#i had another excuse to just talk about ocs

[ganondoodle]

Hi! I absolutely love your art! I saw a post saying how demons are able to have kids by themselves. How does the whole process & the birthing process work exactly?

hello! thank you so much for this ask!!!

(i made some sketches and wrote down some notes on this but i will explain in more detail below that ... its pretty long again .. sorry qwq)

demons (in my OC story and world) are .. essentially "built" around the idea of what a natural guardian of an ecosystem could look like that is as indestructible as possible while still being very much a living being

their biology is somewhat simplified (if you want to call it that), meaning they dont have nearly as many organs as we have and it works rather 'simplistic' (like they recover their energy passively through the particles of it in the air- which is a reason why they need to breathe (other being to get the blood to the right places) and usually only eat if they had a loss of energy/blood, like a bad injury they needed to heal quickly or spending too much on magic use- and its literally just converted into magic/blood)

(truth be told i havent thought out or designed each and every organ, forgive me :V) but the main things are, four lungs, a demonic heart (the most important thing that keeps everything running), a second red blood heart (like humans have, but very small and a rather useless remnant of their evolution, sorta like the leg bones some whales still have), the reproductive organ (usually somewhat between the lungs, directly below the heart, but it depends on each demon) and a stomach which is also the dead end of their system (they are supposed to be able to digest everything that goes in there, if theres somethign they cant it has to be vomitted)

-having offspring is generally extremely rare, demons dont die of age and are (or are supposed to be) very hard to kill so its purely a deeply personal choice for them to have one- each demon can have them given the organ isnt damaged and they decide to kickstart the process (you cant really force a demon to carry a child)

-their genes work a little differently, a child from one parent isnt really a clone and inbreeding is technically nigh impossible with them in the sense that offspring wouldnt show any negative defects (culturally it would be a death sentence, as a romantic relationship that is, demons being single parents throughout generations isnt considered inbreeding) -if two or more demons are partners and want a child of them both they can exchange genetical information via heartblood (the highly concentrated blood in their hearts, which is the only thing that openly carries genes) deliberately through .. well cutting and transferring blood (alot about demons is really about their blood) which influences how much a child may resemble them for example but also mixes up the gene pool of both the parents as well as the offspring

-(important add on- this sort of blood exchange would need to happen right before kickstarting the process otherwise it would just mix with the general gene pool- a theory to explain, at least in part, why brutal fights are such a common thing in demon culture is to indirectly raise the chances of heartblood mixing in the act of fighting instead, since romantic relationships are so rare among them and most are single parents)

-once the process is started it can only be slowed down but not stopped (unless getting it out prematurely), and at reaching ca. 5% of development a demon is unable to change into humanoid/their smaller form since the fetus cant change form with them, trying it anyway is extremely dangerous

-offspring are considered to be 'full term' when they are born and can produce their own energy/digest food to gain more, though they can be born at about 50% of development without dying, then however need to cling to another demon to feed on their blood in order to reach that dev. stage

-its largely not visible when a demon is carrying a child, though it also depends on the demons 'built' and general condition (for example, Shargon is very slim and has little energy storage, depending on how long he lets it develop it might cause visible changes on top of typical behavioral ones, if Eadrya would do it they could without anything being noticable except the required refusal of changing forms really)

-a demon carrying an offspring will refuse to change form, likely refuses to engage in fights, generally retreat depending on their social status and might show shortness of breath (it puts pressure on the lungs and heart especially in the later stages and with slimmer or smaller demons), rest more and forage for things that are highly convertable to energy/blood if they cannot recover it passively evenly as it is used (a somewhat stable energy/blood/magic -sorry i still dont know what to call it so its not confusing- level is beneficial to the offspring, a lack of it can put both at risk)

-birth is generally initiated by the parent or when it has reached full term, and since its done so via the mouth it has to pass by the lungs and heart, compressing them both immensely for a short time, not being able to breathe and possibly causing the heart to stop temporarily depending on how far along the offspring is/big compared to its parent- Shargon cant carry fully to term since even an appropiately sized one has to pass through his slim body (Jyothi was born at around 90%, Tyura at roughly 56%) and it causes great stress on his system since hes chronically lacking energy in part from being hunted down alot (Tyuras early birth happened bc Shargon was critically injured by Eadrya and hunted by them during the earlier stages as well)

-it IS possible to allow it to grow to full term even when it cant pass by the lungs and heart though it involves bending or breaking bones (if he carried Jyothi the remaining percentage he would have had to do that) or in extreme cases to cut themselves open, given their healing capabilities that might sound not too bad but it is extremely painful, risks dangerous injury to both and permanent damage to the reproductive organ (also their healing is often more of an active thing rather than a passive one, especially with bigger and more dangerous wounds that need quick healing, meaning they have to actively "do" it, which is hard when you are literally dying)

-the offspring is within an translucent egg like bubble (though squishy) of ideally highly charged demonic blood, the outer layer can withstand quite a bit; ones born before reaching full term (in which case it would dissolve right away) either remain within it (if sufficiently charged with energy) or it dissolves/is cut open during or after birth and the child has to cling to another demon to feed on their blood this way

-uniquely, before reaching full term a young demon can convert any elemental type of blood to their own, losing that ability afterwards

-offspring can be of any elemental type from any parent though the likelyhood is slightly higher for ones with the same type, even moreso when it is a single parent (Shargon is thunder, his firstborn is wind, his second also thunder)

I hope this isnt too long and uuh answers that!! <3

[liquidstar]

Between commissions I finally managed to finish this OC set of parent characters! If the looks aren't enough to show you who their kid is, the background colors match them ^_^ but of course more details below!

Name: Thuban

Name origin: The former pole star, before the north star (Polaris), it's name means "Large snake" and is referred to as the “Dragon's tail”

Pronouns: He/him

Age: N/A

Relation: Raised Polaris, though they're not related by blood and have a somewhat distant relationship, until he suddenly went MIA

Weapon: Spear (Same as Polaris's)

Ethos (Power): N/A

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: Make no phallic jokes about the large snake thing and you'll be rewarded

Name: Ananke

Name origin: A moon of Jupiter, named for the mythological spirit of necessity, inevitably, and compulsion

Pronouns: She/her

Age: -

Relation: Bella's mother, she raised her to be a warrior

Weapon: Bardiche

Ethos (Power): Indomination (The ability to freeze the movement of objects and people, and lock them in place)

Flaw power is based on: Her strict enforcement of obedience through authoritarianism, and a lack of concern for the wishes of others

Notes: She believes in tough love. It's better in the long run to give your kid strength rather than affection.

Name: Rhea

Name origin: A moon of Saturn named after the Titan known as the mother of the gods

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 38

Relation: Saiph's mother, though she gave him up to the guild when he was very young

Weapon: None

Ethos (Power): None

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: Was unable to take care of a baby at the time, and gave Saiph to the guild. She wishes she'd visited beyond that but it's probably too late now...

Name: Arche

Name origin: One of Jupiter's moons, it's name comes from the muse of new beginnings and is associated with springtime

Pronouns: He/him

Age: 7

Relation: Saiph's half-brother. Neither currently knows the other exists

Weapon: None

Ethos (Power): None

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: He's just a little guy. He likes flowers and playing with toys. He wants to be a cool hero like his dad

Name: Poerava

Name origin: A star in Tucana, the Maori word for a black pearl of mystical beauty and perfection

Pronouns: She/her

Age: -

Relation: Al's mom. She mostly raised him on her own while her husband was with the knights.

Weapon: None

Ethos (Power): None

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: Probably the best parent of the bunch if we're being real.

[the-acid-pear]

today's prompts are spiders and self insert so i've been thinking of drawing nembone and a uh, bunger. but Im still thinking around the uh. ? i cant remember the word HELP the fucking COMPOSITION there.

[ninguitar]

　　　꣑ৎ　　　　𝓛OVE YOU ANYWAY　♱.　MM.B 　　　────　i'll keep your picture upon the wall 𓈒𓈒𓈒

🦇　( 𝓢 ) ﹕ 　word flew by through your school almost immediately that it girl manon bannerman—also your reclaimed public number one enemy—was publicly cheated on, making her world take a nosedive. using her popularity as leverage, she ropes you into a fake relationship to avoid any more public humiliation. at least, just for a few weeks. originally. who knew manon was in love with you and your sharp tongue?

𝓹airing. popular girl!meret manon bannerman x hockey player!reader　genre. ⓘ. fluff. rich kids au. fake dating trope. skinship ✦ 7547wc 　　notes 📼 ! 　 inspo. tatbilb series & the oc. hello… i finally locked in enough for this fic💔💔 if this is butt sorry love u guys (MASTERLIST)

now playing ⋆ i'm not in love by 10cc / crush by ethel cain / sugar! honey! love! by kali uchis / super rich kids by frank ocean / p.u.n.k. girl by heavenly / somethin' stupid by frank sinatra

THE RULES WERE AS SIMPLE AS THEY COULD BE to sell the lie and to make it convincing enough. no kissing (unless needed), no snitching on one-another, inside jokes, learning the little details that real couples would know of each other—all that stuff. most importantly, you have to attend all her parties and gala events, and she has to attend all your games.

"so, deal or no deal, yn?" manon barely glances up at you, tilting her head to the side. she watches you with a bored expression, sighing dramatically to taunt you, "time's ticking."

in the last two years of attending the same academy never has manon ever willingly talked to you, or spared you a glance in any way; it was the rare occasions where you two were grouped together for a class work assignment. and even then, she barely acknowledged you, merely passing snide remarks about you to her friends in the hallways. you had your world, and she had hers.

she didn't belong in your world for a myriad of reasons. hers consisted of oceans of bodies, with girls in bikinis, guys in linen, plaid shirts; everyone sun-kissed and high off of god-knows-what; rich-kids wrapped in luxury, diamonds, and joy rides in daddy's jaguar; and bodies bruised by designer clothing. bad decisions and ivy leagues were what her world revolves around, but that was just the life she was born into—super rich kids with nothing but loose ends. always the life of the party, always taking a new guy or girl home.

you shoot her a glare, finding it frustrating how overly-casual she was, especially when this new arrangement meant having to see each other daily for the next few weeks.

the same girl who, while at your first party, recorded and posted you vomiting your guts out from the spiked booze on one of the biggest school gossip accounts, wanted you to be her fake girlfriend? and all because she wanted to recover from being publicly humiliated, in her words.

you cross your arms and set your jaw, eyes narrowing, as you slightly grimace at picturing all the ways you'd waste your time with manon as her fake girlfriend. "what would i even get from this?" you eye her down, indignation rushing to the surface.

"you would be seen with me, and we both know how much that would help you," she mutters, almost like it was the most obvious thing in the world. you thought her arrogance was beyond insane, especially when she was the one who had to corner you to get you to talk to her.

"no," you mutter, crossing your arms against your chest.

"excuse me?"

"i'm not being your fake girlfriend."

manon's jaw clenches slightly, an incredulous expression washing over her features, "seriously? you're rejecting me?" she scoffs, shaking her head.

"you should be honored i was even asking you—not everybody gets to be my arm candy." she barely spares you a glance, as she adjusts her diamond bracelet.

and it wasn't like she was wrong necessarily; walking into a room with manon bannerman on your arm alone earns whispers, envy, and definitely more than a few stares.

you roll your eyes, collecting your books from the benches you two sat on, before her hand brushes over your wrist, preventing you from getting up. she quickly mutters out, "please, you're the only person who i wouldn't be so-disgusted to be seen with." and truth be told, manon was serious; she had her friends search for anybody who she could date that would piss her ex off.

"i need to find someone who pisses my ex off asap," manon declared, as she laid down on the lawn chair, sunglasses crooked on her face. she exhaled towards the sky, placing the glass of lemonade onto the table.

"if that helps you move on from him, sure," lara joked, leaning back in her lawn chair. she sighed, her gaze flickering to manon's face for a fleeting moment, "oh shit, you're serious about this?"

"i am not letting myself be played by that asshole," manon groaned out, rubbing her temple.

the smile on lara's face faltered due to disbelief, "don't you think that's too much? i mean, maybe your break up was a sign to take a break off dating. you can't really be with someone until you can be by yourself."

"i can be by myself if i wanted to," manon argued, rolling her eyes, "i just can't be humiliated by a man like that."

"so what, you already have somebody in mind? and don't tell me it's one of the guys on the basketball team."

"ew, no!" the ghanaian girl grimaced, "none of them are even tolerable, not even a little bit. way to ruin my mood, lara. plus, it has to be a girl."

a cunning smile tugged the corners of lara's face, "you could try the girl's hockey team. i know the captain."

dumbfounded, manon muttered, "we have a hockey team?" she lifted the prada sunglasses onto the top of her head, looking to her side. "hockey, really?" the ghanaian girl mumbled under her breath.

"give it a chance, some of them are cute," lara shrugged, "keyword though, some. a lot of them are uptight."

manon groaned, "only because it's my last resort." she grabbed her phone from the coffee table, swiping through the girls hockey team's instagram. her perfectly manicured fingers trailed through, her teeth gritted, "what about player 4?"

the indian girl glared at manon, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, as she peeked over at the latter's phone, "that's the girl you recorded vomiting," she mumbled through her teeth. lara tapped the tagged user, scrolling through your posts, the tapping of her nails audible. "i doubt she would forget that."

"oh, i will make sure she forgets it."

"fine."

manon's eyes practically bulge out of her eye sockets, "really?"

you huff out a bit of air, "yes, really. just don't expect me to go all out for your black-tie events." she gives you a pointed look, and you glare at her back, making her sigh.

"cool, works for me." manon watches you collect your books from the bench, strutting away from her. and oddly enough, she watches your figure become farther and farther away, her gaze fixated on you.

lararaj: girl that was quick

manonbannerman: i'm js a girl who knows what she wants and gets it.

meganskiendiel: shes kinda cute tbh

manonbannerman: whatever. u can have her when im done w her.

lararaj: jealous much

"you so owe me for this, bannerman."

tonight was your debut—well, your debut as manon bannerman's girlfriend.

manon sends you a glare, as she quickly file her nails down, her reflection scrutinized under the flickering lights of the limo. "oh, please," she drawls, rolling her eyes, "you clean up better than i thought you would."

you scoff, straightening your tie, "how sweet." you flash a faux, exaggerated smile at the ghanaian girl, before it falters quickly at the sight of the grand ballroom. "jesus christ," you mumble under your breath.

the moment you stepped into it, the air shifts; chandeliers glow above the crowd of only california's most elite, their conversations growing quieter, as they take in the sight of manon bannerman… and you?

you hoped for this to simple, for you to just smile, hold her close to you, and to charm the rest of her friends to stay in their good graces. and you thought it could go your way, but it doesn't—not when manon's arms slip around your neck almost perfectly, locking her eyes with yours. a gentle yet faux smile tugs the corners of her lips during the first waltz, and she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear.

"i didn't think you'd suck this badly at the waltz," she teases, a tinge of affection laced in her tone. and really, in the back of her mind—far, far back—she wanted to tell you that you looked good tonight.

and luckily for manon, you don't notice the way her touch lingers slightly more than it should, the way her gaze is almost always drawn to your lips unconsciously, or the way her hand settles on the back of your neck, more naturally than it should.

this was just a game, she thought—a ploy to make her ex pissed off.

she was effortlessly graceful with the way she laughs at your horrible dad-jokes, her head tilting, and making sure every eye was on you two. only for a fleeting moment does manon remember her ex, noticing the way he watched from across the room, jaw clenched, and drinking swirling in his hand.

"go fetch me a drink, yeah?" she murmurs, her lips mere inches away from yours, and you reluctantly oblige, finding your way to the mini-bar. her gaze lingers on you a little too long, watching you try to avoid the questions from other guests bombarded in your face.

ordering two glasses of club soda, you tap your foot against the ground, leaning against the counter. you try to suppress a groan when you immediately spot lara skipping over, a grin on her face.

"you and manon."

lara's voice breaks through the loud, blaring chatter of the crowd, your head snapping towards her. you raise your eyebrow, as she repeats with a cheeky raise of her brows.

"lara." you mutter, knowing how much snarky remarks would fall from her lips, despite her being the most cordial with you out of manon's clique. tilting your head, you ask flatly, "what about manon and i?"

"dating, right?" she asks playfully.

your face grimaces slightly at the mention, and 'no, ew' parts your lips before you suddenly remember that you two were technically dating. a sigh falls from your lips shortly at her words, as you nod, clutching the two glasses of club soda in your hands tightly.

"yes," you mutter through your lips tightly, "we are dating."

"well, you don't seem so happy you two are," the dark-headed girl quips, a chuckle escaping her breath. she raises a brow, watching you tense slightly.

"i was just joking. lighten up." she playfully shoves past you, walking to the restroom.

you roll your eyes before walking away, finding your way back to manon like a puppy on a leash. you smile a bit as you approach the girl, handing her glass to her. and god does your smile make the ghanaian girl's heart pick up slightly. get a fucking grip.

she sets the glasses down onto a nearby table, grinning widely, and musing, "you sure took a while. hope you didn't hook up with someone in the mean time." her arm slips around your neck, while her other hand intertwines with yours.

you shoot manon a mocking look, as you raise your brows, "what, you jealous?"

"ew! no, you wish, freak."

"come on, not even a little?" your hand pokes her side to emphasize your words.

"god, i really did choose the wrong person to be in a fake relationship with," she glares at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. letting out an exasperated groan, she pinches your side playfully.

"shut up," you snap, unable to stop the look of irritation on your face, "and for the record, i only agreed because i felt bad for you."

her voice takes on a teasing tone, "really?" her eyes narrow, a grin forming on her lips. "so am i hearing that you like me?" she drawls, leaning lazily against you.

you blink at her, caught off guard, "no way, bannerman."

"whatever you say then," a faint smirk ghosts manon's lips, "just don't fall in love with me now, yn." her hand curls around the back of your neck, while the other slightly tugs on your collar, as if to challenge you.

"as if."

hongseunghan: when tf was yn dating manon hongseunghan: im so lost?

zhouxinyu: WDYM YN TAPPED A BAD BITCH BEFORE ME

ln-yn: how do u guys even know wtf

choijisung: girl vids and pics of u w manon r all around the skls ig ???

hongseunghan: i didnt even know ur type was snobby rich kids dude

zhouxinyu: i thought wbk that… her fav character from gossip girl was blair 💔💔

ln-yn: ur so funny xinyu. watch ur back at 11:59 pm july 9th 2025.

choijisung: didnt manon film u vomiting freshman year LOL major aura loss there

zhouxinyu: that was her?? and ur still dating manon yn??

ln-yn: shes changed. i promise. ln-yn: i wouldnt have dated her if she didnt

hongseunghan: dickriding this hard 😭

"you know that kid, sunghoon, in our calc class," xinyu whistles, "crashed his jaguar." her gaze narrows, as she glares at the crowd surrounding the former. she rolls her eyes, whispering incoherent curses under her breath.

you snort, "daddy's jaguar, wasn't it?"

a chuckle falls shortly from seunghan's lips, as he hums in agreement, "he went to court to have the judge give him access to the jaguar early."

"you could do that?" you ask, shoving your books into your own locker. then you mutter, "god, i'd kill for that life."

xinyu shrugs before groaning against her locker, "yeah, but then you'd have to surround yourself with them, and become friends with them. that leaves me with nobody to mock," she dramatically groans.

you scoff, slowly drowning out xinyu's and seunghan's voices, as your eyes follow the movement of a certain dark-headed girl near sunghoon: manon. you bite down hard on your lower lip, trying to focus on your friends' conversation.

though, seunghan notices, shoving you with his elbow, which only earns a groan from you. "manon's cool 'n all, but i'd avoid getting sucked into that." he shrugs.

you roll your eyes, shoving the korean boy back, "sucked into what?"

"into… well, all that," xinyu teases, moving her head towards manon's direction.

before you could protest, the bell chimes throughout the hallway, and the two of them giggle, patting your shoulder, and waving good-bye. you huff, watching them leave, as you stuff everything into your locker. while they had class, you had a free period today.

bang! manon's hand hits the metal of your locker harshly, somewhat caging you in, with her other arm folded against her chest. you slightly shudder, your gaze darting to the other girl. your eyes slightly narrow in frustration.

"you couldn't have been normal and said hi?" you retort, heat slightly spreading to your cheeks. you nudge her shoulder playfully, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. she scoffs, and you roll your eyes, your own eyes betraying you, as they unconsciously trace over the ghanaian girl's features filtered in the sunlight from the windows.

she ignores your quip, "you didn't tell me you had a game tonight." a faux sense of annoyance washes over her features, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"i didn't know you wanted to go to my games in the first place," you tease, a half-smile curbing your lips. you lean against your locker, unconsciously leaning in closer towards manon.

shooting you a lethal glare, she shakes her head, muttering tightly through her lips, "it's just a part of our deal."

you sigh, giving her the same glance she gave you, "so you are coming?"

manon sucks in her teeth dramatically, "unfortunately i am. and you better win." her voice rings through your ear, and she shoots you a swift wink. you whistle playfully before she shoves past you playfully—thankfully, not too harsh. you smile just a bit at the gesture, and something in your heart flutters.

you exhale a soft response, as she turns to the corner, clearly not meant to be this late to class, "yeah." leaning against the wall, waiting for your free period to end, a strangled sigh falls shortly from your lips. you close your eyes, and a curse escapes from under your breath. get it together.

you swear up and down this isn't you, and that you were truly just mixing up bitter resentment for affection. heart fluttering more than usual, palms sweaty, hands rubbing nervously over your knees—you were too far lost.

the fact that a girl had made you feel this way was juvenile, considering it was manon bannerman—the most infuriating girl to ever face earth. getting into a fake relationship with her was, by far, the worst idea you ever engaged in.

the ice-glassed rink was alight with the excitement from the current game—almost every seat filled to the brink; you would have never expected packed bleachers for girl's hockey. clapping hands accompanied by roars of cheers were only a few out of many sounds that registered in your ears.

and manon, as expected, was in the crowd. your gaze lands on the ghanaian girl, eyes slightly widening. her arms were crossed, blank expression, and eyes narrowed, as if she was calculating your every move. you notice the way her jaw clenches when the opponent team gets a goal. the sound of hockey sticks scraping against the ice makes manon cringe, her eyes crinkling at the sight of you barely dodging the goalie. she watches the enemy team slam into the glass, causing a shake in the bleachers, the sound loud and jarring.

then your head tilts, and you see her friends, too. cool, cool, cool, cool, your fake girlfriend and her friends are watching you intensely, probably waiting for you to mess up any second now. though, corner of manon's mouth twitches enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.

manon's and her friend's conversation is cut short by the last goal of the night from your team, as the score changes, from 1-2 to 1-3. the last swift shot solidifies your team's win, and cheers erupt. while your team finished celebrating, you made your way to manon, helmet still loosely fitted on your head.

