence and you cut yourself off abruptly when jongho grabs your leg and slings you over his shoulders.

you try to argue still, but he shushes you. "shh. if you want to be angry do it somewhere else. the bathroom is bad feng shui." you blink. and then you kick at his side to get him to put you down.

when he doesn't, you run through your lines, screaming them in his ear. your plan was failing! the perfectly set-up and hidden camera in the bathroom wasn't of use! "shush, baby. come watch something with me, hm?"

you frown. "can we watch reruns of big bang theory?" he nods. anything to get you to shut up. "anything you want baby, anything you want."

a/n: the lack of jongho fics/drabbles on here is insane!? you must create what you seek, and i took it seriously. jongho the man you are 😩. that one compilation of jongho picking up yeosang over his shoulder got me giggling n shit. like is this a safe space to talk about how he'll throw his gf over his shoulders when she's throwing a tantrum or when theyre play fighting and carries her to the bedroom like that like... do we see the vision??? working on three different works simultaneously rn teehee. a han jisung oneshot(?), a yangyang oneshot and a mark lee fic. wonder which one i'll end up posting first but heh. requests are open!

[delaware-lemme-smash]

Sfw and nsfw HCs Poly relationship of Bakugou and Kirishima with their female reader?

An explosive combination!

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki/DynaMight, Kirishima Eijirou/Red Riot

Contents: poly!relationship, feminine pet names, afab reader, nsfw, oral, biting,

Bakugou Katsuki/DynaMight & Kirishima Eijirou/Red Riot

SFW

I'm going to go ahead and give Kirishima the credit for getting this little throuple together, because there's no damn way it was Bakugou. He's too hot-headed and there are too many feelings involved in the whole thing for him to sit down and think it through. Especially if there's been some jealousy and some miscommunications in the run-up to The Discussion.

So it was basically you and Kirishima who approached Bakugou and suggested giving the whole polyamory thing a try.

For a few minutes he just squints at the two of you, trying to work out if he should be pissed off or not. You wanna date him and Kirishima. What the hell, are you trying to say he's not enough for you?! Wait, but doesn't this mean he gets what he wants and he doesn't have to watch Kirishima mope around like some kind of boulder puppy?

Once he's done working through the Five Stages of Whatever, he turns a wicked grin on you.

"You think you need two guys to keep you satisfied? We'll see about that. Don't you dare underestimate me!"

"Dude, chill, it's not a contest," Kirishima says, trying to calm him down.

"Yeah? Sounds like loser talk to me."

And that was how your relationship started.

Given their busy schedules as Pro Heroes, it's likely you all live together to split the household chores and just to get an opportunity to see each other between missions and patrols. Bakugou had the nicest, largest place (and probably Kirishima already as a roommate), so it made sense for you to all move into his apartment. Something he bitched uproariously about, even though he knew it was logical and he actually wanted it too. Being pissy is like a reflex for him.

You got a nice big bed for the three of you. Bakugou rigidly enforces "his side", even if he's out on a night patrol. He grouches that your big head has deflated his pillow if you slept on his side. (And proceeds to shove his face in said pillow the next time he sleeps, 'cause it smells like you now.) You don't get a "side" per se, because your place is in the middle, the filling in the muscle sandwich.

Kirishima's the biggest cuddler, but don't let Bakugou convince you he's not almost as bad. He is, and he'll get moody if you point it out. Let him keep his delusions.

Kirishima wants you to wear his clothes. Those cute sleep sets you keep buying? Mysteriously disappeared (hidden in the linen closet). In their place? A bunch of oversized, faded Crimson Riot or "manly" t-shirts for you to wear to bed. Bakugou might get in on the action and chuck in some of his skull or Deep Dope shirts. Take the hint.

Bakugou's standard of cleanliness is higher than yours or Kirishima's. He's not the type to set up a cleaning rota and shifts though (Iida-like behaviour). He just blows a fuse and attacks it all at once. You'll come home to a spotless apartment and a fuming Bakugou in the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes. Picture Explosion Murder God: DynaMight in a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

He has different reactions to mess for you or Kirishima. If he finds Kirishima's socks on the bedroom floor, he'll ball them up and toss them as his friend's head. "Pick up after yourself, rockbrain." If they're yours, he'll still throw them at Kirishima's head, but address you instead: "Don't be so fucking lazy, babe."