"you came."

"it was a part of our deal," manon reiterates, her perfectly manicured hands tugging on your helmet. "and you won," she murmurs tightly through her lips. you unconsciously lean against the ghanaian girl, a sleazy, ear-to-ear grin tugging your lips.

you chuckle, your eyes twinkling with amusement, "you said i better win."

she inhales sharply, shoving you lightly, before lifting your helmet off, "because it would be embarrassing for me to date a loser." the other girl tilts her head to the right, eyes narrowing, and you'd think that she was plotting your murder—but no, her hand gently cups your face, her thumb swiping over your cheek, and 'wiping' some dirt off your face.

"what?" manon feigns innocence, and that wide grin on her face only sparks something unwelcoming in your chest. her arms rest on your shoulders, and you try to ignore the warmth of her body, but the feeling lingers. you tell yourself that this was all for show, that neither meret manon bannerman nor you actually enjoyed this arrangement.

"nothing," you brush it off, and you push your feelings down. you weren't going to let a girl as materialistic and demanding as manon to make you feel this way. but then you watch her laugh, carefree and strangely vulnerable; it catches you off guard, because it was real. too real that your gaze softens, and that you have to attempt to suppress the smile that nonetheless ghosts your lips.

she shoots you a glare before relenting, "you still taking me on that date?" her hands fully wrap themselves around your neck now, while yours instinctively rest on her waist.

you raise a brow, huffing with mock irritation, "date? who said anything about one?"

"when i found out your teammates were gonna be hosting a party for your guys' win. tomorrow night, pick me up at seven sharp."

lararaj: manon caught in 4k all over her new gf😭 lararaj: attachment: 1 image

manonbannerman: funny. manonbannerman: she js won a game, that's it.

meganskiendiel: so u decide to bombard that poor girl??

manonbannerman: she should be grateful that i'm even giving her attention

zhouxinyu: yn after fumbling a bad bitch who, MIND YOU, came to her game wearing the team colors

ln-yn: why am i always catching strays now??? i did NOT fumble her wtf

hongseunghan: the videos say smth different 😂😂

ln-yn: ur catching this fade at 12am dont play w me ln-yn: u too jisung.

choijisung: I DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING??

you thought you absolutely hated how demanding she was—so why were you outside her house, in your father's pristine lexus, half an hour early—with a bouquet of flowers clutched in your arms, too?

ln-yn: im here wya

and you were already a fool, for thinking that manon didn't have her clique over at her house, helping her get ready, and apparently 'sending her off,' in their words. you lean against the passenger side of the car, hands now tucked in your pockets. the golden streaks of the setting sun highlights the faint awkward smile on your face, as you shift around.

while you waited, manon and her clique were sprawled out in manon's walk-in closet, grabbing hangers after hangers. the ghanaian girl sat down on the ottoman, as lara and megan went through the options for an outfit.

"you don't have to try this hard to impress her," megan says without looking away from the piles of clothes laid out on manon's bed. "i'm sure she wouldn't mind just a plain top."

lara interjects, "except manz' practically in love with yn." she moves towards manon from her spot, nudging the other girl with her elbow. manon sends a glare in the indian girl's direction, as she exhales, dropping her head into her lap.

"not—i am not in love with yn, and i never will be," she asserts, making sure to enunciate her words, as she watches the two other girls throw dresses into the maybe pile.

"i could've sworn you fell asleep on call with her," the chinese girl chimes in, holding up a sequined top. "what made you buy this?" her face contorts into a grimace, dropping the top into the no pile.

"you fell asleep on call with yn, and you didn't bother to tell me?" lara gasps as if scandalized. she begins to croon, tilting her head in the ghanaian girl's direction, "you've got it bad, manon."

manon rubs her temples, scoffing, "she- we just needed to talk about the technicalities for this arrangement, and somewhere in between, she just kept talking on and on about the upcoming superman movie." she sighs dramatically, acting as if she wasn't the same one who tried everything in her power to keep her eyes open that night—as if she wasn't the one who pretended to not care about the movie.

the two other girls roll their eyes, giving the ghanaian girl a knowing look. though, they continue to pull out clothes from her closet, while manon begrudgingly tries on each clothing piece she was given. the moment she settles on a black, v-line halter top, both megan and lara fall silent.

lara and megan interject:

"that is definitely the one."

"she won't know what hit her!"

manon rolls her eyes, laughter bubbling in her chest, as she checks her phone, noticing the notifications sent from you. "she's here," she mutters, as she hastily 'fixes' herself, looking at herself through the mirror.

ln-yn: bro wya dont stand me up rn💔

manonbannerman: ive told you to stop calling me bro before manonbannerman: ill let u in rq im not done getting ready yet

the moment the girls open the front door, your breath catches at the sight of manon leaning against the wall. with a playful shove from megan, manon slightly stumbles, walking towards you. you wave briefly at the two other girls before straightening and meeting the ghanaian girl's gaze.

instead of a greeting, however, she mutters, "you don't look half as bad as what i expected." and you raise your eyebrows, an incredulous look washing over your features. before she continues, her gaze settles on the bouquet of flowers clutched in your arms, and a smile appears on her face,

"turns out you aren't just a stupid jock," she teases, but there's no bite behind her words, like there should be.

you roll your eyes, letting manon take the bouquet into her hands, and her unoccupied hand curls around your wrist, before you accept her hand—your hand interlocked with hers. her friends briefly say bye to manon, whispering something to her, which causes a grimace on the ghanaian girl's face. you wave at them too, watching them leave the driveway, only for them to circle back, and shout:

"she thinks slow dancing is cheesy but likes it anyway!"

the scorching heat practically eats you up limb by limb, as you lean against the the edge of the ghanaian girl's bed, checking your watch every few seconds. for somebody as well-off as manon, you expected that her air conditioner wasn't busted in the middle of a heatwave. you watch her come in and out of the bathroom attached to the room, each time complaining about something you could barely notice a change in.

she finally seems pleased with herself, as she leans over the mirror, touching up on her make-up, and spritzing her neck and wrists with perfume. "are you just gonna stand there and stare?" manon scoffs, giving you a twirl.

you mutter a curse under your breath inaudibly. as you walk towards manon, leaning against the dresser, you swear there's the faintest smirk on her face.

you quickly shove down the spiral threatening to start, and in response, you roll your eyes, crossing your arms against your chest, "you didn't even let me get a word out when i arrived. what do you expect? you spent all this time getting ready!" you look at her with faux disdain, but she reads right through you, grinning.

"well i'm sorry that i need to make sure i look good for this party," she nudges you, grabbing her purse from her bed, "and you will be introducing me to your friends."

"you are, by far, the most high-maintenance person i've ever met," you retaliate, grabbing your car keys from your pocket.

"you like it."

the sun was high in the sky, casting streaks over the bodies of people, and the sounds of waves crashing is disrupted by the blaring music from inside the beach house. you saunter in, your hand hooked with manon's.

the ghanaian girl could practically feel the worry emanating off of you, a grin on her lips. she turns around to face you, hands curling around your wrists to tuck them around her waist. "you haven't even told me how good i look tonight," she coaxes, looking up at you through her heavy-lidded eyes.

you swallow, and your chest tightens. "the top really suits you."

she's barely able to hold back a giggle, a wide smile replacing that previous stupid, stupid grin, and she nudges your shoulder. "that's all? you could do better, couldn't you?" the ghanaian girl lets her manicured nails trail down your arm.

"now you just want attention," you retort, and you watch her lips annoyingly curl,

"as if i didn't want it before."

the opening notes of somethin' stupid by frank sinatra fill the beach house. around you, couples swaying against each-other, and for a brief second, you hesitate.

but then, the ghanaian girl's hands find your waist, gentle and sure, pulling you in just enough for your lips to be mere inches away. your arms snake around her shoulder like second nature, fingertips brushing against the nape of her neck.

you swallow hard, trying to let yourself sink into this moment.

"do you want me to actually show you how to do this—so you don't hurt yourself and possibly others?" manon whispers against your ear, letting out a soft chuckle, as she watches you struggle to keep up with her footwork.

you nod, "good call."

she pulls you in closer, one hand intertwined with yours, the other resting on your side. you suck in a breath from her touch, trying to blink away the sudden warmth spreading at your chest. you shouldn't be doing this, not here, and certainly not with manon.

you try to ignore everything, focusing on the ghanaian girl's steps to distract yourself from the way your pulse betrays you. her lips curl into a smile, her eyes watching your eyebrows crease together as you try to immerse yourself. your gaze wander back to her face, and you notice something undeniably fond washing across her face.

your heartbeat goes haywire, and you pray that the other girl doesn't feel the way it practically pounds out your chest.

a second passes. then another.

you clear your throat, "you look crazy beautiful tonight—not that you always don't."

"i know," manon muses, humming in agreement. you snort, shoving her shoulder playfully. she rolls her eyes, but her grin doesn't waver—it only becomes wider. she lets her hands trail lazily over your torso, "i wanted to match you."

you halt your movements, brow raising, and heartbeat picking up rapidly. "you did?"

"it's our first party together, excluding the galas," she nods, leaning in just a little, breath warm against your ear. "and besides, i couldn't let a loser like you out-dress me." you wanted to believe she was serious, that there was actual venom laced in her tone, but there isn't—instead something akin to affection is there, and your knees almost go weak.

fortunately for you, though, frank sinatra stops playing, and it transitions back into electronic-dance music.

and instead of staying glued to one-another, manon had flitted away from your side the first moment she got, disappearing into the throng of the rich and wealthy. so now here you were, stuck getting high-fives from your teammates for 'scoring' a girl as gorgeous as manon. each time, your lips part in an attempt to mutter out 'she's not my girlfriend,' only to push down that thought.

the odor of beer and lavish cologne waffle through the beach house, as you walk through the crowd, trying not to trip over the students drinking on any possible surface. though, you give up the moment you see the ghanaian girl up against the wall, red solo-cup in her hand, as she watched her friends' hollow-headed boyfriends play beer pong.

you sigh, teeth biting the rim of your cup. "you're prancing around with your new girlfriend now?" you turn your head to the side, and you're met by xinyu. you roll your eyes, and you shove the chinese girl.

"i'm just saying! i've never seen you… this invested in someone like manon," she argues with a whine, rubbing her shoulder dramatically. you glance at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "hell, you even introduced her to seunghan. you never even introduced your last girlfriend to him."

you snicker softly, straightening your back, "she's just different, that's all." you cross your arms against your chest, hoping that your friend would just drop the topic altogether. xinyu shrugs, sighing, before leaning against you.

you sip your drink to push the bitter words down, "she just knows what she wants, and gets it." you pause before continuing, "and you know, there's really no one else's opinion i care more about than hers." there's sincerity laced in your tone, your ears slightly burning at your own admission.

the chinese girl beside you scoffs, and a chuckle slips past her lips. "whatever you say," she whistles, her hand reaching to your collar to flatten it. "you couldn't have at least fixed your collar for this so-called date with her?" she teases.

"fair enough," you relent, and you let your gaze slip to manon, the corners of her lips tugged into an ear-to-ear smile, with her eyes crinkled into crescents. though, you tear your gaze off of the ghanaian girl, now facing xinyu completely.

"if she's changed, then she's changed," the chinese girl mutters, and then she sighs, "maybe you're right. just be careful. promise me that you won't let her step all over you." you roll your eyes, but your pinky-finger still intertwines itself with xinyu's, pinky-promising her.

amidst the crowd though stood a jaw-clenched, eyes-narrowed manon sending glares to the back of your head. she tries and tries to distract herself from the image of you and another girl, but her gaze almost always wanders back to you. she swirls her drink in her hand miserably, watching her friends and their boyfriends play pool horrendously.

she couldn't hear what either you or xinyu were saying over the blaring music, but she curses herself for noticing the genuine smile on your lips and the laugh the chinese girl elicits from you. she shouldn't feel this way—not when she thought you were a nuisance to her life, something to keep her reputation at bay.

every time she talked to you, she felt a sense of annoyance radiating off of herself, yet she found herself tolerating you. everything you did was harmless payback—the snide remarks you made, to the relentless flirting, meant to keep manon on her toes. you drove her utterly insane—yet sometimes, she notices the way the warmth in her chest spreads just a little whenever you try to get on her nerves.

she shouldn't feel like this. this shouldn't feel real.

"what's got your panties in a bunch, manon?" one of her friends tease, and then another whines, "help us finish these shots, won't you?"

"it's just one shot! what damage could that do?" another grins, clicking their glass against her drink cup. she rolls her eyes, and her grip on the cup becomes overbearing. she crushes the plastic cup, her drink spilling onto the ground.

manon shakes her head, muttering through gritted teeth "maybe next time." she turns her heel, and makes way upstairs, which was certainly off-limits to party guests, but she nonetheless enters.

you're still leaned against the wall, nodding your head at whatever xinyu was rambling on about, only for her to interrupt herself and jerk her head. "your girlfriend's headin' up, you should check on her." you whip your head in her direction, eyes narrowing, as you trace manon's figure through the dim lighting; the ghanaian girl's lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows etched together.

"definitely," you mutter, waving the chinese girl good-bye hurriedly, and immediately rushing through the crowd. you barely manage to dodge a stray elbow in the sea of bodies. you finally catch up to manon on the second floor, in some vacant throwaway room's balcony. her back was turned against the door, and you pause in your movements.

then, you speak up, "glad i found where the rejects were." you lean against the door, and it wasn't difficult for manon to deduce it was you. a slight pout juts her lips, as she turns her head in your direction. she doesn't expect you to apologize for your words, but you do anyway, a quiet 'sorry' escaping from your lips.

"what's up with you tonight?" you murmur, as you slowly walk towards the other girl who settled on leaning against the balcony's railing. "not that you aren't always moody, but you're literally brooding right now." her gaze flickers to meet yours, her eyes slightly hooded and narrow, before you playfully raise your hands to gesture surrender.

"i'm just saying. you seemed happy earlier to be here, like when you were teaching me how to waltz." you explain.

she doesn't muster up the strength to say anything, barely sparing you a glance. your hand instinctively reaches for hers, and it felt like muscle memory, holding her hand whenever you two were in public, to pretend to be the perfect couple—except this time, you held her hand like you meant it. your thumb brushes over her knuckles repeatedly, and she tenses slightly.

silence.

you use the beat of silence to your advantage, completely fixating your gaze on her, and your eyes catch the way her shoulders were slump, the natural confidence she exuded now gone, and her jaw clenched. you sigh, staring out into dusk eating away at the light streaks that were previously in the sky, and the trees leaves rustling. you were about to give up on her, until she leans against your body unconsciously, lips quirked into a slight smile, before she quickly suppresses it.

"you know you can't ignore me forever, right? sooner or later, you have to talk to me. we both know you couldn't bear the pain of not talking to me." a gentle smile replaces the previous shit-eating grin on your lips. usually, that would elicit a playful shove and a venom-laced quip from manon, but tonight she only stills in her movements, refusing to answer.

she relents, though, and her hand that you were once drawing patterns on, reaches for your hand. your gaze darts to your guys' intertwined hands, and it was shameful how easy it was for the ghanaian girl to make heat tint your cheeks. her eyebrows flatten from a crease, and her nose scrunches.

you wished that it wasn't so easy for manon to make you break, to make you putty in her hands. the warmth in your chest spreads just a little, and you shift slightly. get a grip on yourself. you hated her stupidly perfect side-profile, the way her lips part just before she drags her nails down your hand.

your breath hitches, and she notices.

everything fades into the background; the world spins around you and manon. her gaze droops down to your lips for a fleeting moment. and then she realizes, you've always looked at her—waiting, watching, as if you needed the right time to come by. her hand rests on top of yours, wanting to reach for you even more. then it trails up to your shoulder, and she properly faces you now.

"why are you looking at me like that?" manon suddenly speaks up, voice quivering. you freeze, your gaze still on her lips. your fingers tug her closer almost instinctively. though, your hands were loose enough for her to slip away, but she doesn't. why won't she?

"like what?"

"like you tolerate me, like you actually like me." she answers.

"what, i can't find you tolerable all of the sudden?" you try to play it off, a faux grin on your lips, as you try to ease the tension.

"you know what i mean."

you want to bite back, to downplay it, but it was no use. it was futile, considering that the ghanaian girl could practically bend you to her every beck and call. you swallow, and you meet her gaze.

then your heart twists.

"so what if i do look at you like that?"

"don't say that," manon immediately cuts in, her voice barely a whisper. "you— we can't. this isn't real." she gestures the space between you two, eyebrows knitted together. her hands reach up to your chest, pushing you away. your fingers curl into fists. and you swallow, hard. you're unable to mutter anything out, hands now stuck at your side.

your face falls, and manon couldn't bring herself to look at you. but she continues, her words meant to sting—meant to intentionally hurt you, meant to force you to walk away. "this wasn't meant to escalate into anything real; this was an accident, yn." her voice trembles, and she tries to believe her own words; but everything is like a punch to the gut for the both of you.

her skin burns at your gaze, and her breathing gets heavy. you stare at her, lips pressed into a thin-line, and your lips part in an attempt to argue. you want to tell her it's not like that, at least for you, because up until now, everything felt real to you, the lines blurring. it was real, and it was sharp, and it was cruel—the way manon filled every hollow space in your heart.

"why?" you search her eyes, and finally do hers meet with yours. it was a look—fleeting and bruised.

the ghanaian girl's throat runs dry, and it gets harder to pretend. she knows, deep in her bones, that you're right. then one of her hands trail down to your waist, almost as if she was attempting to memorize every inch of you. you take it as a cue to speak.

"i didn't want to care about the girl who recorded me throwing up in freshman year. but i did—i do," you swallow, "and now, i'm here, in this fake relationship with you. and somewhere in between the playful fights and pretending to be actual girlfriends in front of people, i realized i wasn't faking it."

manon feels the guilt in her chest, like she was being squeezed from inside out. the thoughts in her head discombobulate, and she wants to tell you to stop talking, and to forget all about it.

she doesn't say anything, and your stomach twists into knots. her arm moves on its own, and it slings around your neck, her thumb lingering on your cheek for far too long.

"i'm in love with you," she finally whispers, and she exhales. the two of you fall quiet again. and her body moves autonomously, her hand twitching before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

then, you lean in towards her, voice breathy, "can i?"

she doesn't respond immediately, staring at you like you were delicate, afraid that one haste, frantic touch from her would break you. you swallow, waiting for her response, and before you could apologize—

she leans in, too—her lips on yours frantically.

it happens fast.

her hair tickles the side of your face, and your body shivers. your nose bumps against hers, while her hand entangles itself in your hair, somehow pulling you even closer. your arms instinctively snake around manon's waist, keeping her stabilized. you pull away slightly to regain your breath, only for her to pull you back in for a kiss fervently.

your hand slightly fists into her dress, and you know that if you two weren't already kissing, she'd scold you for 'ruining' her dress. she nips lightly at your lower lip, and you could taste the bitter sensation of spiked punch on her lips. you exhale sharply, and you both finally pull away—both breathless and flushed.

"that wasn't bad at all," a smile ghosts over manon's lips, as her thumb wipes off the lipgloss residue from the corner of your lips.

you shove her playfully, "not bad? how flattering to hear." you bite back, your hands moving to flatten out manon's dress after you bunched it up.

"for someone who's so sloppy at dancing a waltz," she chuckles softly, her eyes still lingering in your lips. her hands find your shoulders, resting on them. "and for someone who messed up my dress."

you roll your eyes, leaning in once more, and you kiss her again—this time, slower, drawing it out, like you wanted to memorize how she felt against you, to reassure yourself that this was all real.

"you were right, and i'm sorry for being too stubborn to even notice that i care about you, a lot," she murmurs against your lips, the soft look in her eyes making your heart flutter and your knees buckle slightly. her voice slightly falters, and a small, broken laugh escapes her lips.

"i thought this was a silly phase," the ghanaian girl admits, "the calling you up in the middle of the night thing, listening to you ramble about superman, and- and actually enjoying your presence, even when you're just, so dead-set on pushing my buttons every second."

she exhales, taking your hand into hers, and a smile ghosts her lips. then, she presses a kiss against your jaw, and at that point, you think you would be more than content to die in her arms right now.

"you push my buttons even more," you manage to mutter out, and your voice cracks. "and even then, you're everything i've ever wanted." your hand trembles against hers, and you try to discern her expression. her thumb draws circles on your knuckles, as a way to calm you down—the same way you did before.

her lips curl into a smile, and she cranks her head down to plant a kiss onto one of your knuckles. "so are you gonna ask the million-dollar question?" she drawls out, that familiar smug lilt present.

you sigh exasperatedly, rolling your eyes. but you clear your voice, "will you, meret manon bannerman, be my girlfriend?" your heart almost pounds out of your chest at your own words.

manon nods teasingly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons, "only if you agree to be my personal chauffeur." you nudge her shoulder, scoffing in response.

"fine."

one simple word, and she was already all over you.

lararaj: manon wya lararaj: hello??

meganskiendiel: do u think she bagged yn

lararaj: perchance perchance…

meganskiendiel: a girl could only hope… and pray

manonbannerman: so why do u guys have absolutely no hope in me❓❓

lararaj: i said perchance not a solid no!!!

zhouxinyu: bro yn done ditched me at a party last night

hongseunghan: thats #friendshipgoals💝

choijisung: hg ditched u for her gf LMFAOAO

ln-yn: BRO xinyu told me to follow manon WDYM ditched❓

day i met you babe, freed me from my fear,

you put the blood back to my heart.

current 𝓽aglist : ( open. ♱ 2 be added, read this post. )

@kisshae @sed7ction @beomniiz @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar @jellaaa @jaythegirlkisser @falling-intoo-deep @c-yerim @bulgik @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @meganskiendielsbtc

[beargyu313]

cliffside

Love is so blind, it feel’s right when it’s wrong

˚.🎀༘⋆ Summary: what was supposed to be a quiet retreat turns into an unforgettable romance with a man almost twice your age (or the story of how your boyfriend’s dad seduces you). ྀ. 𐙚 ̊ Word count: 17.5k

ᵎ!ᵎ⭑.ᐟᵎ!cw: cheating !!! don’t read if uncomfortable !!!! mentions of food throughout the whole thing (they will nawt be hungry), also I do not encourage big age gap relationship irl, this is a fictional and heavily ROMANTICIZED story (ladies don’t let older guys take advantage of you !!)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

⋆˚࿔ Tags: MDNI – smut (it’s basically pwp), soft power dynamics, forced proximity, boyfriend’s dad (meaning cheating – don’t read if u don’t like it), age gap (OC is 27, Sunghoon is in very late 30’s!), one bed trope, doting and dom!Sunghoon,, 𓆝

⋆smut tags: corruption kink, undertones of ddlg (no use of daddy), heavy petting, groping, spanking, possessive and obsessive Sunghoon !! (but he’s not acting like a freak), choking, brat-tamer!Sunghoon, praise kink

⋆˙♪ Playlist: LDR – norman fucking rockwell + Baekhyun – delight

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ A/N: was this plot just an excuse to write 17k Sunghoon smut? YES lmfaoo. My reqs are currently OPEN for Niki, Sunghoon and Jake, pleeeease request something (I don’t mind detailed reqs, because I’m not writing anything atm and would love a new project) 𓆝 also I’m opening an AO3 account by the end of the month 🦭ིྀ

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

You’re holding onto your seatbelt as your boyfriend Jihoon speeds over the winding road up the hill.

“Slow down,” you tell him, knowing it’s in vain.

You’d only been together for six months, and this was supposed to be your first real couple’s retreat. The plan had sounded romantic— staying at his dad’s remote cabin, no cell service, time to unwind, just the two of you—but right now, you’re gripping the handle on the door and trying to bite your tongue as the car takes another sharp curve.

He exhales sharply, like your voice is a burden. “We’re literally ten minutes away.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “What is the point, then? That I’m not driving the way you like?”

You glance at him. He hasn’t looked at you once since you got in the car.

“I’m trying to talk to you,” you say quietly. “You’ve been on edge since we left.”

“I’ve been on edge?” he laughs, humorless. “You’re the one who quit your job and suddenly needed a ‘healing escape.’”

You go still. The words hit harder than they should.

“I told you why I left.”

“Right. Because it was ‘toxic.’” He throws air quotes around the word with one hand while the other grips the wheel. “Or maybe you just couldn’t the real world.”

Silence drops like a rock between you.

You stare out the window, jaw tight. Trees blur by—dark pines, broken sunlight. The air feels heavier than it should.

He sighs again. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying, not everything is a crisis.”

“I didn’t ask for a crisis,” you murmur. “I asked for support.”

He doesn’t respond.

Not when the road evens out. Not when the trees thin and the sea appears in the distance, glittering like glass. Not even when the outline of the cliffside cabin comes into view—tucked into green and shadow like it was built to disappear.

Jihoon pulls into the gravel clearing with a crunch of tires. The cabin stands just ahead—smaller than you imagined, all warm wood and deep shadows, the ocean visible just beyond the slope. It’s stupidly beautiful here. It almost makes you more angry.

He doesn’t bother to put the car in park before saying, “Well. We made it.”

You sit still. The air between you is thick with things unsaid.

“I guess we did,” you say.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at the rearview mirror like he's already thinking about leaving. “Do you want help bringing your stuff in or…”

“No,” you cut in. “I’ve got it.”

That finally gets his attention. He turns toward you, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “It means I think we need space. A break. Just a few days.”

His mouth pulls into that condescending half-smile you’ve grown to hate. “So what, you’re kicking me out?”

“I’m asking you to give me time to think,” you say, voice calm but tight. “I came here to breathe. You don’t want to be here anyway.”

He scoffs. “Wow. Alright then.”

You open the door and step out before he can say anything else. The gravel shifts beneath your shoes as you head to the trunk. He doesn’t move to help you—not a step.

You drag your suitcase out, the wheels catching on rock and dirt.

When you turn back, Jihoon’s already behind the wheel again. Sunglasses on. Expression unreadable.

You pause. Half of you expects him to get out anyway. To walk over. Say something. Fight for this.

But he doesn’t.

He raises one hand in a lazy wave. “Enjoy your break, I guess.”

And then he hits the gas.

The car kicks up dust and pebbles as it speeds off, tires whining slightly on the curve. You watch the taillights shrink and vanish down the hill. Just like that, he’s gone.

Melancholy creeps into you like a shadow, sighing you can’t help but judge yourself. Really, what were you thinking going for a younger guy. And yeah, maybe 5 years wasn’t that much but as your 27th birthday approaches you somehow wish Jihoon could be more mature, less selfish. You shake the thought away and tightly grip your suitcase.

The wind rises a little, brushing your hair into your face. There’s no one around. No sound but the gulls and the faint hush of waves crashing far below.

The sound of your steps crunching down on the gravel is loud compared to the quiet hush of the nature around you.

You look at the cabin again. And someone is standing in the doorway.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. White shirt sleeves pushed to the elbows.

You squint against the sun. Then recognize him.

Mr. Park. Jihoon’s father.

He steps out onto the porch, bootsteps slow and deliberate. You’ve met him once before, at a dinner—Jihoon had barely let you talk, but Mr. Park had been polite, distant. Watchful.

Now, he looks at your suitcase. Then at you. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen.

“Did Jihoon just leave you here alone?” he asks and you can tell he’s angry at his son.

You exhale through your nose. “Apparently I needed a break.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then so quietly you think you imagined it, “He’s more like his mother than I thought.”

You blink. You don’t know how to answer that.

Mr. Park glances at the suitcase again, then back to your face.

“You staying the week?”

You nod. “That was the plan.”

He tilts his head toward the open door.

“Then come inside. Wind’s picking up,” he states, as he bends ever so slightly and reaches for your suitcase. His fingers brush against yours as he grabs hold of the suitcase. You let him. But you’re still hesitating, stuck to the same spot on the driveway.

He notices.

“I don’t bite,” he says, and the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. Not quite a smile. Not quite a joke.

Then he turns and walks back into the cabin—like he knows you’ll follow.

And you do, eyes lingering on the subtle shift of his shoulders beneath his shirt.

If that dinner months ago was any indication, he’s a man of few words. Quiet, intense. Unreadable.

It didn’t help that you also thought he was very good looking. Long, black hair tucked behind one ear, a few strands falling across sharp cheekbones. Thin silver glasses framing his eyes, drawing attention to the thick brows that make his expression look serious—even when he’s relaxed.

He looks like someone who doesn’t speak unless it matters. Someone who sees more than he lets on.

And now you’re stuck in a cabin with him.

A cabin you thought would be empty. Jihoon never mentioned his dad was here.

Kicking off your shoes on the porch, you follow Mr. Park inside.

The inside of the cabin is warmer than you expected. Not just in temperature, but in tone—like someone curated comfort instead of just decorating it.

The floor is rich in dark wood and worn slightly in the center like it's been walked barefoot a hundred times. A plush sofa stretches across one side of the open-plan living area, upholstered in a deep jade green that catches the light from the tall windows. A few burnt orange cushions are scattered along its length—just enough color to feel intentional.

The kitchen is minimalist but modern. Clean black stone countertops. Matte brown cabinetry. Pans hanging above the stove, catching glints of sunlight through the trees outside. There’s a teapot already out on the burner—old but polished, like it gets used daily.

A single spiral staircase in wrought iron and wood winds upward to the lofted bedroom, perched just above the living space. It has no door—just a wooden railing and a clean sightline to the floor below.

You can see the bed from where you’re standing. It’s large, maybe a queen, with a low frame and linen sheets in soft earth tones. Moss green. Warm gray. A single burnt orange throw draped carelessly across the foot.

There’s no real privacy, not with the open layout. You can already imagine the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, the creak of bedsprings, even the breath of someone turning over in the night.

The whole place smells faintly of cedar, citrus, and coffee.

It’s domestic. Intimate. A little too intimate, maybe.

“Um-“

“So,” you two start speaking at the same time.

You glance at each other. You offer a tight laugh.

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

He shakes his head. “Ladies first.”

You shift your bag higher on your shoulder. “I was just going to ask… would I be, um, in your way? I mean, I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

His gaze flicks toward your suitcase. “You’re not in my way.”

A beat. You’re not sure what to do with your hands. “Jihoon didn’t mention you’d be staying here.”

He gives the faintest shrug. “I didn’t know he was planning on coming either.”

You nod slowly, not sure how to respond.

“I usually come up for a few weeks every summer,” he adds. “To work, it’s nice and quiet here, no buzz of the city.”

“It is nice,” you say as you glance around again, avoiding looking in Mr. Park’s eyes. But you can feel his gaze on you. It’s making you squirm and you start overthinking everything. From your clothes, to your hair and down to your makeup.

“It grows on you,” he says, finally tearing his eyes off you.

Another pause. You try to find something to say. Something neutral.

“I like the colors,” you say finally. “All the… green. And wood. It feels… warm.”

He almost smiles. “That was my doing. The decorator wanted everything to be white and steel.”

You blink. “Wait. You picked the throw pillows?”

His eyes crinkle just slightly. “I’m not a savage.”

That makes you laugh, even though you try to stifle it. His gaze lingers on the sound. It softens something in his face.

Then he nods toward your bag. “You want tea? Or coffee?”

“Tea would be nice,” you say.

“I’ll get your things upstairs.”

You protest, “Oh, it’s fine, really—”

But he’s already moving.

“I’ll set it by the railing,” he says over his shoulder. “You’ll be able to see everything from up there.”

Including him, you think—but you don’t say it.

He disappears up the steps, feet thudding lightly against the polished wood. You hear the creak of the loft floor above you, and then silence.

You glance around the living room again, unsure what to do with yourself. The couch is a soft, worn leather. A stack of books sits on the coffee table. Nature. Photography. One novel with a cracked spine.

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, sharp and sudden.

You reach for it, but Mr. Park is already coming back down the stairs.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

You step back instinctively. He moves past you, not touching you, but close enough that you feel his presence, his warmth.

You silently move into the kitchen with him and watch him as he pours the hot water, slides the mug towards you and then fixes his own tea as well.

Chamomile tea with no sugar, just the way you like it.

“Oh, thank you,” you softly say as you wrap both of your hands around the cup and bring it up to your lips, blowing gently.

Mr. Park doesn’t reply, just continues moving around the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Pulls out vegetables, eggs, a small bundle of herbs wrapped in twine.

You hover for a moment. Then, ask uncertain.

“Do you want help?”

He glances back, his dark locks falling onto his cheekbones. You almost want to fix the bothersome strands, but suppress the itch to have an excuse to touch him. He is your boyfriend’s dad for god’s sake!

“No need. You’ve had a long trip.”

You offer a faint smile, trying to make it casual. “Not exactly the couple’s retreat I imagined.”

That earns you a low, dry sound. Almost a laugh. And against yourself you’re pleased.

He turns back to the cutting board. Begins to chop in precise, even strokes. Everything about him is deliberate. Controlled.

Then, without looking up he asks. “He left you up here alone?” only it wasn’t really a question.

You pause. “…He was upset. We argued.”

Sunghoon hums, neutral, but not quite, “He’s always been impulsive.”

A brief glance your way.

“Didn’t inherit that from me.” The words are clipped. Measured. Sharper than the knife he’s holding.

You hesitate. “You two aren’t close?”

He shrugs.

“Not the way I’d like. He doesn’t… think before he acts.” His voice is calm, but there’s weight behind it. History.

You tuck your hands under your thighs. “I guess I was hoping this trip would… reset things.”

He finally looks at you—really looks.

“You deserve more than hoping.”

Sunghoon continues cooking and you continue drinking tea as you try not to stare at him. You tell yourself to look away. Instead, your eyes trace the flex of his forearms as he works. The slow rhythm of the blade. The subtle tilt of his head as he concentrates.

You’re still staring when he speaks.

“See something you like?”

Your stomach drops.

He doesn’t look at you. Just slides chopped zucchini into a pan like he didn’t say anything at all.

You blink. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“Vegetables,” he says smoothly, mouth quirking. “I meant the vegetables.”

You let out a short laugh. Your cheeks are too warm. You take a sip of tea to mask it.

He finally meets your gaze. His expression is unreadable—but something in it lingers, like a touch you weren’t expecting.

“I’m making it for us,” he says. “Hope you’re hungry.”

The food is comforting. Warm rice, sautéed vegetables, the kind of seasoning that makes you pause for just a second, surprised it’s this good. You’re halfway through your bowl when the quiet between you stretches too long, and you feel the need to fill it.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “This is... really good.”

Mr. Park nods once. “Simple’s best up here. No delivery. No distractions.”

You glance at the windows, where the sun’s started to dip lower behind the trees. The silence out here feels different. Like it listens.

You clear your throat. “So… about the sleeping arrangements.”

He looks up at you, expression unreadable.

You add quickly, “I mean, I know you said I could take the bed, but I don’t want to—”

“You won’t, the couch isn’t suitable for sleeping anyway,” he interrupts gently. “Doesn’t stretch out.”

You blink. “Oh. Right. Of course. I didn’t know.”

His gaze lingers. “It’s not a problem. The bed fits two.”

You hesitate. “Mr. Park, I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“Sunghoon,” he says, voice low but firm. “Call me Sunghoon.”

You look at him. That subtle edge of command in his tone—not aggressive, not inappropriate. Just... sure. Your stomach flips.

“Okay. Sunghoon,” you softly say, his name heavy on your tongue. Like you’re saying a bad word. Forbidden.

His eyes stay on you a moment too long as if he can feel it too. Feel your unspoken desire. You fidget in your chair, his eyes piercing.

Then, just like that, he stands, collecting the dishes with easy efficiency. You rise to help, but he waves you off.

“I’ve got it. But…” He pauses at the fridge. “Do you want dessert?”

You blink. “You have dessert?”

“Kind of.” He opens the freezer. “One popsicle left.”

You let out a soft laugh. “We can split it.”

He tears the wrapper and hands you the stick. You take it, a bit taken aback that he unwrapped it for you. So far Sunghoon was being really caring towards you and you couldn’t tell if he’s being like this because he’s so much older than you and instinctively wants to take care of you specifically or if he’s always like this and it doesn’t mean anything.

Your lips wrap around the cold stick, the cold sharp and sweet on your tongue. You hear Sunghoon open the tap as he starts washing up. By the time he’s done you’re halfway done with the popsicle.

Sunghoon sits down on the sofa, right next to you as he watches the way your cheeks dip as you suckle and bite on the stick. Eyes dark, lids heavy and legs spread. But you don’t notice as you absent mindedly scroll through TV channels.

“Would you like some?” you innocently ask, “thought we said we’d split it?” only to almost drop the cold stick when you turn to look at him. Heat spreads through you like wildfire.

Sunghoon is sitting down on the couch looking like pure sex. Glasses sliding down his nose, hair a bit messy from brushing it back and heavy-lidded. Without hesitation, he slowly leans in and wraps his lips around the same spot your lips had just touched.

His mouth is slow as he softly bites down on what’s left of the popsicle. Hand wrapped around the same stick you’re holding. Deliberate. The wet sound of his tongue and the quiet sucking goes straight down to your core.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he says, dark eyes on you.

When he pulls back, he licks a faint drip from the corner of his mouth. The slow drag of his tongue as he pulls away makes you forget what you were about to say.

You stare at him. You can’t help it.

The air feels heavier now. Warmer. Intimate in a different way. He takes one last bite, then tosses the stick into the trash like nothing happened.

“You should get some rest,” he murmurs. “You can unpack tomorrow.”

You nod, fingers still cold from holding the popsicle. Mouth still warm from watching him.

And when you finally climb the stairs to the open loft, you know exactly what you’ll be thinking about when you try to sleep.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟

You wake up sweaty and sticky. Annoyed, you try to shake the duvet off but freeze as you feel the warmth behind you. Sunghoon is sprawled out next to you, his glasses on the bedside table. He’s not touching you, but with how closely he’s snuggled to you he might as well be.

You chuck the duvet off yourself, but do your best so it stays as it was on Sunghoon and let yourself fall back asleep.

The next time you wake to a steady rhythmic beat under you. You cuddle into the it, the sound calming you further into a daze. But then you register strong arms draped over you, hugging you protectively. And you realize you’re literally laying down on Sunghoon’s chest.

His arms tighten around you when he feels you waking up.

“Finally up, huh,” he mumbles, but his voice is kind. Sleep still seeping into it.

“Didn’t want to move and wake you, sorry,” he tells you and lets you roll off him.

“Sorry,” you squeal, face turning red, “hope I didn’t droll, I’m not usually the cuddling type.”

“No? S’kay, I didn’t mind it,” Sunghoon tells you as if it was nothing and starts getting ready for the day.

You’re still hiding your face behind the duvet as you listen to his quiet shuffle around the small loft. It is only when you hear the front door shut that you force yourself to get up too.

The morning is spent in quiet solitude that you invite with open arms, enjoying the scenery. You prepare yourself a simple breakfast and a tea to go along with it. As you sip on it you see Sunghoon outside, taking photos. And that’s when you remember Jihoon telling you his dad did photography.

You go back upstairs to unpack and change out of your pajamas. It’s true that it was summer, but the mountain air was a bit chillier so you decide on an oversized sweater, shorts and knee socks.

As you go out, you look around for Sunghoon, slightly jogging up to him when you spot him just off the trail. Near the forest. The sun is high up in the sky and Sunghoon has his camera raised, gaze narrowed like he’s tracking something invisible. A gull wheels overhead. His finger clicks the shutter.

"You're out early," you say, a little breathless from jogging. You brush your hair out of your face.

He turns at the sound of your voice. His eyes take you in—sweater hanging off one shoulder, the soft skin of your thighs above those socks—and there’s a flicker of something there. But just as quick as you notice it, it’s gone.

"Best light doesn’t wait. You want to try?" he asks.

"Really?" you ask, already shuffling closer to him.

Sunghoon watches you as he gruffly tells you, "come here."

He pauses when you leave some polite space between the two of you.

"Closer," he tells you, opening his chest as he indicates he wants you to come directly against his chest. You gulp as you move, his broad stature engulfing you as he put his arms around you and holds the camera in front of you.

"I’ve never held one like this before," you tell him, your heart racing at the proximity.

Sunghoon quietly chuckles, "that much is obvious. Relax your grip—you’re choking it," his hand over your, softly fixing your fingers.

"Sorry—"

"No need to apologize. Just let me guide you," and you do, his fingers guide you, as his breath caresses your neck. And you have to suppress a shiver when he quietly speaks next, his voice right next to your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Tilt your wrists like this... yeah. Just like that. Feel better?"

"A little," you rasp and you swear his voice sounds deeper than before. You feel a warm buzzing seep from your inner thighs and try your best to will the thoughts away.

"Don’t overthink it. Let the camera rest in your hands. Let it want to be touched," he speaks, his hands moving from your wrists up your arms and settling on your shoulders as he watches you click away.

You softly chuckle in hopes of dissipating tension"you’re making it sound... kind of dirty."

"Is that how you’re hearing it?" he asks, not bothered in the slightest, but his hands on your shoulders start applying pressure – almost in warning.

"I didn’t mean—" you fumble for words, panic shooting through you. How was he always so calm?

"Mm. Focus here. Look through the viewfinder. Keep your hands steady," he cuts you off. His face is right next to your as he looks into the viewfinder.

"Breathe in," he proffers.

A beat passes as you breathe in and you swear heat builds between you. But only his hands touch you, their weight a constant reminder of how close he is.

"Now exhale slowly. Feel that? How everything sharpens when you stop fighting it?"

"Yeah..." you say, your voice coming out in a quiet breath. You shuffle in your spot, your shorts rubbing against your lower lips.

"Good girl," says Sunghoon, his voice like honey to your ears. But still – you momentarily falter, his voice bringing you back to reality.

"Mr. Park..." you hope your voice is at least a little serious, turning slightly to look at him through your lashes.

"If you keep calling me that, I’m going to start thinking you like it," Sunghoon easily replies, his gaze dropping to your lips. It’s back on your eyes just as quickly, so much so that you start to think you imagined it.

"Is that a problem?" flustered, you laugh and take a step forward. His hands drop from your shoulder as he continues watching you. A lip caught between his teeth.

"Not at all. But if we’re going to keep doing this... it’s Sunghoon. Say it."

"Sunghoon," you say, turning to look back at him.

"Better," he smirks and your gaze falls to the grass.

Sunghoon takes over the camera then, and you end up spending the entire day with him. Mostly just listening, letting his quiet confidence settle into the spaces where your thoughts usually race. He explains this and that—aperture, lighting, texture—and you try your best to keep up, even though you mostly just enjoy the sound of his voice. Low and calm, like the tide pulling in.

For lunch, you make sandwiches for the both of you, slicing the bread carefully while he’s still reviewing the shots on his camera. You place the plate beside him with a soft, "Here."

He glances up, genuinely surprised. Then, that soft flicker of something like warmth passes through his eyes.

"You didn’t have to, sweet girl," he says.

Just like that. Casual. Almost lazy. But your face burns for the next hour.

By the time the sun dips behind the trees, painting the cabin in golden light, he mentions putting on a movie in the living room—and you stupidly agree before even thinking to ask which movie.

You only realize your mistake when he dims the lights and presses play on Hereditary.