I'd say all of you are fairly decent in the cooking department, but Bakugou's irrepressible competitive streak always gives him the edge. The stuff he cooks always looks the best, but he leans into his spices a little too much. A little too hot saucy. Kirishima can only really do basic stuff, but he knows all the good takeout places in the city—Fatgum showed him.

Movie nights are usually action movies. Wanna watch something different for once? Yell louder than the boys.

When it comes to gifts, Kirishima's are the cute and heartfelt, whereas Bakugou's tend to be cool, flashy, and expensive.

There's fitness equipment cluttering up what used to be Kirishima's room, and loads of tubs of whey protein and bulking powder in the kitchen. The guys are fitness freaks.

You're definitely a little spoiled. You just have to even vaguely move in the direction of the couch and there'll be someone grabbing your hips, pulling you down into their lap. It's a rare occasion when you sit on an actual chair.

NSFW

Oh, boy.

Let's begin by stating that, yes, your sex life is off-the-charts amazing. Bakugou and Kirishima are both young, strong, red-blooded guys with big personalities and dangerous jobs. There's a lot of testosterone, a lot of adrenaline, and a lot of man to go around. Their libidos are insane.

At the start of the relationship, sex tends to be a one-on-one kind of thing. You and Bakugou. You and Kirishima. But one thing led to another, and... Well, actually, Bakugou heard all those cute little noises Kirishima was drawing out of you in the bedroom, and he didn't feel like sitting in the living room playing video games anymore. Bakugou stalked into the bedroom, stripping off his shirt and growling that he wasn't gonna sit there like a cuck. It tends to be a group activity now.

You get groped. A lot.

As aforementioned, you'll be sitting on Bakugou or Kirishima's lap, and their hand will slide up to get a soft handful of titty, massaging it lightly through the fabric of your shirt. Bakugou in particular likes to slide one of his hands into your panties and just let it rest there, his calloused fingertip playing idly with your clit while he's watching a movie or an All Might documentary. When you start squeaking, it's time to hit pause, toss you over his shoulder, and take you to the bedroom, Kirishima whistling casually as he follows.

Trying to get from the bathroom to the bedroom after a shower is like running a gauntlet. When you're warm and dewy and smelling all fruity, it's like catnip to your boyfriends. You dodge Bakugou's casual swipe from the couch, gripping your towel as you almost make it to the bedroom. Only for Kirishima to block the doorway, grinning like a shark.

"Heeey, babe. Goin' somewhere?"

When you step back, you bump up against Bakugou's chest, who has silently crept up behind you. Great, now you're gonna need another shower by the time they're done.

Kirishima likes to bite. He's extra careful 'cause of his sharp teeth, but he likes to leave imprints on the fat of your inner thighs, biting down just enough to give you an exciting little pinch.

Bakugou's big on oral. He likes clamping your thighs around his head, his pulse racing in his ears while he lashes your clit with his tongue, sucking aggressively. He makes a lot of aggressive grunts and growls when he goes down on you, sounding like he's actually hungry. He doesn't stop until you're slippery wet after a couple orgasms, and he emerges wild-eyed, panting, his mouth and chin dripping with you.

Kirishima's a bit more versatile in bed. He can do the fun, loud sex that has you bouncing on the mattress, or the slow, intense, romantic sex where you're staring into each other's eyes.

Bakugou fucks. He bends you like a pretzel, hitting it hard and deep, his hands curled into fists either side of your head so he doesn't accidentally set off any explosions. Sex with him is hot, hard, sweaty, and primal. He's the one that gets you screaming (along with the ensuing noise complaints), biting, and clawing. He wears your nail drag marks with smug pride.

I hope you guys got that bed on a warranty, because their competitive streak follows you into the bedroom too. They keep a tally of who made you come and how many times before you tap out.