The couch is wide but low, sunken from use. You curl into yourself immediately, legs folded up beneath you, oversized sweater sleeves covering your hands. You retreat into your corner like a cat anticipating a thunderstorm.

Sunghoon claims the other side—sprawled out, knees wide, one arm draped over the backrest. He doesn’t look at you, but his presence takes up all the space anyway. Calm. Heavy.

You’re not touching. But you can feel him.

At first the movie is fine. Almost boring. You’ve seen horror films before, and for a while Hereditary just feels like another cliché movie. A family unraveling. A creeping unease.

But as the minutes tick by, your body starts to betray you. The way the music swells without warning. The shadows that linger a little too long in the corners of the screen. The sudden cuts to faces that shouldn't be there.

Your fingers curl into the blanket. You try to laugh once—force it out like it’s no big deal—but it dies in your throat.

Beside you, Sunghoon doesn’t move. He watches with the same intense stillness he brings to everything. Like he already knows exactly what’s coming.

When the first real scare lands—a sharp cut, a scream, something unnatural jerking into frame—you jump.

Not dramatically. Not even enough to make a sound, but enough that your knee brushes his thigh.

You freeze.

So does he.

Then, slowly, you start to pull away—

“Scared?” His voice is low. Barely a whisper. Almost amused.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, only to find that he's already watching you. Not the screen.

“It’s just a movie,” you say, trying to play it off.

But your voice isn’t steady. Not enough to fool either of you.

He doesn’t call you on it. Just leans a little closer, arm still draped behind you on the couch.

“Come here,” he says simply. Not a question. Not a suggestion.

Just… an offer.

And somehow, that’s even more dangerous.

“It’s fine, really,” you tell him but as the climax of the movie approaches you’re getting progressively more and more scared. Your eyes shifting in paranoia to look outside the windows to make sure no one is looking in, you almost scream when a big hand wraps around your wrist.

But you relax, when you realize it’s just Sunghoon. He pulls you right against himself, his arm falling protectively against your body. He moves your legs so they’re resting in his lap, his other arm placed on your naked thighs.

“You’re too stubborn,” he tells you, but his arms tighten around you whenever you jump.

Once the movie ends, the room is too quiet.

You don’t move at first, staring blankly at the credits. There’s still a weight in your chest—your heartbeat quick, your breath shallow. That last scene… you wish you hadn’t watched it.

Sunghoon stretches, slow and deliberate, his body radiating calm. He looks down at you—really looks—and sees it.

“Too much for you, sweetheart?”

His voice is low. Gentle. Like he’s talking to someone much smaller, like he’s already tucking you into safety without moving an inch.

You glance at him, face warming. You nod, just barely.

“It got really scary at the end,” you admit softly, voice small.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t laugh. Instead he softly asks, “Want me to put something else on?”

You nod again, biting your lip. “Can we… watch a cartoon? Something stupid. With animals, or magic. Just something nice.”

That earns the smallest smirk. Not mocking—fond.

“Of course you want animals.”

He reaches for the remote, his hand trailing down your thighs. He pulls your sliding sock back over your knee, smoothing over the goosebumps that appear on your thigh where he touches.

“Any favorites, baby girl?”

The nickname makes your stomach flip, but you don’t correct him. You just sink a little deeper into the couch and mumble something about whatever’s cute.

Sunghoon scrolls quietly until something soft and colorful starts playing. You don’t even register what it is—just the bright lights and silly voices, the kind of show you used to watch on Sunday mornings with cereal in your lap.

He glances at you again.

“Better?”

You scoot deeper into him “mhm,” you whisper. “Thanks… Sunghoonie.”

There’s a pause, and then you feel his hand move, caressing your thigh.

After some time you shuffle against him again – your back hurt after laying sideways. Your legs spread as you sit on Sunghoon’s lap, now chest to chest with him as you let your head rest on his broad shoulder.

You don’t seem to realize you’re straddling him, Sunghoon’s even breathing lulling you into a sleepy haze. You just knew the TV light was starting to bother you and Sunghoon was warm. So you snuggle further into him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he brings his legs closer and angles his hips upwards, so your core is pressed directly against his. You squirm around a bit, trying to find a comfy position when you feel it.

Something is poking right against your butt, just as you sit fully down and begin to nod off. Bothered by the prodding you subconsciously roll and press your hips against Sunghoon’s warm body.  You quietly groan, as pleasure starts replacing discomfort.

You continue dragging your hips up and down and Sunghoon groans underneath you. You moan, nuzzling your head into his neck as you push your front into his chest. Sunghoon’s hands travel from your thighs to your waist and it’s getting harder to breathe.

You pick up the pace, grinding with more intent when his hands grip your hips, the strength forcing you to stop. You whine at the loss of friction.

“You’re sleepy baby, let me take you upstairs,” Sunghoon groans, his voice hoarse as if he’s holding himself back from saying too much.

You let him lift you up in bridal position and carry you upstairs. He softly lays you down on your side of the bed. You don’t hear him, as he quietly goes into the bathroom. Trying to hold back any sounds as he grips his hard and leaking cock. And maybe that night he furiously tugs at his cock like a teenager, cumming embarrassingly fast before he’s able to come and sleep next to you. But you don’t know that, already asleep.

When you wake the next day you’re tangled with Sunghoon again. You’re calmer this morning compared to the previous one, and that’s when his hand twitches – shifting the mood. You’re spooning, only Sunghoon’s hand isn’t around your waist. No, it’s resting directly on your boob. Almost fondling it. You feel twitching as he starts waking up, the hand on your boob momentarily tightens into a grope, and you feel your nipples stifling, poking up. You mewl, subconsciously pushing your chest further into his hand.

You don’t move more than that, pretending you’re still sleeping as Sunghoon carefully continues touching you.

His fingers pinch your nipple, hips pressing into you. You feel how hard he is, and memories of last night fill your mind. Afarid he will pull away again you continue pretending to sleep. Sunghoon quietly groans into your ear, his hips rutting against your ass. The hand covering your tit less gentle as he roughly massages your boob.

You try really hard not to make any noise, not to push back, even though the ache building between your thighs has you nearly shaking in want. A moan escapes you when his thrusts get more irregular, less controlled and his dick twitches right against your lips.

Not being able to take it anymore you jut your ass out, shifting your thighs so you feel more pressure on your pussy. You quietly moan when Sunghoon’s other hand sneaks underneath your laying figure, resting on your navel.

“My sweet little thing, so good to me,” he breathes, pulling you into a back hug as he lets you feel his hard cock.

He breathes in your hair and you mewl when his hips move, thrusting upwards. Your pussy clenching around nothing and you feel your panties start sticking to you.

You’re a whining mess as Sunghoon lets you rub yourself on his cock and he continues playing with your nipple, pinching and pulling at it. Noting what makes you whine and moan the loudest. Hit other hand drawing comforting circles on your navel and you wish he’d let it slip under your shorts.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks you, nose grazing your neck, hips gently thrusting into yours, “you like when da-“ he coughs, “when I play with you, hm pretty?” he asks, before leaving a soft kiss right where your ear meets your neck.

“You poor thing, can’t even properly do it by yourself” he pouts at you, mocking you. But you don’t realize it, instead pouting as you nod.

“Yeah Hoonie,” you whine “need your help.”

Just then a loud smack ruins the moment, Sunghoon’s hand coming down your thigh in stinging pleasure. You hiss and blink at him, dazed and still needy. But the way he’s looking at you now—stern, jaw tight—makes your stomach knot.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice low and sharp.

You blink again, still catching up. He left you empty, just when you were getting there.

“Wha—?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he says flatly, standing up fully. He adjusts himself in his boxers, then runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to wipe the heat off. “What the hell are we doing?”

The words sting more than you want them to.

“You started it,” you shoot back, voice soft but defiant. “You didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”

His head tilts. Slowly.

“And I’m ending it,” he says, firmer now, like you’re testing him. “Before either of us does something we’ll regret.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you look away. “Maybe you’ll regret it. I won’t.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

“Take a walk.”

You glance up at him, pout deepening as your eyebrows furrow.

“Make me.”

That gets him.

He steps forward, just a little too close—his shadow long over your legs.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Go cool off. Before I stop caring that you’re someone else’s problem.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, still warm and buzzing from the way he pulled away. Your thighs press together instinctively, but you refuse to let it show.

“Whatever,” you mumble to yourself, standing to rummage through your suitcase.

You start peeling off yesterday’s clothes—tossing the rumpled sweater and socks into a corner—and Sunghoon pushes past you, down the stairs.

You pull on something softer: a little camisole, barely opaque, and matching shorts that reach barely over your butt. You add a loose cardigan over it, just in case. Not like you're dressing for anyone.

As you start to turn away, something on the nightstand catches your eye.

A book.

You pick it up and see it’s Dracula. Of course, you loudly exhale through your nose in a quiet chuckle. Leather-bound, dog-eared, marked with a single worn slip of paper. You flip through a few pages, thumbing the edge. It smells like cedar and time. Somehow, that feels like him, too.

Curling onto the bed, you prop a pillow behind you and let yourself sink into it. Reading helps. Sort of. The frustration doesn’t really fade—but it settles, coiled and waiting.

Downstairs, you hear the front door open and shut. A car engine stirs to life. Sunghoon’s going somewhere.

Good.

You need space.

By the time the sun has risen higher and warmed the back patio, you’re already downstairs, water bottle in hand. You tug a towel out from the closet, find your sunglasses, and step out into the golden light. The air is warmer today. Still crisp from the mountain wind, but hot enough to sunbathe.

You stretch out on the lounging, sighing as the sun warms your skin. You don’t even hear the car pull back in—until the crunch of gravel in the driveway makes you glance up.

The door shuts.

And then you hear it. The steady, familiar steps rounding toward the back of the house.

Sunghoon. Butterflies erupt in your tummy even though you’re still mad at him.

He stops in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up on his head, one hand full of grocery bags, the other holding something vaguely bottled—wine, maybe. You don’t watch, but you hear him putting groceries away inside the kitchen.

He’s back out after five minutes. You take note of his clothes despite yourself – a tight black tee, accentuating his muscular frame and broad shoulders paired with light washed jorts.

His eyes find you.

“Need help with sunscreen?” he says, voice deceptively casual as his eyes drink you up. Clad in a flimsy pink bikini set that barely covered anything.

You peek at him over your sunglasses, not bothering to sit up.

“I’ve got hands, don’t I?” you say, all mock-innocence. “Pretty sure I can manage rubbing lotion on myself.”

Sunghoon doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Just arches a brow like he’s heard this kind of sass before—and knows exactly what to do with it.

“Mm,” he hums, stepping fully onto the patio. “Thought maybe your hands needed a break, since they were so busy earlier.”

Your stomach dips. You shoot him a glare—half mortified, half flustered—and throw an arm over your face dramatically.

“You said we weren’t talking about that.”

“I said we were done,” he corrects. He walks towards you pushing his hair out of his face. “Didn’t say anything about keeping my mouth shut.”

You snort despite yourself, still hiding under your arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re burning,” he says coolly, pointing at the tops of your thighs with the little bottle of sunscreen he grabbed on his way out. “Flip over or sit up, brat. You choose.”

That gets your attention.

You peek up again, pout forming instantly. “You’re so bossy when you don’t get what you want.”

He steps closer, crouching down beside your lounger now, one big hand coming to rest casually on the side of the chair near your hip.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dipping dangerously low, “if I were getting what I want, you wouldn’t be able to lie still right now.”

You blink, heat rising all the way to your ears.

He twists the cap off the sunscreen and holds it up between two fingers. “Well?”

You make a show of sighing. “Fine,” you grumble, rolling onto your stomach with an exaggerated huff, the curve of your ass now fully on display. “But you better not make it weird.”

“Oh, baby,” he says, smoothing lotion into his palms, “I think we’re way past that.”

And then his hands are on you. He starts with your calves, wrapping his big arm around your plush skin, hot after being warmed by the sun now high up in the sky.

You force your breathing to stay even as Sunghoon rubs the sunscreen on your skin. Even though his touch was on your legs, the way his fingers knew where to apply pressure and massage made your skin tingle with raw want.

But Sunghoon smoothly continues, his hands traveling past your knee and on the back of your thighs. Once he reaches your sensitive spot you unknowingly spread your legs slightly and Sunghoon smirks, squeezing the sunscreen directly onto your skin, straight from the bottle.

You shriek, “that’s cold.”

“Serves you right for being a brat,” he lightly scolds. His hands rub the cold cream on the spot right where your thighs meet your butt, eyes glued to the spot between your thighs. He licks his lips, his fingers continuing working on your inner thighs. High. His long digits reach your bikini, grazing your lower lips and you twitch. He smirks, not saying anything.

Your breath is shallow as as his hands grasp your thighs, nails softly digging into your skin as he drags circles into your skin – spreading the sunscreen all over your legs. Sunghoon, ever the detail oriented man, doesn’t miss a single spot.

You butt starts lifting, against your best tries to just lay there and take it.

Sunghoon’s breathing is heavier when he squirts the cream on his hands again and starts spreading the creamy substance over your butt. Your bikini bottoms start to wedge into your ass, turning it more into a thong the longer he plays with you.

You sigh, melting into your chair as Sunghoon’s hand slips under your bottoms.

“Gotta make sure you don’t get burned anywhere,” he explains, his voice dropping an octave and you clench around nothing.

You just hope he doesn’t feel how wet you’ve gotten and scold you again. Sunghoon squeeze your butt and jiggles it, watching the shine from the cream reflect from it. It made your butt look so inviting and he has to bite his lip so an inappropriate comment doesn’t slip past his lips.

You on the other hand are holding your breath in quiet anticipation, but Sunghoon’s hands are already on your back. Hands sticky from the sun block as he carefully finishes his application. Grazing your lower back, then your waist and moving onto your shoulder blades.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart. You want more and you don’t even realize it yet, do you?” Sunghoon quietly murmurs by your ear, his voice telling you everything he isn’t saying.

Your body’s humming. You’re dizzy. You’re about to turn around and do something reckless—

But then he’s telling you to turn around so he can do your front side as well.

You listen, moving the sunglasses so they cover your eyes. But Sunghoon doesn’t miss your blushing cheeks and the bead of sweat right in the middle of your boobs.

“Good girl, see how well we get along when you listen to me?” he teases as he rubs on your stomach. His fingers touching your underboob, pushing your top up and revealing the softness underneath.

You moan a small ‘mhm,’ putty in his hands. You don’t dare to glance at him when he is this close. But his shadow looming over your laying figure and his scent all around you is enough to make you dizzy, all your senses filled with him. Sunghoon. Sunghoon. Sunghoon. Everywhere around you.

The moment is broken by the shrill of your phone. Sunghoon flinches away from you, as if he was caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t be.

You re-adjust your bathing suit as you reach for your phone.

You check the screen: Jihoon.

You hesitate, and Sunghoon notices. In a low, unreadable voice he matter of fact asks you. “Don’t let it go to voicemail. He’s still your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

You answer. Jihoon’s tone is annoyed and distracted right off the bat. “Hey. You alive or what? I texted you yesterday.”

“I’ve been fine. It’s… it’s peaceful up here,” you reply, lowkey already exhausted from this conversation.

“That’s the whole point. You needed to chill out. You were being weird lately,” he tells you in a clipped voice.

Your stomach twists. Your words feel small.

“Did you know your dad was going to be here?” you ask instead of giving into the fight he was starting.

“So what if he is? He’s never even home, I figured he’d be working like always,” he defensively nags.

“Well, he’s not. He saw everything, Jihoon. When you dropped me off.”

At this point, you hear the rustle of movement—Sunghoon, standing just behind you now.

“Let me talk to him,” he tells you, reaching his hand towards the phone. You’re caught off guard but hand the phone over without thinking. He takes it with fingers still faintly warm from your skin.

“Jihoon,” Sunghoon interrupts him.

A long pause is heard before he speaks again. “You left her alone, without food, without checking in. You didn’t even tell her I’d be here. What exactly were you thinking?”

You don’t hear Jihoon’s reply, but Sunghoon’s answers has you assuming what must’ve been said anyway.

“She said she wanted space, so you dumped her at the edge of a mountain?” “Grow up,” he tells him, visibly annoyed.

“That’s enough, Jihoon.” He pauses, listening before speaking again. “You lost the right to have an opinion the moment you left her here.”

He hands the phone back to you like it burns and goes inside the house, giving you privacy to finish the call.

You hold the phone to your ear and Jihoon’s voice is furious now “what the fuck was that? You seriously told my dad on me?”

“He saw everything, Jihoon. He’s the one who took care of me,” you firmly tell him, refusing to be the bad guy here.

“So now you’re what, flirting with him? Jesus, no wonder you’re acting weird,” he childishly jabs.

“I’m not the one who drove off like a child,” you tell him, trying to keep your tone steady. No matter how much Jihoon wanted to have this fight with you, you wouldn’t let him ruin this vacation for you.

“You really think he cares about you? My dad doesn’t get involved. He watches people fall and doesn’t say a word,” he quickly speaks, his voice panicked.

You pause. The words cut—because Sunghoon has cared. In ways Jihoon never has.

“That’s funny. He’s the only one who has,” you reply and then hang up, fuming.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

You don’t see Sunghoon for hours after the call. The house is too quiet and you assume he went out to take photos, since one of his cameras was absent too.                You try to nap, to read, to scroll aimlessly on your phone, but your thoughts keep circling to the way Jihoon’s voice rang out loud enough for Sunghoon to flinch. The way Sunghoon's jaw clenched so tightly after, like he was grinding back words he didn’t trust himself to say.

When the sun begins to fall behind the ridge, casting the inside of the cabin in deep, amber shadows, you finally venture out of the bedroom.

You find Sunghoon in the kitchen.

His back is to you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, knife in hand as he slices into something soft and green on the cutting board. The overhead light cuts a sharp halo over his shoulders, casting half his face in shadow when he finally turns to glance at you.

Not a word passes for a long second.

You cross your arms loosely, staying near the doorway. “I didn’t know if I should come downstairs.”

He looks back down at what he’s doing. “Didn’t want you to go hungry.” There’s warmth in that sentence, but no softness. It’s clipped. Guarded.

You both sit at the kitchen island. The meal is simple—roasted vegetables, grilled tofu, rice. You push food around your plate. The silence between you is heavy. Borderline unbearable.

And then, finally Sunghoon softly speaks “don’t mistake silence for regret.”

His voice is quiet, but deliberate, “I just don’t trust myself to say something I won’t take back later.”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He sets down his chopsticks, leans back against the chair. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are impossibly clear as they settle on you.

“I knew I shouldn’t have touched you.” A pause. He swallows. “But you looked so small when he drove off. And I guess, I just wanted to protect you, show you the love Jihoon wasn’t giving to you.”

Your chest clenches. The hurt spills before you can reel it back.

“Then why are you treating me like I did something wrong?”

His gaze sharpens.

“You didn’t. But I did. You’re not mine… yet.”

The word clings in the air between you like the taste of smoke. It makes you sit a little straighter. Makes your breath catch.

He watches you intently, but not indulgently. His expression isn’t soft. It’s honest. Bruisingly so.

“You said I’m not yours. Like I’m someone’s. I’m not.”

“It’s not that simple,” Now he looks at you.

“It could be.”

“You still have him.”

“I don’t want him,” you cross your arms, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t speak. You take a step closer, looking down at him as he still sits behind the table.

“I want you.” There it is. You said it plainly.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, like the weight of it hits somewhere deep. Then back to you.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

You pause, softer now. “You want me too.”

He exhales once, slowly. Runs a hand through his hair. That veneer of control, cracking.

His eyes flick to yours. “Of course I do,” he says. “Don’t think for a second I haven’t tried to push it down.”

You don’t speak. Just hold his gaze.

He threads your fingers together like it’s something he’s done a hundred times. And when he steps in close, the heat between you rises. The air shifts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, low. “Not unless you mean it.”

You swallow, heart pounding.

“And don’t say my name like it matters,” he adds, “if you’re still planning to go back to him.”

Your voice comes out steadier than you expect. “I’m not going back.”

A beat. “I’m right here.”

His jaw flexes. His thumb brushes the back of your hand, almost unconsciously.

“…Say it again,” he murmurs. Not commanding. Just needing to hear it.

You step closer. Tip your chin up.

“I’m right here, Sunghoon.”

And then he kisses you. His mouth claims yours with a purpose that makes your knees lock. It's not hesitant, not testing. It’s decisive. Like a line is being crossed, and he’s the one drawing it.

You gasp against him, and he swallows it whole.

The kiss is deep, slow, deliberate — not the fumbling of someone new, but the kind of kiss that knows exactly where to linger, how to make your pulse stutter. He tilts your chin just enough to control the angle, to taste you properly. Like he’s waited long enough.

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel like relief. But it does. Because this is wrong. Because this is forbidden. And because that only makes it worse. Better, sweeter.

You feel the age between you in the way he moves — in the steadiness of his hands, in the quiet control he keeps even as he presses closer. There’s no rush, the kiss is slow, intimate. And his hold on you is firm, possessive, holding you close to him as if he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go.  

By the time he pulls back — lips parted, breathing uneven — you’re flushed down to your chest. His thumb drags over your bottom lip, slow, like he’s memorizing the shape of it now that he’s finally tasted it.

His voice is low, warm, and just a little bit patronizing — the kind of tone that curls around your spine and makes you want to misbehave just to hear it again.

“You kissed me back, babygirl,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t look away.

He tilts your chin up further, just enough to make you feel small beneath his gaze.

“Want me to stop?” he asks, voice velvet-dark. “Or do you want Mr. Park to take care of you properly this time?”

Your breath catches.

It’s not the words exactly—it’s the way he says them.

Mr. Park.

Your lashes flutter. That word settles somewhere low and hot in your belly, like it had been waiting to be spoken all along.

You chew your lip, looking up at him through your lashes, voice barely above a whisper.

You pause, eyes flickering across his face—testing, teasing. “You wanna take care of me, Mr. Park?” you purr, face close to his. Sunghoon traces your whole face, eyes sparkling and lips curling into an almost proud smile.

“So now you get it,” he says, voice low and rich, eyes scanning your face. “Took you long enough, baby.”

He lifts a hand, fingers brushing under your chin, tilting it up like he’s studying you, admiring his own effect.

“You like being looked after, don’t you?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip, and he hums when you part your mouth, pliant for him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispers, hot and slow. “You’ve got me now.”

And then, quietly, firmly, sure of himself “and Mr. Park is gonna take real good care of his sweet girl.”

And then his lips are on you again, he back walks you into the living room and you let him lead, lips not parting. This kiss is messier, loud squelching sound fills the room and you can’t hold back the little whines escaping past your lips.

Sunghoon doesn’t mind, his hands now unashamedly groping everywhere. Your thighs, your butt, your waist, your boobs and it’s dizzying.

You gasp when your legs hit the sofa, falling back on it. You lay there, breathing uneven and Sunghoon just stands over you. Studying you, his eyes dark and focused, tracing every inch of your body.

He unbuckles his belt, “take your shirt off baby, let Mr. Park see you,” and you comply. The bossy tone turns you on. Your hands pull the fabric off your body.

“Mr. Park,” you breathe, pupils blown as you watch Sunghoon. You need him now, immediately. Your pussy is practically pulsating as you continue watching, waiting. But Sunghoon doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He spreads his belt on the table, carefully.

You whine, “do something already.”

He crouches next to your laying figure on the sofa, your legs dangling over the tiny thing. Caressing your neck in a dark velvety voice, almost as if he’s enjoying seeing you beg he tells you mockingly, “you’ve been whining about this all day and now you can’t even wait five seconds?”

You whimper, softly blowing a raspberry as you move out of his hold. You pull the shorts down your legs, done with the waiting.

“Fine, I’ll just take care of it myself,” you fuss, hand starting to slide down towards your core.

But Sunghoon swiftly grabs your wrist, tightly. His body is on you in a flash and it only excites you more. You moan when he speaks.

“Keep acting like this and you won’t be leaving this room today,” he is breathing hard, eyes softening when he sees the raw desire in yours.

You push your hips up, rubbing your pussy on him as he holds your forearms next to your shoulders, your left side pressing into the sofa cushion. His legs trap yours and you’re completely at his mercy, your strength no match compared to his.

“You’re cute when you’re mouthy, but don’t push it” he warns, voice husky, “now say please. Properly”

You almost want to cry, the ache so visceral you can’t even think. His words don’t even properly register before you’re’ already blabbering.

“Please please please, Mr. Park, please,” you beg, unsuccessfully trashing underneath his iron hold.

“I promise I’ll behave, just please touch me, I won’t be impatient anymore,” you whine, tears building behind your eyes out of sheer frustration.

“There she is. That’s better. My good girl knows how to behave,” he murmurs, allowing you to grind your pussy against his muscular thigh, as he caresses your face, a smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough to say it,” a dangerous lilt in his smile. He lowers down, biting in your neck in what should be pain but is instead making you mewl. Your pussy gushing at this point.

“Mr. Park, Hoonie,” you breathe, “f-fuck” you gasp, stumbling over your words as Sunghoon continues biting you, now moving onto your tits, littering small marks, “fuck me please, need you so bad” you whine, legs wrapping around his hips and pulling his lower body into you.

He’s aching you can tell, he pulls his lips from your body with a pop, a string of saliva connecting him to you, his lips red and swollen. And suddenly you’re licking your lips, desperate for just another taste of this older man.

“You love when I make the rules. Don’t pretend you don’t,” he teases, as he finally, finally pulls his cock out. He pumps it two times, licking his hand before bringing it to your face.

“Spit,” he instructs and you comply. You watch as he wraps his fingers around his long and fat cock again, droll pooling in your mouth as you watch, mesmerized.

He notices your gaze, “ah, wanted to taste my sweet girl, see if you taste as good as you look, but” he groans, lining his cockhead to your entrance, “my little one is just too impatient,” he gruffs.

He pushes his dick into you, slowly deliberately. Torturing you once again, and you’re utterly helpless. Whining, moaning, groaning, squeezing your walls together but Sunghoon doesn’t give in to your whining.

He’s barely pushed his cock in halfway when you test his patience once again.

“Hoonie just push it in already,” you whine, “need you so bad, stop teasing.” You pout. His dick twitches and that’s when it clicks. He likes seeing you this needy for him.

You look at him through your lashes, pushing yourself into the sofa, making yourself small under his larger frame, “feels so good, Hoonie,” you quietly moan, “you’re so big,” you mewl and Sunghoon finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, groaning as he does.

He stays like that for a moment, allowing both of you to adjust, his eyes are squeezed shut. Your thighs around his waist twitch, impatient once again.

You bite your lip, just watching him. You know he feels your walls pulsating, purring just for him. begging him to fucking move. You needed it fast, rough but Sunghoon was hellbent on having you slowly. Devouring you whole as you cry for him.

“Now you can wait your turn,” he breathes, almost as if he can read your thoughts. His hand wraps around your throat, his gaze dark and your walls clasp tightly around his dick. Sunghoon smirks as he draws his hips out, slowly, before pushing back into you hard.

You can’t stifle the loud moan that leaves you and that only spurs Sunghoon on. He continues fucking you like this, pace incredibly slow and powerful – as if he had all the time in the world to get lost in your pussy. He watches your every breath, every move, gaze heavy – too heavy. You shut your eyes the intensity overwhelming you.

Your smaller hand cups his bigger one, still on your throat and his voice is husky when he speaks again.

“Look at me,” his voice like honey, the thumb on your neck drawing comforting circles as he continues fucking you, “No hiding. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.”

He tells you and when you look you can feel it. The control, the power he has over you, how he could ruin you if he decided to. And how you would probably let him.

Your mouth opens, gasping as he picks up the pace, fast and irregular and you can tell he is close.

You try to claw at his hand that was clasping around your throat. You gasp for air and Sunghoon continues watching you, groaning as his hips work an incredible pace.

His hips stutter, eyes shutting and arm leaving your throat. And you can finally breathe again. Sughoon sheaths his hips into you and he grinds them into you.

Your orgasm starts hitting you in powerful waves, when he starts humping his dick into you, barely pushing out. Your walls tightening impossibly, and Sunghoon can’t do anything else but just take it. Let your pussy squeeze the orgasm out of him, as he stills and spills inside of you.

And you whine, you fucking whine, he flops onto you, carefully not to hurt you as he rides out his orgasm, softly thrusting in you.

You feel incredibly full, can tell that he came so much it’s overflowing out of you while he’s still inside. You two just breathe for a moment, catching you breaths and you swear your soul left you for a moment.

“Hoonie,” you mumble, “feel so full.”

“I know baby, I know,” he wraps his arms around you, turning you two so you’re laying down on him instead.

“Hoonie’s got you,” he tells you, patting down your hair and kissing you on your forehead.

Your breath slows. His doesn’t.

You’re still curled into him, skin sticky and trembling, but there’s a tension still-

“You okay?” you whisper.

Sunghoon chuckles softly, low and wrecked. “You have no idea what you just started.”

And he kisses you again. Slowly and deeply, holding you close. You moan softly as his tongue explores your mouth. You’re squirming, needy again and you can tell Sunghoon is starting to get hard again.

"That wasn’t enough," he tells you, lips not leaving yours, "you’ve been driving me crazy for days. Thought one time would fix it?”

His fingers close around your thigh, hard enough to ground you, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this,” he tells you and then he’s manhandling you, your torso rests on the backrest as you kneel on the couch. Sunghoon’s hands are on your hips, pressing your front over the backrest, your chest pressing into it. Ass up.

He has you bent over the couch and he reaches towards the table. You turn, watching as he picks off his belt and you tremble. Excited. You bit your lip to stop the smile from spreading across your face as you instinctively cross your arms behind your back.

“You’re gonna let me have you like this pretty girl?” Sunghoon asks, almost panting as he fondles your ass.

“Y-yes Hoonie,” you say, voice shaky.

He slaps you, watching in satisfaction as your pussy clenches around nothing. Then he wraps his belt around your wrist – not tight, just enough to stop you from moving. He hums once he’s satisfied.

This time when he lines his dick to your entrance he doesn’t wait. He stretches your walls again and you push your face down, biting on the sofa in hope of silencing any noises from escaping you.

But Sunghoon doesn’t like that, his fingers grip your hair and he gently yanks you by the hair. Your spine against his chest as he continues fucking into you hard.

“Nu-uh princess,” he moans, right next to your ear and you shiver, “let me hear you.”

You’re choked on air, pleasure overwhelming, but still you comply, “you make me feel so full, Hoon… I can’t help it.”

You mewl, rutting yourself back, as Sunghoon continues with the hard and rapid pace, his hips pushing into your ass anytime he fucks into you. Head lulls back, putty in his hands you completely relax, letting him use your body to chase his own pleasure.

“Tell me you feel it too. Tell me it’s not just me going insane over you,” he breathes right by your ear, hands holding you by your waist in position.

“I think about you all the time… even when I shouldn’t,” you confess, drunk on his cock.

“No one else gets to see you like this, you’re mine,” Sunghoon continues, his hold on you tight. Possessive.

“Then don’t let anyone else touch me. Keep me,” you rasp, moaning when he brings his digits to your clit. You shake, from the pleasure and pressure as Sunghoon rubs your clit expertly, as if he had done it a thousand times before.

“Doing so well for Mr. Park,” comes his husky voice, he softly bites down on your ear, “that’s it baby, cream my cock, make a mess little one,” he groans when he feels you clenching down on him.

Your pussy convulses, clenching around him in waves and Sunghoon stutters, pushing his dick impossibly deeper into you and you feel him twitching, filling you up for the second time.

After a moment, after you have both came down you speak, softly. “You make me feel so safe like this…” you murmur, your voice quiet, breathy. Barely there.

Sunghoon gently undoes the belt still loosely hanging around your wrists. His fingers are slow and unhurried, tracing the curve of your hips like he’s calming you through touch alone.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs against your temple, lips brushing soft and warm. He kisses your cheek next, and you lean into it instinctively, your body boneless, spent.

You don’t fight him as he lifts you—your legs too sore, your mind fogged with the aftermath of everything. He carries you upstairs like you weigh nothing, one hand splayed over your thigh, his chest warm where your cheek rests against him.

He sets you gently on the closed lid of the toilet, crouching beside you to check the tender insides of your thighs with a light touch. His gaze flicks up to your face, searching, but you’re already watching him, lids heavy, lips parted.

“I didn’t mean to…” he starts to say, almost more to himself.

“I liked it,” you whisper, interrupting. Honest.

He exhales slowly, something fierce and protective shadowing his face—but it softens when he turns back to the tub, running the water, checking the temperature with his wrist. You watch the rise of steam, the pour of oil — something herbal and grounding.

He doesn’t speak, but the care in his movements says enough. When he returns to you, he sinks to his knees. His hands are warm on your waist as he coaxes you to stand.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes searching yours.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat. “Mhm. Just… floaty.”

He touches your face. “I’ve got you.”

You step into the water, and he follows behind, settling with you between his legs. The heat wraps around you both, and his arms immediately encircle you, pulling you into his chest.

He starts to wash you slowly — his hands gliding over your skin in steady, calming passes. The silence stretches between you, but it’s not heavy. It’s safe.

“Everything’s warm,” you whisper, eyes half-lidded. “You’re warm.”

“So are you,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “Still glowing, baby.”

Your lips curve into a lazy smile. You hum, nuzzling against his chest. “I don’t want to think. Just stay here.”

“Then we’ll stay,” he replies, wrapping you tighter in his arms. His voice dips low — protective, anchoring. “You don’t have to do anything now. Just let me take care of it.”

You nod again, your breath softening, your heartbeat slow. The water laps around you both as you sink deeper into him.

And just before your eyes fall shut, you hear him say it—quiet, more to himself than to you “so small, so mine.”

You wake up slow. Limbs heavy, thighs sore, skin warm. His hand is already curled around your hip under the blanket, thumb brushing your waist lazily, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

You shift with a sleepy noise, nuzzling into his chest. He murmurs something low.

“Mm. Thought you’d run away,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you softly whine, curling into him even more.

He huffs a laugh, hand tightening around your hip, “that’s not a complaint, is it?”

You pinch his side, and he groans dramatically.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Only when I’m right,” he laughs, “come downstairs when you’re ready, I’m making pancakes,” he taps you butt as he stands up, leaving you to lounge on the bed a bit longer.

You emerge from the bedroom wrapped in one of his shirts—oversized and hanging low on your thighs. He’s barefoot, shirtless like he does this every day. Your hair melts as you note how fluffy his black hair looked.

He glances over his shoulder. The look he gives you is unfair—equal parts pleased and hungry.

“That mine huh?” he nods towards the shirt, amused. “Didn’t even ask.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to at least one shirt last night” you grin.

He chuckles, plate in hand as he slides it in front of you on the counter.

“Careful. You’re getting spoiled.”

You hop up onto the counter, tugging his shirt down on your thighs.

“I don’t mind.”

He stands between your knees without needing to ask, fork in hand. He feeds you the first bite himself, watching your mouth.

“My sweet girl.”

“You’re feeding me like I’m five,” you playfully complain, deflecting.

“Didn’t I tell you, pretty? I plan to spoil you rotten, besidesI like seeing you soft,” Sunghoon says, his eyes sparkling and a soft grin on his lips.

Your eyes flick up to his. “What does that mean?”

“That you let me take care of you,” he easily replies, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You’re breathless as you reply, “you’re not playing fair…”

But Sunghoon just chuckles, “I’m not playing at all.”

His fingers linger a second too long, grazing your cheek before slipping down your jaw. You blink at the weight of his gaze like he’s memorizing you. His thumb taps your bottom lip once, absently.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs. Not teasing. Just quiet, like a truth too heavy for the air.

Your pulse kicks, and when you look away, flustered, he lets you. Doesn’t push just rests his palm on your thigh, warm and grounding.

A moment passes like that. And as you reach for your juice, he tugs the hem of his shirt on you a little lower, eyes scanning your bare thighs.

“Don’t go outside in this.”

“Why? Afraid someone’ll see?” you tease.

“No. I just don’t like sharing,” he firmly replies, voice stern.

Your breath catches.

“Go finish eating. We’ve got all day.” He kisses your forehead.

The sun climbs higher. Warm light spills through the big windows, turning everything golden. You're curled up on the sofa, still wearing his shirt and nothing underneath but cotton panties, your legs stretched across the cushions.

“You look too pretty to waste the light,” Sunghoon says from across the room, holding his camera.

You blink up at him, amused. “Are you seriously about to make this a photoshoot?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t call it that.”

You tilt your head. “Then what would you call it?”

He lifts the camera halfway, gaze steady over the top of it. “Mine.”

Your throat tightens, pulse kicking up. You sit up slowly, legs tucking under you. “Tell me where you want me.”

He gestures toward the floor near the window where the light cuts in strong and clean. “There. Knees up. Just lean back on your hands.”

You settle into the pose, feeling a little silly, a little shy. But then he steps closer, lowering the camera for a moment.

“No, not like that,” he murmurs. “Chin up. That’s it. Now relax your mouth—yeah, like that.”

His fingers brush along your jaw to adjust the angle. Then lower, tracing a line from your throat to your collarbone.

He clicks the shutter.

You try to hide your shiver. “You’re not even looking at the pictures.”

“I’m looking at you,” he says, voice low.

Another shutter click.

He crouches down in front of you now, so close you can feel his breath. The lens barely a foot from your face. “This one’s just for me,” he says. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily.

“Sunghoon…”

He looks over the lens at you again, heat simmering in his gaze. “You like this. Knowing I’m the only one who’ll ever have this version of you.”

You swallow hard, voice quieter. “I do.”

He lowers the camera entirely now. “Good.”

You're still seated where he posed you, but your breathing has shifted — shallow, anticipatory.

Sunghoon sets the camera down on the nearby chair, but doesn’t move away. His fingers skim your jaw again, softer this time, trailing along the column of your throat.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Flushed everywhere.”

You feel it too — the heat that’s crawled up your chest, painted across your cheeks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, trying to sound annoyed. It comes out breathless.

“Can’t,” he says simply. “You let me have this. You don’t get to complain now.”

Your stomach tightens at the word have.

He brushes your hair back over your shoulder, exposing your collarbone, your bare leg tucked under you. His eyes never stray far from your face — as if every shift of your expression matters.

“Why are you looking at me like I’m going to vanish?” you murmur.

His jaw ticks. “Because you might.”

You blink, thrown by the admission.

He cups your face with both hands now, firm but gentle, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Do you even understand what you’re doing to me?” His voice is velvet-wrapped steel. “You let me take care of you. Let me see you like this. I don’t just want you anymore, sweetheart. I need you.”

Your lips part but you don’t know what to say. The gravity in his voice, in his touch—it hits you low, deep. And the wildest part?

You love it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmur, but lean into his hands anyway.

“Why not?” he asks, brushing his nose along yours. “You want gentle? I can be gentle. You want rough, you just have to say the word. But don’t ask me to be casual.”

He shifts to sit behind you, legs bracketing your body as he draws you against his chest, palms slowly smoothing over your bare thighs.

“I’m not sharing,” he says quietly against your ear. “Not your body. Not your time. Not your smile.”

You tilt your head back against him, eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re getting worse,” you whisper, teasing, but there’s no real fight in it.

“I know,” he says, dragging his mouth along your shoulder. “And you love it.”

And you do.

God, you do.

You feel him smile against your skin — slow and smug — before he lifts the camera again, his fingers adjusting the lens like it’s second nature.

“Let’s try something,” he murmurs, tone deceptively casual. “Lean forward for me a little. Just rest on your hands.”

You obey, your palms flattening on the hardwood floor in front of you, back arching slightly. He hums in approval behind you, one large hand gliding up your spine to encourage the motion further.

“Good girl. Now—eyes here.”

You glance over your shoulder, and the click of the shutter follows instantly.

“Perfect,” he praises, the warmth in his voice making your stomach flutter. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me like this.”

“You’re the one making me do it,” you mumble, flushed.

“Correction,” he says, lowering the camera slightly. “I’m just helping you play.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips out — breathless, soft. “Play, huh?”

He shifts behind you, one hand pressing lightly to the small of your back. “Mm. Sit up again. Just like before. Keep your knees bent, feet tucked close.”

You adjust, trying not to overthink it — but then his hands slide along your inner thighs to reposition them just slightly wider. Your breath catches.

“Yeah, like that,” he says lowly. “That’s the shot.”

You swallow, your skin prickling with awareness as you feel how close he is, how warm his breath is at your neck again.

“Smile for me,” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You try — you really do — but it comes out more like a shy smirk.

Click.

He lowers the camera, lips ghosting near your ear. “Now lose the shirt.”

Your head turns sharply, eyes wide.

His voice is gentle, coaxing. “Just turn your back to me. Let me see your skin. Nothing I haven’t already memorized.”

The way he says it makes your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to,” he adds, though his fingers are already curling at the hem of the shirt.

You pause for a second, then slowly unbutton it, letting it fall down your shoulders, your back remaining to him as he asked.

He draws in a slow, audible breath. “You’re so good like this,” he says. “Soft. Obedient. Trusting.”

Your whole body hums.

He sets the camera down now, forgotten. His hands trail up your sides, slow and reverent. You lean back into him without thinking, and he wraps his arms around your middle, drawing you flush against his chest again.

“You really like taking pictures of me,” you whisper, dazed.

“No,” he says into your hair. “I like proof that you’re mine.”

You bite your lip, a warm ache blooming in your chest at the quiet, possessive honesty in his tone.

“Now,” he murmurs, lips brushing the edge of your jaw, “let’s play a little more.”

Then his phone buzzes. Sunghoon frowns as he checks the screen “it’s Jihoon.”

You freeze. Sunghoon answers. His tone shifts, cool and calm. You hear Jihoon’s muffled apologies to his dad through the phone, “I shouldn't have blown up like that… I can pick her up Sunday, give you both some space.”

You watch Sunghoon, waiting for the guilt to hit you. It never does. You watch the serious look on Sunghoon’s face, the way his jaw clenches. You bring a hand between your thighs, shifting your weight on it for just a second. Just to relieve a bit pressure.

Then you drop on all fours, waiting for him to look at you. When he does you crawl to him, sitting yourself in his lap. Sunghoon wraps an arm around you, thinking you want to cuddle because you feel bad.

But instead you pull his shirt up, hands exploring the strong and toned frame. You shift closer, crotch directly on his half hard dick.

Sunghoon shoots you a look. A warning.

But you continue, pressing your lips on his jaw. Sunghoon hisses when your finger traces his nipple, the hold around you tightens. And you can tell he is getting hard. And mad.

 “You said we had all day,” you seductively whisper in his free ear.

He clears his throat. Tries to keep talking to Jihoon, but his voice shakes slightly. You don’t listen to their conversation until your name is mentioned again.

“Anyway. You’ll bring her back, right?” you hear Jihoon ask Sunghoon. You tentatively roll your hips, pressing your pussy on him.

Sunghoon is deadly calm, as he speaks in a strained voice, his hand griping the phone, knuckles white.

“Yeah. I’ll handle her, I mean I’ll see she comes to the city safely.”

Then he hangs up mid-sentence, tosses the phone onto the sofa, as he grabs your jaw, clearly mad.

“You really don’t care about playing nice, do you?” he scolds, pushing you back and forth on his lap, fully hard now.

“You started it,” you whisper, shameless as you moan. “Please Hoonie, I want more,” you beg, fisting his shirt.

“Yeah? You like it when Mr. Park lets you play?” he asks, voice deep. He lets you hump yourself against him just watching you, gaze serious, brows furrowed slightly. But you don’t notice.  

“Mhm,” you say blissfully. Hugging him to you, your tits press against his chest and he twitches.

Sunghoon sneaks his hands between the two of you, pulling his cock out.

“But you haven’t been playing nice, doll” he tells you and lands a smack against your ass.

You cling to him, position yourself so your clothed pussy is touching his dick. Mewls turn into whimpers as pushes you off of him.

“Come here,” he tells you, seating himself on the sofa, legs spread. His hand is on his dick, lids heavy as he watches you.

“No, not like that” he scolds, “crawl like you did before.”

You clench around nothing as you go on all fours, padding towards him. Eyes on his dick, when he sees your gaze he teases you. Gripping his cock, lip caught between his teeth as he strokes himself.

You stop at his feet and Sunghoon pulls you up by your upper arms, bending you over his lap. He roughly pulls your panties off and you clench when the cold air hits your wet pussy.

“You think it’s funny? Grinding on me while I’m talking to him?” Sunghoon asks, voice low as he rubs your exposed ass, touch deceptively soft.

He spanks you again, a sharp clap of sound that makes you whimper.

“Do you know what you sounded like? Panting into my neck while I’m trying to keep my voice steady?” he continues, fondling your ass as he speaks before he lands another spank on your pink ass. This one harder, the sting makes you hiss upon impact.

“Princess. That wasn’t cute. That was reckless,” he scolds you, hand resting on your lower back.

You wriggle, needy for his touch and he lets out a laughs. He grabs your hips, stilling you.

“Don’t squirm like that unless you want more,” he says, breathing hard. And you feel his dick poking you, can feel the precum leaking onto you where his dick presses into your plush skin.

He runs his hand over the curve of your ass in a brief caress, before another sharp slap lands.

“Making me hard while I’m talking to your boyfriend. Is that what you wanted?” he asks, breathless. Then in three quick succession slap, slap, slap.

But you liked being punished, so you test his patience, teasing “you were already hard before I moved.”

“And now look what you’ve earned. Mr. Park can’t even take one call without his little one acting up,” he growls, spanking you once again and your ass is starting to hurt. But you invite the pain, lean into the sting as your thighs rub together.

He leans close to you, lips brushing your ear, “you think I won’t punish you just because you’re cute? Think again, baby,” he slowly speaks, possessively.

He pulls you up and you cringe, your ass sensitive from the spanking. It hurts to sit down on him and you lift on your feet hovering over him in a crouching position.

Sunghoon just watches you amused, but then. He rubs his dick against your pussy. You sigh, looking down and watch as he wedges it between your lips.

“Such a pretty thing, just for me, for your Hoonie,” he breathes in a daze.

You nod, clenching down around nothing as you watch Sunghoon rub his dick on your pussy, spreading your wetness all over himself.

You softly moan when he pushes past your tight entrance, “want more,” you grind. Pushing down you sit yourself on him and Sunghoon brings you close to him by your hips.

His lips find yours in a surprisingly soft kiss, as you start to grind. Pushing up and down, slowly in an uneven rhythm.

You’re already a whining mess, your eyes shut as you let Sunghoon kiss you. He slips his tongue in your mouth and you’re like putty in his hands.

He plays with you, hands over your boobs, pinching and scratching lightly. You’re numb with pleasure, cock drunk as your Hoonie starts thrusting upwards.

You come undone at the same time, orgasm crashing into you in strong waves. Sunghoon watches you, and you don’t notice when he reaches for his phone, snapping another photo of you looking so small and so sexy on him as you come undone.

You collapse against his chest, body boneless, breath hitching as the aftershocks ripple through you. He’s still buried deep, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s anchoring you to earth.

You’re only just coming back to yourself when you hear the shutter click.

Your head jerks up, eyes wide. “Did you just—?”

He smirks, absolutely unapologetic as he shows you the photo: you, flushed and undone, mouth parted, nails dug into his forearm. “Couldn’t help myself. Look at you,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know how good you look when you fall apart.”

You swat weakly at his shoulder, more flustered than angry. “You’re insane.”

“Mm,” he hums, kissing your temple. “over you.”

He pulls out slowly, groaning at the mess you’ve both made, and then scoops you up like it’s nothing. You squeak in protest.

“Put me down!”

“No,” he says simply. “You can barely stand. That was the point.”

You hide your face in his neck, skin still burning. He takes you upstairs.

Once inside the bedroom, he lays you gently on your stomach, palms trailing down the backs of your thighs before he pulls away. The bed shifts with his weight, and then you hear him rummaging softly through a drawer.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Just stay right there.”

You glance over your shoulder, lids heavy, and catch the glint of a container in his hand. Vaseline.

Your stomach flips.

You flinch slightly as the cold ointment hits your skin. “Ah—” “I know,” he says softly, stroking it in with care. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

His fingers massage it in slowly, deliberately. Tender, as though undoing the sting of every sharp smack from earlier. “You’re red,” he mutters under his breath, thumb brushing a particularly sore patch. “Should’ve gone easier.”

“No,” you mumble. “You were perfect.”

A beat. His hand pauses.

“You always say the filthiest things, and then turn around and say shit like that.” He leans in, pressing a long kiss to the base of your spine. “Gonna ruin me.”

You hum in response, half asleep already.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟

A Bit Later… You wake to the soft crinkle of blankets on the living room floor.

Sunghoon’s back from the kitchen, a tray in hand — cut fruit, chocolate, a bottle of wine, and a heating pad that he doesn’t say anything about, just plugs in and tucks gently under your thighs when you sit down with a tiny wince.

You’re wrapped in one of his hoodies now. No underwear. He let you keep it.

The music playing is soft and dreamy. Something instrumental. The air smells like strawberries and lavender soap.

Sunghoon sits beside you, legs spread lazily, shirt halfway buttoned and sleeves rolled to the elbow. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but sharp — always watching.

You curl up beside him again. He opens his arm and pulls you in without asking.

“You good, baby?” he asks, brushing a knuckle under your jaw. “Mhm,” you whisper, nuzzling into his chest. “Warm.”

He presses a kiss to your hairline. “You did so well today. My good girl.”

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt. The compliment sinks deep — deeper than it should.

“I like it when you take care of me,” you murmur.

He exhales through his nose, tipping his head back. “Yeah. I know you do.”

A few moments pass in comfortable silence.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you ask, quieter. “Me being like this?”

Sunghoon shifts to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His expression is unreadable at first — then softens.

“No,” he says. “I think it’s perfect.”

You hold his gaze for a beat too long.

Then you speak, even softer.

“You’ll spoil me.”

He smirks faintly. “That’s the plan.”

And spoil you, he does.

You spend the day camped out on the living room floor, a makeshift indoor picnic laid over the throw blankets and couch cushions Sunghoon pulled down with quiet intention. There’s a soft jazz record playing in the background and between bites of fruit and chocolate, he feeds you with his fingers, eyes never straying far from your mouth.

At some point you curl up in his lap with a glass of wine, and he reads to you from whatever book you pulled off his shelf, voice smooth and low in your ear. The sunlight drifts lazily across the floorboards. You don’t notice how much time passes — just that it feels suspended. Like nothing outside this cabin exists.

He’s good at that — creating small, perfect worlds for you to collapse into.

Sunghoon’s fingers stroke idle lines across your lower back. You feel him breathe. Slow. Anchored.

Neither of you says much. There’s no need.

Eventually, he murmurs, “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”

You nod against his neck, already half-asleep, letting him guide you. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You wake in his bed again, the morning sunlight streaming in.

Sunghoon’s already dressed, sitting behind you with his legs spread, guiding a comb gently through your hair. You’re settled between his thighs, back to his chest, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“You always wake up first,” you mumble.

“I like watching you sleep,” he says, not missing a beat.

The comb glides through another section. “It’s calming,” he adds. “You look like you trust me.”

“I do.”

He pauses at that — just a beat — then keeps combing, slower now.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the hush of the room, the smell of his cologne clinging to the shirt you still haven’t given back, the lazy warmth of early sun.

Then he speaks again, voice low beside your ear. “Finish waking up, sweetheart. We’ve got a place to be.”

You shift slightly, eyes cracking open. “Where are you taking me?”

“The lake.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “We’re leaving in an hour. I packed wine. Fruit. Towels. Blanket.”

You turn in his lap to face him, grinning now, suddenly wide awake. “You planned a date?”

His smile matches yours. “You deserve one. A real one. No interruptions. No guilt. Just you and me.”

You stretch your arms up, still nestled between his thighs. “Guess I better get ready, Mr. Park.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty,” he says, but doesn’t let go just yet — he pulls you in for a slow, warm kiss first.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

Sunlight sparkles off the water. A breeze rolls across the dock. Everything is golden and quiet and slow.

You’re both barefoot on the wooden planks, dripping after a swim, wrapped in towels and each other. Sunghoon hands you a slice of peach. You feed him the next one.

For a while, you just lie there on the blanket, the world held at bay.

Then you speak. “It’s weird to think this ends tomorrow.”

Sunghoon’s quiet for a second, “it doesn’t have to.”

You blink over at him.

“We go back,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean we go back to how things were. I don’t want to.”

You trace a finger over his forearm. “Me either.”

He watches you. “This wasn’t a fling for me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” You sit up, eyes on the water now. “It wasn’t for me either. And... I want more.”

There’s a stretch of silence that isn’t uncomfortable — just real.

Then Sunghoon speaks, voice gentle but unwavering. “Jihoon didn’t just leave you here. He left you alone for a long time before that.”

You inhale through your nose. It hurts — but it’s true.

“He didn’t protect you. He didn’t see you,” Sunghoon adds. “But I do.”

You turn to him. “And I see you, too. I don’t want to sneak around or feel guilty. I want to be with you.”

His hand slides around your thigh. “Then be with me.”

You nod. “Okay.”

It’s said so simply. Like it was always going to happen this way.

The air is warm, the late morning sun painting everything golden. You’re both still sticky with fruit juice and the tipsiness of wine-soft smiles when Sunghoon eyes you sideways.

“You’ve got that look,” you say warily.

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re about to do something stupid.”

He grins. “I’m hurt. This is going to be very dignified.”

“You’re literally crouching like a cartoon villain.”

“Princess, I’m just trying to bring balance to the universe.”

“What does that even mean—Sunghoon—!”

But he’s already lunging.

You shriek and take off across the dock, laughing so hard your legs barely move straight. He’s right behind you, water splashing around your ankles as you try to dodge.

“You’re gonna pay for this!”

“For what?! Being charming?!”

“For splattering me with peach juice!”

He grabs you around the waist, and the two of you topple into the lake in a messy, dramatic splash. The water is cold but refreshing, and when you surface, hair plastered to your face, you’re both wheezing with laughter.

“You look like a drowned kitten,” he says, absolutely delighted.

“Rude. And you look like you just lost a shampoo commercial.”

You splash him in the face before he can respond.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

You flail as he comes after you, hands trying to grab your ankles underwater. There’s shrieking. More splashing. You push his head under once — a bold move — and he resurfaces with water dripping down his lashes, mock-offended.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“You love me,” you say smugly, swimming just out of reach.

He lunges. “Not if you keep talking like that—!”

Eventually you give in, breathless, letting him pull you close in the center of the lake. His arms wind around your waist, and you float there together, the water gently rocking your bodies.

Your laughter fades into warm quiet, cheek resting against his damp shoulder.

“I haven’t laughed like that in forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon presses a kiss to your hair. “Same.”

Later, you walk back to the cabin hand in hand, skin sun-warmed and soft from the lake. He carries the towels; you carry the last of the fruit. Everything about it feels easy. Shared.

The next morning, the day of going back home, you pull your suitcase out from under the bed, still in one of his shirts.

Sunghoon’s already halfway through folding your clothes for you, methodical and quiet, each movement precise. You watch him for a moment—brows furrowed, fingers smoothing fabric—and grin sleepily.

“You always like playing house this much?”

He looks up. “What?”

“You fold clothes like a husband,” you tease, nudging his foot with yours.

He chuckles but doesn’t stop. “And you wear my shirts like my wife.”

You hum, walking over and leaning your head on his shoulder. His hand reaches for your waist, grounding. A soft forehead kiss follows, like it’s instinct now.

As you zip your duffel shut, you notice something nestled inside: his hoodie, a polaroid, and a paperback novel you’d been eyeing on the cabin shelf.

You blink. “You packed these?”

Sunghoon shrugs, brushing your arm as he walks by. “Now you have to come back.”

You look up at him. “Don’t worry,” you say, voice light but sure. “I’m not going anywhere.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

In the car, the playlist is a mix of both your tastes. It’s playing low as the trees blur past outside. You’re curled in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, humming to the music. You catch him looking at you at a red light, when you’ve reached the civilization again.

“What?” you ask.

“Just wondering if you’re gonna pretend you’re too cool to be seen with me after I drop you off.”

You scoff. “We literally live twenty minutes apart.”

He smirks. “Fifteen if I drive like a crazy person, which I am for you,” he says, hand resting on your thigh as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building, turning the ignition off.

You share a deep kiss, your hands cupping his jaw, his on the back of your neck. He pulls away first, flushed cheeks and breathing heavy.

He taps your thigh gently. “Come on, let me carry your suitcase up.”

You roll your eyes but smile, as he unlocks the car door. “You just want an excuse to come upstairs.”

“Maybe I just want to make sure you get inside safe,” he says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase with one hand and slinging your tote bag over his shoulder with the other. “Can’t help it. I’m responsible.”

You snort. “Husband behavior.”

Sunghoon smirks. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

“You better not be serious,” you deadpan, nudging him with your shoulder as you both head inside.

Once inside your apartment, you toe off your shoes and flick on the lights while Sunghoon sets your suitcase neatly by the couch. Everything looks a little dustier than you remembered. Like your old life is already softening around the edges.

“Wanna eat something before you go?” you ask as you scroll for the takeout app.

“I already ordered,” he says, smug, showing you his phone. “It’s on the way.”

You blink. “You ordered for both of us?”

He shrugs, casually leaning against your counter. “Figured you’d be too tired to cook after all the swimming... and making out.”

“Wow.” You press a hand to your chest, feigning shock. “Romantic and cocky.”

He winks.

The food arrives, and the two of you eat cross-legged on the floor, a movie playing low in the background. It’s peaceful. Cozy. But there’s something pressing in the air, unspoken but understood. When the containers are empty and the credits start to roll, Sunghoon doesn’t make a move to linger.

He leans in to kiss your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Call me after.”

You nod, eyes soft.

“I mean it,” he says, gaze holding yours. “Even if it’s late.”

You stand at the door, still barefoot, as he walks out. You watch until the elevator closes.

The apartment feels quieter now. Still carrying the scent of him.

You don’t hesitate as you find his contact in your phone and press call.

The knock at your door comes later than expected. You open it to find Jihoon standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hood pulled up despite the heat. His eyes flick over your body—still wearing one of Sunghoon’s shirts—and narrow.

“Nice shirt,” he mutters, already walking past you into the apartment without being invited. “You two playing house now, or what?”

You don’t react. “There’s a box with your stuff in the hall closet.”

That stops him mid-step.

“What?”

You don’t flinch. “Take it. We’re done.”

He laughs. Sharp, disbelieving. “You’re breaking up with me now? After going off-grid for nearly a week? With my dad?”

“Jihoon.”

“No, seriously,” he says, throwing his arms out. “You disappear, don’t answer your phone, and when I do call, you’re suddenly all buddy-buddy with him? You think I’m an idiot?”

“I’m not doing this with you,” you say, voice still calm but harder now. “You made your choices when you left me there without a second thought. And now I’m making mine.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You’re seriously choosing him? You couldn’t keep it in your pants for five days?”

“I think we both know you stopped loving me long before I ever looked twice at him.”

That hits. His jaw tightens.

“I waited,” you say quietly. “I tried. But you kept treating me like an inconvenience. Like I was always too much or not enough, depending on your mood.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, breathing uneven.

You point toward the closet. “Your stuff’s in there. Take it and go.”

“You’re not even gonna pretend to be sorry about any of this?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m not.”

Jihoon exhales hard, scoffing again, then yanks open the closet door. Grabs the box. He pauses at the threshold, glaring at you like it’ll change something.

“You’ll regret this,” he mutters. “When he gets bored of you.”

You meet his eyes, steady. “I won’t.”

And then—finally—he leaves.

The door closes with a quiet finality.

This time, it stays closed. You go into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, heart still beating steady and slow — not from nerves, but from clarity.

It’s done.

The apartment is quiet now. His box is gone. The door’s locked. You’re still wearing Sunghoon’s shirt.

You thumb open your messages first, but after a moment’s hesitation, you press call instead. He picks up before the first full ring.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, voice low and warm.

You let out a soft breath. “It’s done.”

A pause. Then, “You okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. I think I’ve been okay for a while, actually.”

Another beat of quiet, and then you hear his exhale — relieved, grounding.

“I wanted to do it face-to-face,” you add. “…didn’t go too well, I might have been too honest.”

“You didn’t owe him anything past your truth,” Sunghoon murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”

Your lips curve into a smile. “You always say the right thing.”

“I try,” he teases gently.

There’s a beat. You hear movement on his end. Maybe he’s in bed. Maybe pacing.

“I can come over,” he offers. “If you want.”

“I do,” you say, no hesitation. “But… no rush. Just knowing you’re there is enough.”

He hums, and you can almost feel his smile through the line.

“You were never too much, you know,” he says. “You’re just the right amount for me.”

That gets you. You blink hard. “Sunghoon…”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get cocky just because you’re my boyfriend now.”

He chuckles. “Not cocky. Just… grateful.”

You both fall quiet again, but it’s the good kind. The safe kind.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says.

“I might just fall asleep on the phone with you.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed, sweetheart.”

You breathe in slow, gaze drifting to the camera polaroid he left in your bag — the one of you in his shirt, bare-legged, smiling like you already knew this was how it would end.

Or maybe, how it would begin.

“Goodnight, Mr. Park.”

You hear his smile in the dark.

“Goodnight, babygirl.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

🦭ིྀA/N: thank you for reading !!! I struggled so much with the first scene because it’s literally the two things I hate most: fighting and describing interior lmaoo but once I was past that it was super fun, hope everyone enjoyed reading (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

[writerinthewoods05]

Shadows and Snow Angels

Chapter 1 - A little bundle

Azriel x Reader, Azriel x child OCs

Normally when your mate Azriel comes home from the camps and asks you not to get mad it's because he brought home another wounded animal, not a baby boy...

Word count: 1.4k

💕 💔

Requested: Sorta. This prompt wasn't requested to me per se, but I saw @romantasyreader28 made a post wanting someone to write it and it inspired me.

If you don't like what your reading click off!

Series warnings: past emotional abuse, past physical abuse, past emotional trauma, non explicit thoughts of suicide, depression, parental doubt, child abandonment, past child abandonment, brief talk of past pregnancy. no details mentioned, mention of non explicit SA. Every chapter will be individually tagged.

Author's note: I just wanted to say that this prompt pulled me out of a really bad writing slump after my co-writer/biscuit making master childhood kitty unfortunately passed about 2 months ago. So thank you @romantasyreader28, this story really helped me get back into writing and I hope you really enjoy it. It did deviate slightly from your original prompt but I hope that the fact that this will be a series makes up for it. Enjoy!

Author's note 2: hey so I lied, I got a boost of energy and actually finished this early, so I'm only 1 day late. I'm going to try and put a fic or drabble out every Friday but please be aware I'm in the middle of moving so if I miss a day or am late, it's probably for good reason.

Chapter warnings: brief talk of past child abandonment, non explicit memories of child abuse, brief mention of being pregnant, implied SA, some cursing but not much.

See normally when your mate Azriel comes home from the camps and asks you not to be mad, it's because he brought home another wounded animal, not a baby boy...

"Please don't be upset, Devlon said that if someone didn't take him then he was going to send him off to another camp and he would end up just like Cass... I couldn't just leave him like that." His Shadows reached out to you invitingly, curling and spinning like they were excited. "Love, please say something..."

Your mate never rambled, it wasn't in his nature and that's what shocked you the most to be honest. So you sat where you were on the couch, mid bite of pizza, trying to figure out if he actually adopted a baby without telling you, or if he just decided to babysit Nyx for the night and is pranking you. No, no he definitely adopted a baby and didn't tell you, that sounds about right for him.

"Azriel, tell me that this is a prank and that, THAT little boy is just our nephew in a table cloth..." You set down your plate of food and walked over to your mate, Shadows now running up your back and sitting on your shoulders calmly. You knew, you just had a feeling in your gut that he was not just joking around.

Azriel was clutching the small bundle to his chest as if it would disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. You came and pulled back the fabric to see a small Illyrian infant tightly wrapped in a tattered excuse of a baby blanket. You gasped and clapped a hand over your mouth as you saw the most precious little thing, he had no clothes but the blanket. A lithe inky Shadow jumped from your hand and into the little boy. It nuzzled his cheek lovingly before returning to rest under your mates wing.

You scooped the baby up out of Azriels arms before he could react and practically ran upstairs to the nursery. You quickly set him on the changing table and unfurled the raggy fabric. The poor thing didn't even have a diaper just mess of fabric pinned against him. You didn't have to even leave the changing station seeing as the shadows that followed you up the stairs had a clean garment waiting right next to you. As you were changing him into a fresh, actual diaper, you heard Azriel's footsteps coming up the stairs behind you.

"Babe, I know that you have a perfectly reasonable explanation but your timing is kind of horrible Azzie..." You said only half joking as you handed him the baby back gently and grabbed the nearest actual blanket to wrap around him snuggly. You quickly ran to dress your sleeping baby girl is some warm clothes and a blanket too. Barely 2 weeks old and the little Astrid was already mixed into the family drama.

"Where are we going?" Azriel asked tentatively. He was holding the baby like a statue, only holding him right because of how you handed him over. Azriel's Shadows swarmed Astrid the moment you set her down to go nuzzle and love on her. You had taught them to be careful to not completely smother her. It was said that a Shadowsinger's Shadows would only listen to their master. Maybe it was the mating bond, maybe they just liked you but sometimes it seemed that the inky void that shrouds your mate, liked you better.

"Az, you know how to hold a baby, you know cuz your and Uncle... And a Father..." You set your still sleeping daughter back in her crib for a moment and padded over and cradle your mates face in your hand, your other intertwined with his scared one gently. "I'm not mad at you. Just, you do realize that we've only had Astrid for a couple of weeks and now... Raising two infants at once isnt easy. i mean look at a your brother. Rhys is one of the most put together males I know and he's been a reck with only Nyx to worry about."

"I know, and I'm sorry for not telling you. I was afraid if I didn't bring him home now Devlon might have sent him off before I could get back." Azriels shoulders seemed to finally relax a shadow falling from his mess of curls to sit around his neck calming. His grip on the swaddled little one became natural again. "You still didn't tell me where we are going, it past 1 in the morning."

You picked up Astrid, shooing away the inky void that doted on her constantly and walked to your bedroom to grab your shoes and your coat. Azriel stood in the hallway that lead back downstairs, waiting for you patiently. He was bouncing the little boy in his arms gently, this parental instincts finally coming back to him when the little one started to cry.

"Feyre always said that we could head over to the river house in a time of emergency and I'm declaring 'we just adopted a little boy with no clothes or anything we need to take care for a second baby,' an emergency. She probably still has some clothes that is too small for Nyx laying around, for now at least."

You both decided to walk the short distance to you home to the giant river house. Your daughters wings fluttered at the feel of snowflakes melting on the every so often. You both walked close together, as you usually did, babys in arms, the quiet of velaris washed over the two of you like a blanket. You could feel Azriel's Shadows almost climbing up your legs and coming to rest on your shoulders to admire their masters daughter.

"Ok..." You said slowly your head clearing with the fresh chilled air. "I'm not mad, stressed the fuck out, but I'm not mad.. But I'm going to ask some questions and I need better than 'I don't know', ok?" You needed to hear what happened, as much as it happens, it's rare for a baby to end up with no one and you wanted to know everything about this little life that you were about to add to your family.

Azriel nodded his head, his eyes trailed over the white city. As tense as he always looked, Azriel's Shadows curled up under his wings comfortably. He cradled the infant tightly to his chest, scarred fingers gently played with the edge of the blanket as you both walked. Normally the Shadows would flock to you when you had Astrid but they seemed to have divided, wanting to look over and cuddle both babys.

"Does he have a name?" You start with. As you cross the Sidra you can smell the food coming from the rainbow. You could even hear the faint sound of music booming, Rita's not being far away. You still can't believe that days of going out and partying until sunrise with your family wouldn't be an option for a long, long while.

"Not that I know of." He shrugged, adjusting the blanket so the infants wings fan out comfortably after he started to fuss. The boy seemed to be a calm baby so far but you would be taking him to madja bright and early tomorrow just to make sure nothing was wrong.

"How old is he?"

"Devlon said he's somewhere around 6 months old, but he didn't know specifics. He just said that his father was killed in the blood rite this year and his mother was... Like I said, he would have been just another Cass..." He bounced the little boy in his arms, more to soothe himself than the baby. "I just..."

You shook your hands before he could continue. Your blood boiled in your veins, and you had to take multiple deep breaths to keep from crying. You loved your mate dearly, and his brothers were your family, the best you could have asked for but Illyrians in general made you so angry most of the time! They treat females like property and they steal them just the same. Then the female gets shamed for being pregnant without a husband or killed seems like in this case it was the latter... If he really was like Cass, you prayed to the Cauldron that his mother had a peaceful second life after what she no doubt endured.

"Well, if we're going to keep him, he's going to need a name." You said with a smile as you neared the side walk that lead up to the river house. Your mate had the biggest heart and the kindest soul, you didn't care what anyone said, you knew him best. This male brought home countless animals so he could nurse them back to health. He always made sure that nothing bad happened to those animals. He would buy medicine and bandages and countless other things to try and heal them and if they didn't make it, they earned a spot in your backyard with the other rainbow pets, as Azriel likes to call them. If the Mother sent him a baby then she meant for us to be the ones to love him.

Azriel thought for a bit. He only looked up once we stood at the front door of his brother's home.

"What about Rhain?" A shadow flew up and wrapped around the door knocker, knocking loudly before returning to your mates shoulder.

"Why Rhain?" You asked before knocking again louder this time before you saw a light turn on inside meaning you got somes attention.

Azriel shrugged his shoulders and shook his head with the smallest smile coming to rest over his face. He looked down at the bundled little baby with a fondness you only seen him show to your daughter. You heard shuffling on the other side of the door and smiled at your mate before your brother in law opened the door, looking very much worse for wear.

"Rhain it is."

FYI Rhain, pronounced Rain or Rine, either is fine means strength, power, resistance, and potential. It also means 'the spear' in Welsh.

If you want to be added to the tag list or would like to be added to the tag list for the series masterlist plz comment or dm me and I'll add you.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope that you enjoyed!

Taglist

@romantasyreader28 @mulansaucey @jennnsthings @6v6babycheese @mich0731 @starlightandsouls @ohemgeewhat @littlelunatica @icey--stars @paleidiot @jir67 @celestialamore @rcarbo1

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: You Always Have

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader, Reader x OC

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Toxic behavior, manipulation, cheating, swearing, heavy angst, intense emotions, suggestive content, sex

Word count: 5k+

Summary: What Paige wants Paige gets… even when she’s in the wrong…

🏷️: @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

It had been two weeks since I walked out on Paige, and honestly, I hadn’t looked back. It was hard to leave her, considering everything we had been through, but I knew I deserved better.

It was the right thing to do. Paige cheated on me—not once, but multiple times—and no amount of apologies or “I was drunk” excuses could fix that. I couldn’t keep playing the fool. Not anymore.

I was at a party, trying to enjoy myself, keeping my mind off everything, when KK found me. She slipped through the crowd, wearing that familiar apologetic look she always did when it came to Paige’s mess. She nudged me, an awkward smile on her face.

“Yo, she really misses you,” KK said, scratching the back of her neck like she was nervous. “Paige’s been asking about you non-stop. You should talk to her.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes at her. After everything, Paige was the last person I wanted to hear from. But I couldn’t deny that her words hit me like a sharp pang in my chest. Did Paige really miss me? Or was this just another act in her endless manipulation games?

“Why does she need you to come talk to me?” I asked, arms crossed over my chest, raising an eyebrow at KK.

“Look, I’m just trying to help,” she said. “She’s a wreck without you. I can’t make her stop calling me about you.”

I let out a dry laugh. “She had her chance. She blew it.”

KK winced but didn’t push further. “Okay, but think about it. Paige is at her place. She’s just… trying to make things right.”

I took a deep breath, feeling a familiar warmth spread through my chest despite myself. I hated that I still cared, even after everything. But I wasn’t weak anymore. I wasn’t the girl who put up with Paige’s bullshit. I was stronger now.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to sound neutral, but deep down, I knew I was already leaning toward going.

By the time I showed up at Paige’s apartment, I had convinced myself that it would be a short visit. I was just going to hear her out, let her apologize, and then leave. No strings attached. I wasn’t going to fall for her games again.

But when she opened the door, I felt my heart skip a beat. Paige looked… different. She had this look in her eyes, a mix of vulnerability and regret. And god, she was still beautiful. My pulse quickened.

“Can I come in?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Paige stepped aside, letting me walk past her into the apartment. The air between us was thick with tension, and I could feel the ghosts of our past lingering in every corner of the room.

The couch, where we used to cuddle for hours. The kitchen, where we shared countless meals. The bedroom—God, don’t even get me started.

“I know I fucked up,” Paige started, her voice hoarse. “I’ve been a terrible person to you. But you were my everything, and I messed that up. Please, just give me a chance.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I crossed my arms and looked at her, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between us. There was a time when I would’ve forgiven her without question, but I wasn’t that girl anymore.

“You know you don’t just get to walk back into my life like nothing happened,” I said, my voice cold. “You cheated on me. You broke my trust. Do you even know how much that hurts?”

She took a step toward me, her eyes pleading. “I do. I do, and I regret it every damn day. I’m sorry, more than you’ll ever understand. I just want us back. I don’t want to lose you.”

I bit my lip, trying to fight the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. But I couldn’t ignore the pull, the magnetic force that always seemed to draw me back to her. Even now, despite the pain, I still wanted her.

And maybe that was why, when she leaned in slowly, her lips brushing against mine in a gentle kiss, I didn’t pull away. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both testing the waters again. But the more I kissed her, the harder it became to hold onto the walls I’d spent the last two weeks building.

Before I knew it, the kiss deepened, and for a moment, I forgot everything. I forgot about the hurt. I forgot about the lies. All I could focus on was Paige and the feeling of her lips on mine, the warmth of her body pressing into mine.

But just as quickly as it started, I pulled away, my chest heaving. Paige’s eyes were wide, filled with confusion and hope.

“I’m sorry, Paige. I can’t do this,” I whispered, taking a step back. “This isn’t what I need. Not anymore.”

I turned to leave, walking quickly toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest. Paige didn’t try to stop me. She just stood there, staring after me in silence.

Five months later, I had moved on. I was dating someone else now—someone who treated me right, someone who respected me and my boundaries. But the shadow of Paige still hung over me, especially when I ran into her one night at a party. She was standing across the room with her friends, laughing and looking like she had everything under control.

I didn’t expect to feel anything when I saw her. But when her eyes met mine, something dark flickered in them. Her gaze didn’t leave mine as I made my way to the bar with my girlfriend, and I knew something was coming.

The next day, my phone blew up with messages from my girlfriend, who had seen the pictures. The ones where it looked like I was with Paige, laughing and standing way too close to each other.

“You told me you were done with her,” my girlfriend’s voice was shaky when she called me. “Why does it look like you’re cheating on me with Paige?”

“Wait, what?” My heart raced as I tried to process what she was saying. “No, it wasn’t like that. It was a setup. Paige—”

“Don’t even,” she interrupted, her voice tinged with hurt. “I can’t believe this. I thought you were over her.”

“I am over her!” I insisted, panicked now. “It was a mistake. You have to believe me.”

But she didn’t. She hung up on me, and I was left standing there, heartbroken, as everything seemed to fall apart.

I didn’t know where else to go, so I found myself outside Paige’s apartment again, my fists clenched as I knocked on the door.

When she opened it, there was no hesitation. I barged inside, anger fueling every step.

“You have no fucking right to ruin my life again, Paige!” I shouted, pacing the room. “You know damn well that was a setup, and you’re the one who orchestrated it!”

Paige didn’t back down. She stood there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips as she watched me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’ve missed you, babe. I know you missed me too. That’s why you’re here.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t set this up!” I yelled, turning to face her. “You manipulated everything. You made sure I’d be caught in the middle of all this.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” she shot back, her eyes darkening with a mix of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, not anymore. You’re mine, and you always will be.”

My chest tightened. “I’m not yours anymore, Paige. I’m done with you.”

But before I could leave, she grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me back toward her. “Don’t walk away from me,” she said, her voice lower now, dangerous. “You know you want this. You always have.”

I tried to pull away, but she was stronger than me. She shoved me against the wall, her lips crashing into mine with an intensity that I couldn’t deny. My body betrayed me as I responded, the heat between us igniting once again. But I wasn’t going to let her win. Not like this.

I broke the kiss, shoving her away. “Fuck you, Paige. I’m not doing this again,” I spat, turning to leave.

But as I opened the door, I heard her voice one last time.

“I’d rather fuck you than anyone else, you know that,” Paige said, her words laced with smirking confidence.

I froze as I felt the heat of Paige’s body close in on me again. The distance between us, so fleeting moments ago, seemed to vanish in an instant.

My back hit the wall with a soft thud, and I gasped, breath caught in my throat as her hand found its way to my jaw. The sensation of her fingers against my skin was electric, sending a jolt straight to my chest, my heart pounding harder with every passing second.

“Don’t,” I tried again, the words almost a whisper, but they were powerless. My chest ached, a dull throb where my emotions collided with all the years of history we shared.

Paige’s smirk never faltered, but her eyes… her eyes held a fire I couldn’t quite read—something dangerous, something raw. She stepped even closer, bringing her body into full contact with mine. I could feel the heat radiating off of her, the undeniable pull between us, no matter how hard I fought it.

“You can’t walk away from me that easily,” she said, voice low and dangerous, her words slipping into the space between us like a threat.

I tried to pull away, but the wall behind me offered no escape. Paige’s free hand came up to rest on my hip, holding me in place. My breath hitched as her lips hovered just inches from mine. I could feel the tremor in her hands as they gripped me, as if she too was struggling to keep control of whatever was unfolding between us.

“You really think you can just throw us away like that?” Paige continued, her voice now a soft growl, a breath against my lips that made my pulse spike. She leaned in just enough for me to feel her proximity, her lips a mere whisper away from mine. “You know you want this. You always have. I can see it in your eyes.”

I tried to stay calm, tried to summon some shred of resistance, but everything inside me screamed to give in. I was caught between the desire to push her away and the instinct to let go, to lose myself in her again.

I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “I can’t keep doing this with you, Paige.”

But then, she pressed her body fully into mine, the weight of her presence suffocating me, her lips brushing against my ear as she spoke again.

“Then why are you still here?” she asked, her tone almost teasing, like she knew exactly what was happening—how my resolve was crumbling under the pressure of everything that had once been so familiar.

Before I could respond, her lips found mine once more, this time more insistent, more demanding. And I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her back. It was a fleeting moment of weakness, a slip, a crack in the armor I’d built around myself.

But as quickly as it started, I pulled away again, my hands pushing against her chest, creating the tiniest gap between us.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling with frustration and longing, my breath shallow. “This isn’t us anymore, Paige. This is just you trying to have control. And I won’t let you.”

Paige’s eyes darkened, a storm flickering behind them. She reached up and cupped my face, her thumb brushing over my bottom lip like she was memorizing the feeling of it.

“Then stop pretending you don’t want this, too,” she said, her voice thick with something dangerous. “You think you can just walk away from me? That easy? After everything we’ve been through?”

Her words hung in the air, an unspoken truth between us. I hated how they made my stomach flip, how they made my resolve waver. But I couldn’t let her win. Not this time.

“I’m not yours anymore, Paige,” I said, my voice steady now, the weight of my decision crashing down. “I can’t keep letting you drag me through this.”

I pushed her hand away from my jaw, and for a second, she just stared at me—like she couldn’t believe what I was saying, what I was doing.

“I’m done,” I told her, the words leaving my mouth with a finality I hadn’t thought possible.

I shoved past her, but as I reached the door, I felt the sudden press of her palm against the wall beside me, blocking my exit.

“You’re not done with me,” she said, her tone low and dangerous, her breath warm against the side of my neck as she leaned in, her chest pressing against my back.

“Cause, I’ll never be done with you.”

“Seriously Paige, Don’t.”

“Don’t what, baby?” she purred, her voice a husky whisper that sent my pulse into overdrive. “Don’t touch you? Don’t kiss you? Or don’t remind you how good we are together?”

I tried to turn my head away, again, but she cupped my face in her hands, holding me captive. Her thumbs brushed against my cheekbones, a deceptively gentle gesture that belied the fire in her eyes. “I hate me,” I said, the words barely audible.

“I know,” she stated, her voice low and intense. “But I know want me. More than I want to admit.”

And then her mouth was on mine, a searing brand that erased all thought, all resistance. It was a kiss of pure, unadulterated need, a desperate claiming that left me breathless and weak. I tried to fight it, to push her away, but her strength was undeniable, her will unyielding. And deep down, a part of me didn’t want to fight it at all.

Her fingers danced down my body, teasing and tormenting, until they found the hem of my shirt. With a swift tug, it was gone, tossed carelessly to the floor. My bra followed soon after, leaving my breasts bare and aching for her touch.

“Wow, bet she doesn’t get you this wet, like I do, does she?” Paige whispered against my lips, her fingers already found a way of working their magic between my legs.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a coherent thought. My body was a symphony of sensation, every nerve ending screaming for release. A whimper escaped my lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“That’s right, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice thick with lust. “Taking my fingers so well. You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?”

Her words were like a whip, lashing against my skin, igniting a firestorm of desire. I bucked against her hand, desperate for more, my body betraying every ounce of resistance I had left.

“Come on, baby,” she urged, her fingers relentless. “Cum for me. Cum on my hands.”

I gasped for breath, my body trembling in the aftermath. Paige continued to stroke me until the last shudders subsided. Then, she pulled her hand away, her fingers slick with my juices.

“Good girl,” she murmured, licking her fingers clean.

Before I could protest, she tossed me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I yelped in surprise, my head spinning as she carried me down the hall. She kicked the bedroom door shut with her foot, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

She dumped me unceremoniously onto the bed, her eyes never leaving mine. I scrambled to sit up, but she pinned me down with her hands, her body hovering over mine.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say the word,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

“Fuck you,” I spat, trying to push her away.

But she didn’t budge. Instead, she leaned down and captured my lips in another searing kiss. Her tongue plunged into my mouth, and I found myself responding despite my best intentions.

Her hands roamed over my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She attacked my neck, sucking and biting until I cried out. Then, she moved lower, her mouth latching onto my breasts, teasing my nipples until they were hard and aching.

I moaned, my body arching beneath her touch. She knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed. And I was powerless to resist.

She moved lower still, her tongue tracing a path down my stomach, lower and lower until she reached the apex of my thighs. I gasped as she began to eat me out, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony.

As if she was on a mission, and having me under her was the end game. And it was working more than i wanted to admit.

I cried out, my body convulsing as I came again and again. “Mmm shit, ma that’s the 3rd time, I’ve made you cum only from my fingers and mouth. Alone.”

All I could do was whimper out while nodding head. I had been under Paige for so long, I lost track of time, lost track of everything except the exquisite pleasure that consumed me.

Eventually, finally she pulled away, leaving me gasping for breath, my body slick with sweat. She hovered over me, her eyes dark and possessive.

“You’re mine,” she said, her voice low and husky. “End of the day. You’re mine. I know you and your body more than you know yourself.”

And I knew, in that moment, that she was right. I was hers. Completely and utterly. And I hated her for it. For knowing that she was right.

Without a second thought she hooked the purple strap to her body, its smooth surface gleaming under the dim light of the bedroom. I watched her, my breath catching in my throat as she positioned herself between my legs.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice a low growl.

I nodded, my eyes locked on hers.

She plunged the strap into me, and I cried out, my body arching against the bed. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming, but I found myself craving more.

She thrusted into me at full speed , her hips piston back and forth, driving deeper and deeper inside me. I moaned, my hands gripping the sheets tight enough to rip them.

At some point she used her strength and stamina to flip me over, face down into her satin sheets, testing my limits, exploring my desires.

"Yeah, takin' my dick, like a good lil' slut," she growled, her voice a husky rasp that vibrated through my very core. I didn’t tap out, not even when my legs were shaking and my body felt like jelly.

Each thrust of the strap sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain through my tight cunt, pushing me closer to the precipice of oblivion. My legs trembled, muscles screaming in protest, but yet I refused to yield. I wouldn't tap out. Not yet. Not while Paige held me captive in this exquisite torment.

Her words, laced with dominance and desire, fueled the fire within me. "Oh, I know she doesn't have you feeling this good," she purred, her breath hot against my ear.

"Bet she can't make you cry and fall apart at the same time." A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined the depths of pleasure she promised, the complete and utter surrender she demanded.

Paige's hand left the strap for a moment, and I whimpered in protest, desperate for the rhythm to continue. Instead, she delivered a sharp smack to my ass, the sting a delightful shock that jolted me back to the present.

"Don't you worry, baby," she whispered. "I’ve got you. Right where I want you."

The smacks continued, each one perfectly timed to coincide with the thrusts of the strap, creating a symphony of sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.

And then, she did something completely unexpected. I felt her reach for my phone, which lay discarded on the bed. A moment later, I heard the unmistakable sound of the camera app activating.

"Paige, what are you doing?" I managed to gasp, my voice strained.

"Just capturing the moment," she replied, her voice dripping with amusement. "For posterity."

I could feel the heat of her gaze on my back as she positioned the phone, framing the shot. I knew exactly what she was doing, the image she was creating: me, bent over her bed, completely at her mercy.

And then, she did something even more shocking. I felt the vibrations of the phone as she typed a message, and a moment later, I heard the unmistakable "whoosh" of it being sent.

"What did you do?" I demanded, my voice barely a whisper.

"Sent a little message to your now ex girlfriend," Paige purred. "Just letting her know who you really belong to."

"What did you say?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

Paige leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear. "I just told her that you've always been mine," she whispered. "Even when you're not."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and unspoken desires. I knew that this was a line that couldn't be uncrossed, a point of no return. But as I lay there, pinned beneath her, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Paige resumed her relentless assault, her movements growing more frantic, more desperate. She was taking me apart, piece by piece, stripping away the layers of control and inhibition that I had so carefully constructed.

"That's it," she groaned, her voice thick with passion. "Almost there. Just a little bit more."

I could feel the pressure building inside me, a tightening coil of energy that threatened to explode. My body was trembling uncontrollably, every nerve ending on fire.

My body was a taut string, vibrating with every touch, every word, every movement. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the raw, primal energy that pulsed between us.

Paige continued her assault, her voice a constant stream of filth and praise. She told me how good I felt, how wet I was, how much she loved the way I writhed beneath her touch. Her words were like gasoline on a fire, igniting every nerve ending in my body.

I was teetering on the edge, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around me began to blur, the only reality the feel of Paige's hand on my ass, the pressure of the strap inside me, the sound of her voice in my ear.

"That's it, baby," she urged, sensing my impending release. "Let it go. Let it all go."

With a final, earth-shattering thrust, I shattered. My body convulsed, every muscle contracting in a spasm of pure, unadulterated pleasure. A strangled cry escaped my lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me, obliterating everything in its path.

I was vaguely aware of Paige slowing her movements, her grip on the strap relaxing as she allowed me to ride out the storm. My body trembled, my skin flushed, my mind blank. I was completely and utterly spent, a broken mess of pleasure and exhaustion.

As the aftershocks subsided, Paige gently withdrew the strap, leaving me feeling empty and vulnerable. She straddled my back, her fingers tracing slow, sensuous circles on my skin.

"You were so good, baby," she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. "You took everything I gave you and more."

I moaned softly, burying my face in the satin sheets. I was too weak to speak, too drained to move. All I could do was bask in the afterglow of our encounter, the memory of her touch, her words, her power.

I melted into the soft sheets, the weight of my body sinking deeper as Paige’s hands worked their magic. Each touch seemed to ease the tension that had been building up for days, months even, and I felt the knots in my muscles begin to loosen under her skilled touch.

Her fingers slid over my skin, gentle yet firm, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“Relax, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. “I’ve got you.”

I nodded weakly, my eyelids heavy, fighting the exhaustion that settled over me. There was something about her touch, something familiar and comforting, that made me forget the chaos, the hurt, the arguments.

It made me forget the reasons why I had walked away in the first place. In this moment, all that mattered was the way she made me feel—safe, cared for, even cherished.

But as my mind drifted in and out of clarity, the weight of the past slowly crept back in. The reality of who Paige was, who we were together, hovered like a dark cloud.

I shifted slightly, turning my face toward her, my breath slow but heavy. I could feel my chest rising and falling, but there was a growing heaviness in my heart. Something I couldn’t ignore.

“We’re bad for each other, you know?” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s hand stilled for a moment, but she didn’t pull away. Her thumb brushed over the back of my hand, as if it was the only way she knew how to respond to the weight of my words.

“I know,” she murmured quietly, her words heavy with understanding. “But that doesn’t mean I want to let go, baby.”

I sighed softly, pulling away just enough to meet her gaze. My heart ached with the familiar conflict, the toxic dance we’d been doing for so long. The way she made me feel wanted, cared for, but also how she always seemed to break me down in the process.

“You’re toxic, Paige,” I said, my voice barely above a breath. It felt like the words had been buried inside me for so long, waiting to be released, to be said out loud.

Paige’s lips parted, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t argue. She simply nodded, like she’d expected it.

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes softening with something unreadable. “But I’ll work on it. I promise. I don’t want to lose you.”

I closed my eyes, my chest tightening. I wanted to believe her, I really did. But every part of me screamed that it wasn’t enough. The past weighed too heavily between us, the broken promises, the betrayals. I wasn’t sure if I could ever really trust her again.

“You have to really work on it, Paige,” I said, my voice shaky with the vulnerability I hated showing her. “I can’t keep letting you hurt me.”

She didn’t say anything at first. She just pulled me closer, her lips brushing over the top of my head, her embrace tightening around me. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like a promise, even if I wasn’t sure I could trust it yet.

“Shh,” Paige whispered, her voice a soft hum against my ear. “Just rest, baby. We’ll figure it out.”

I felt my body give in again, the exhaustion creeping back into my bones as she held me, her warmth wrapping around me like a blanket.

But the words still lingered in my mind. We’ll figure it out.

I spent the next few days in a quiet, reluctant haze, unsure of what to do with the mess of emotions I was feeling. I stayed away from Paige, avoiding her calls and texts, keeping my distance like I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt again.

It wasn’t easy.

I hated the silence between us, but I also couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that if I stayed, I’d fall into the same pattern again. We both needed time.

But after a week of avoiding her, I received a message that I couldn’t ignore.

“Please stop avoiding me. I thought we agreed to work on it… I want to work on it with you.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as I read her words. She wanted to try. She wanted to work on it. But was it too late? Could we fix what was broken between us?

I chewed on my lip, staring at the message as conflicting emotions flooded me. I was still angry, still hurt. But part of me missed her—the genuine parts of her, the ones I thought I could trust. I couldn’t deny the pull, the yearning to fix what we had.

Taking a deep breath, I responded, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before I typed back.

“I need time, Paige. I can’t keep letting myself get hurt, but I’m willing to try. But only if you are.”

The message was out before I could second-guess it, and I stared at the screen, feeling a strange sense of relief.

I wasn’t sure what to expect after sending that message. Part of me feared Paige would take my hesitation as rejection and pull away, but another part of me hoped—really hoped—she meant what she said about working on herself.

A week passed before I saw her again. I had buried myself in studying for finals, hoping that the stress of exams would distract me from the constant push and pull of my emotions. It worked, for the most part. But then, on a quiet afternoon in the Homer Babbidge Library, Paige found me.

I was sitting at one of the tables tucked in the corner, headphones in, my notes spread out in front of me. My brain was fried from cramming, and I had just leaned back in my chair to take a deep breath when I noticed her approaching.

She stood there for a moment, hands stuffed into the pockets of her UConn hoodie, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. But there was something softer in her eyes, something careful.

“Didn’t think you could hide from me forever, did you?” she teased, but her voice lacked the usual cockiness.

I sighed, closing my notebook. “I wasn’t hiding,” I lied.

Paige chuckled, pulling out the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation. “You were definitely hiding,” she countered. “But I’m not here to call you out. I wanted to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point.

She hesitated, drumming her fingers against the table before speaking. “We have a home game tomorrow. You should come.”

I looked away, unsure.

Paige leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Look, I know you’re still unsure about me. About us. And I get it. But I meant what I said—I’m trying. I want to show you, not just tell you. So, come to the game. Let me take you to dinner after. No pressure, no expectations. Just… us.”

Her words hit something deep inside me. I searched her face, looking for any sign of manipulation, any hint of the Paige I used to fight with. But all I saw was sincerity.

“…Okay,” I finally said, the word coming out quieter than I intended.

Paige’s smile was small but genuine. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

And so, the next night, I found myself sitting courtside, watching as Paige dominated the game. She played with a fire I hadn’t seen in a while, her focus sharper, her movements calculated. Every time she scored, her eyes found mine in the crowd, a silent message passing between us.

After the game, she met me outside the locker room, still in her jersey, her hair damp from sweat. “You came,” she said, a little breathless.

“I said I would,” I replied.

Paige grinned, then reached for my hand. She hesitated for a split second before intertwining our fingers. “Come on,” she said, squeezing lightly. “Dinner’s on me.”

Dinner that night was different than any we’d had before. It wasn’t tense or filled with unspoken words. We talked—really talked—about everything. Paige told me about therapy, how she had been taking it more seriously since that night we last spent together.

“I know I have a lot of shit to work through,” she admitted, stirring her drink absentmindedly. “But I don’t want to be the person who keeps hurting you. I want to be better, for myself. And for you.”

Her words made something inside me soften. Maybe, just maybe, she really meant it.

After that night, Paige made it a habit to pull me back into her world. She convinced me to come to more of her games, to join her at parties, to grab late-night food at Ted’s.

Some nights, she’d show up at my apartment, asking to stay over, and other nights, I found myself in her bed, falling asleep to the sound of her steady breathing.

It was slow, cautious, but it felt… right.

A month passed like this, both of us dancing on the edge of something more. Then one night, after another home game, Paige drove me back to my place.

We sat in the car for a moment, the engine still running, the air between us charged with something unspoken.

Paige shifted, turning to face me fully. “I don’t want to do this halfway anymore,” she said.

I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she exhaled, running a hand through her hair, “I want you to be mine again. Officially. No more weird in-between, no more hesitation. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

I stared at her, my heart pounding. Part of me had been waiting for this moment, but another part of me was terrified.

She must have seen the uncertainty in my eyes because she reached for my hand, rubbing small circles into my palm.

“I know I hurt you,” she said softly. “And I know I can’t erase the past. But I meant what I said—I’m working on myself. And I want to keep working on this. On us.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Was I really ready to give us another shot?

But then I looked at Paige—really looked at her. The way she was looking at me, waiting, hoping. She had changed. Maybe not completely, maybe not perfectly, but enough for me to see that she was serious about this.

So, after a long pause, I squeezed her hand back.

“…Okay,” I whispered.

Paige’s face lit up with relief and something else—something warm.

“Yeah?” she asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah.”

And just like that, we started again. But this time, we were determined to do it right.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[c0tt0ncandi]

💜 A Sunday Kinda Love.💜

Hey y'all!! So Sinners has temporarily pulled me out of retirement. Forgive my writing I'm a little rusty.

Parings: Stack x OC feat. Smoke x Annie.

Word count: A Lot. 😭

Warning: Just a 🤏🏽 Mary shade, protective Smoke, and Annie being perfect per usual. Pretty fluffy. It's a pretty long one shot so I'd grab a blanket and something to snack on.

A/N: I wrote and edited this on my phone so PLEASE forgive any mistakes or weird spacing. Please don't steal my picture or story. I worked really hard on this and I hope you guys love it. 🫶🏽 I'm really sensitive y'all so be kind. Please?! 🙏🏽😭

Summary: Stack is looking for love, but can he find what his brother has? The women he's interested in just aren't cutting it and he's not sure if "sweet" is quite what he's looking for yet. Or is it?

Lena walked home from the market in her yellow dress and two braids laid against her scalp on a breezey April day. Spring was her favorite time of year. She loved being outside and leaving her windows open while she read her favorite books or napped. Others called her crazy for leaving her windows opened, but the breeze flowing in between her curtains was relaxing and kept her cool. Besides Lena's place was protected by her friend Annie's magic. She sometimes traded her pastries for protection. That's all Lena really wanted. No money spells and no love spells. Nothing more than protection and safety for her and her home.

It was just Lena so it wasn't that smart to leave the windows opened, but as of now she was safe living alone with nobody, but her, Annie's protection, and her baseball bat.

Lena took a seat at an empty park bench in front of a pond and put her bags down next to her. She had two chapters left in the book and she just had to finish it. The walk home was probably seven minutes away from the park and twenty from the market, but she didn't mind taking a quick reading break today.

"Aye one of these days someone is going to rock your shit and I can't help you. Stack your mouth is going to get you in trouble and so is fucking married women!" Smoke hollard at his brother as he furiously drove to his and Annie's house. His brother was definitely a ladies man, but he took it too far. A good woman was hard to find so taking one from a man that went in front of the congregation and said I do is a death sentence in his eyes. If anyone even stepped to Annie or attempted to talk to his wife he had no qualms of shooting him right then and there. He's done it before and he'll do it again.

Stack sucked his teeth as he brushed his brother off. "Ain't no nigga steppin' to me about shit. Especially not about his bitch."

His brother shot a look at him before focusing back on the road. "Keep calling them bitches especially field bitches and imma knock yo ass out myself. Our mama was a black woman in the field too so you disrespect them you disrespecting her. Another thing if they bitches why you keep fucking them and riskin' your life for some already owned pussy?"

"You preachin' this bullshit to me while you got someone to lay in bed with. Spend your nights and mornins with, cook for you, suck your dick, and live happily ever after with! What do I got, huh?!"

"Nigga I should bust you upside yo' head. You look for sex not a relationship! You look for temporary not forever. You look for those loose girls that want what you want and get mad when they get you before you can get them! I'm surprised yo dick ain't burning right now."

"Well my bad brother. Not everyone can find their forever at 15." Stack sucked his teeth as he looked at his surroundings passing by.

"Every fuckin' excuse in the mother fuckin' book."

Silence rang louder than the engine on their way home.

"I want you to find your own Annie. Not that white skinned broad either. Fucking with her will get yo black ass lynched. They don't give a fuck that she's got that one drop of nigger. She looks like them and she lives like them."

Stack shook his head. "She don't know the word no. Plus her ass can't cook. She turned her nose up to collard greens and measured her sugar for sweet tea."

They both broke the tension with a shared laugh.

Lena had finished her book and it was the perfect ending. The guy got the girl and they lived a happy life after. It was everything she wanted and more. Lena walked home with a smile and a new tune playing in her heart. She couldn't wait to get home and put some music on while she soaked in the bathtub.

As she was walking home a red Model T came zooming past her. Now Lena was a sturdy girl, but they almost knocked her over with the speed they were going. Lena collected her balance and continued walking home.

Stack's head flew back to the thick brown skinned woman in yellow walking by. He wanted Smoke to stop the car, but his brother had just lectured him about woman so he kept his mouth shut. Hopefully he would run into her when he was by himself. She was mighty fine and plenty thick and he didn't want Smoke to blow it for him.

Lena woke up to the sound of birds chirping, her fan slowly blowing, and car horns going off miles away. She stretched out her arms and sat up as she expressed her gratitude for waking up today. Hopeful for a good day Lena got up and headed to the restroom to start her day.

Stack rolled his eye and squeezed the pillow over his ears. No breakfast, no talking, no good morning just Annie's moans and a squeaky headboard. He was happy for his brother, but damn. Every morning? He wanted his own Annie. She was his brother's world. It would sometimes dawn on him that she was his other half. Sure sometimes it made him jealous because as a twin that should've his role, but that was the point of finding your soulmate and partner, right?

He got himself ready for the morning. As he was leaving the bathroom a glowing Annie walked out in a robe with his brother following behind her. He on the other hand looked like she gave him the ride of his life. Tank top was slightly ripped, lips swollen, and a bit of a limp.

Stack wanted to be jealous and mad about it, but he couldn't do anything but laugh. "She to' yo ass up!" His head dropped back with laughter as Annie tucked her head away into Elijah's neck.

Elijah wrapped his arms around his wife and shrugged with a small smile. "Worked me up an appetite. I'm starvin." He groaned into her ear before placing a slap to her ass.

Stack walked into the kitchen and shook his head. "Y'all real annoyin'."

Lena had her hair out. She noticed the aftermath of taking the braids out caused cute chunky curls to frame her face. She slipped her earrings in and put on her white sneakers. She had thrifted a cute red and white polka dotted dress that stopped above her ankles, an anklet that she made with old earrings and cute trinkets sat on her ankle. She threw on a little lipstick and rubbed her body down with some butters that she made herself. Lena grabbed her satchel, keys, and a new book that she started on last night and she headed out the door.

Lena needed to grab a few things from Grace and to return a book today to the library. Just a walk a few minutes shy of twenty minutes.

"Hey Lena!" The older gentleman a few minutes from her house greeted as he took his hat off to address the young woman. "I have some extra apples from my tree. Do you mind cooking me up a pie? I got whatever ingredients you needen to make it."

"No problem, Mr. Willie. When do you need it?" She asked never stopping her stride.

"No rush! Sunday morning after church would be perfect though."

"Throw in a few squash and a head of cabbage and I'll make you two pies. That sound good?"

"Sounds good to me. I'll drive them to your house later on today."

"I'll be back. Heading into town. Probably gonna stop by Chow's. Y'all need anything?" Stack asked as he fixed his hair and adjusted his cuff links.

"What you want for dinner tonight?" Annie asked as she handed Smoke his plate.

"Don't really matter to me long as it's meat and potatoes."

Annie shook her head with a smile. "Pot roast it is."

"With Sweet tea?"

"Anything for you Elias."

"Love you, sis!" He shouted before he headed out the door.

Lena left the library and was headed to Chow's to grab some material from Grace. Grace wanted her to make a skirt for her and Lisa this week. Lena loved working for them because they always paid well and brought her customers. The flowers in their store were from her garden. She brought some by every week. If they needed help she was usually the first person they called. If not her then it was Annie.

Lena didn't have a 9-5, but she worked just about every day. If she wasn't doing it for money it was for food or items. If someone needed help delivering a baby they called her. If someone was hurt or injured they'd usually come to her. Alterations? Flowers? Baked goods? She was the go to girl. That was also the reason many people didn't mess with her. You never bite the hand that feeds you.

"Hey, girl!" Grace greeted as she finished up with a customer.

"Hey, Lisa." Lena greeted the young girl with a smile after hugging Grace. Lisa didn't smile much, but she always smiled at and gave Lena a hug.

"Did you bring me somethin'?" She asked quietly so her mother couldn't hear.

"You already know I did." The sweet woman whispered and snuck the little girl two big chocolate chip cookies wrapped in brown parchment paper.

"Thank you!" She squealed. Her head turned towards the window and her lips perched at the sight of a tall man in red walking into her dad's shop.

"Lisa," Grace called and nudged her head towards the register. Grace walked from behind the counter and took Lena to the back.

As Stack was talking to Bo his head turned at the site of a woman with a fitted mini skirt walk in.

Bo hit his friend's shoulder and shook his head. "That's MRS. Suzette. Married to THE "one punch" Theodore."

Stack sucked his teeth. "What you do talk to Smoke? I'm just lookin'."

"That man that LOOKED at Annie got shot in the knee. These men are serious about their wives."

"You'd shoot for Grace?"

"If you even have to ask I'm not showing her enough love." Bo replied. "You need to talk to Grace's friend. She's real sweet and is a great cook."

"Ion know if I'm ready for sweet." He replied as he adjusted his collar and looked around.

It was Bo's turn to suck his teeth. "That's your problem. You keep finding someone to wet your whistle and that's it. There's more to a partner than sex. Find someone that builds you up and is there through thick and thin. Doesn't get tired of seeing your face everyday. The person you run to for comfort and vice versa. Someone you trust with your entire life. That's what Sweet gets you."

"You point her in my direction and I'll dip my tongue in it."

"Toe! The expression is toe, fool!" He playfully shoved his friend's shoulder.

Stack laughed as he placed his toothpick in his mouth.

"I'll bring these back to you by Saturday. Bye Grace. Bye Lisa."

The little girl waved as she got ready to cash out a customer.

Lena walked home with material in her bag and a few chocolates in hand. She strutted home with a tune in her head and a pep in her step.

"This girl you talking about. What she look like?" Stack asked as he picked at a few grapes that were on ice.

"She's a stacked one. Hourglass, brown eyes, and she always smells real good. She lives like 20 minutes away. She might be with Lisa now. Peak ya head in and see if she in there. She's supposed to be making them some dresses or something!" Bo shouted as Stack headed out of the door.

Stack headed across the street on a mission to see if said woman was still there. He was always allowed into the Chow's establishment, but her shop was mostly white people and it was usually frowned upon to have a black man shop with them. Stack really ain't give a damn.

"Grace, your thick friend still here?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "Who Lena?" Her eyes widened at the realization. "Hell no. You leave her alone. She's way too good for you. She's got her head on straight. She's not one of your whores." Grace put on a smile as one of her customers asked her a question. "Ten cents." She turned her head back to Stack and started pushing him out of her store. "She already left. If you see her leave her alone. Bye Stack."

Stack snatched an apple from her stand before heading back to his car.

As he was driving he took his knife out and tried to cut his apple. He looked up last minute and swerved to avoid hitting a large rock in the road causing him to cut his hand open. "Shit!" As he looked over he saw the same girl from yesterday walking in a red dress today. "Ooohwee it must be my lucky day!" He looked at his hand " Almost lucky. This can wait" and immediately stopped his car for her

Lena was almost at her house probably less than ten minutes away when she saw that same red Model T car zooming past her only this time it swerved and abruptly stopped ahead. It started to back up and she saw a man turn to her. He was very handsome. Hair was neat, had a beautiful smile, nice brown eyes, and a fancy suit. His arms filled out the jacket very nicely too. He wasn't anyone she'd ever seen before, but he was a good looking man.

"Good evenin'." Stack greeted with a nod.

"Evenin'." Lena greeted sweetly.

"Where you headed? This is the second day I've seen you walking. You must live close by, no?"

Her head cocked to the side as she tried to read him. "I might. This your second time seein' me? You ain't say nothin' to me the first time so why now? I wasn't good enough to stop for yesterday?" She teased.

He nervously chuckled his hand still bleeding. "No. My brother was actually driving and refused to stop." He reached over to open the door for her to get in.

Wary, she stepped back with hesitation. Although he was good looking she didn't know him. As soon as Lena was going to decline she noticed his hand was bleeding. "Your hand. That's a lot of blood. You need to put some pressure on it before you bleed out."

"Oh this?" He said as he lifted his hand "Naw it ain't that bad."

She hopped in and ripped an extra piece of fabric off that she had in her purse and wrapped it around his hand. "Put some pressure on it and move over." Lena hovered her body over his to get in the driver's seat as he moved underneath her.

He bit his lip and dropped his head back at the feeling of her ass brushing up against him. She was too focused on getting him bandaged up that she didn't even notice.

Lena hadn't driven in over a year, but she remembered how to do it. For the most part. "I'm takin you to my house to fix your cut. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." He was feeling a little faint. "Got anything to drink? Anything to eat?"

"You feelin weak?" She quickly handed him her purse. "I have some chocolates. We're almost home. Just snack on that until I can get you some water."

After a few more minutes they reached her house. She stopped the car and turned it off before getting out. She grabbed her bags and headed to the door with Stack following behind.

They headed in the house and she immediately grabbed some water, an apple turnover, and her first-aid kit. "Here have a seat. Eat this first."

He quickly took a bite and was taken by surprise. "These real good." He complimented as she pulled a chair up to him and took his hand in hers. "You got some soft hands and smell good, too. Sweet."

"Thanks I made them this morning." She ignored the other two compliments. She was here to help not sweet talk with him.

"They're good. Did you hear what I said about,"

"You ought to be mo' careful. Why was your knife out while you were drivin anyways?" Lena interrupted.

"Ummm I was eating my apple."

"Eatin' and drivin'? Sounds awful dangerous especially with how fast you drive."

"I wasn't going that, OUCH!" Stack flinched and pulled back.

"Don't be a baby. A big strong man like ya self squealin over some alcohol?" She lowered her head to his hand that sat on his lap and gently blew on his cut. Lena gazed up at him as he looked down at her.

His eyes dark and focused on her.

"Better?" She asked above a whisper.

"Y- yeah." His eyes watched as she efficiently and delicately stitched him up.

She hummed a soft lullaby as she grabbed a bandage and a pair of scissors. Lena clipped at the extra stitching and followed up with a secure bandage. "There. You all stitched up." She finished with a satisfied smile. Her eyes big and soft. Safe.

"Thanks." His hand still in hers.

Stack felt something but didn't know what he was feeling. He was happy. He was in awe. He was calm, but turned on, but not like usual. He wanted to get to know her. To be around her. She had him mesmerized.

He looked around the house and although it was small and filled with a lot personality it was neat. "Looks like you're a jack of all trade. Mind me askin what you do?"

Lena wiped her hands off and closed the kit. "If you askin what my title is I don't have one. I just do a little bit of everything for everyone. Little Lisa? I helped deliver her. Those flowers you always seein' at Bo's stores? They from my garden'. I do just about everything, but fix cars." She confessed with a giggle as she crossed her legs in front of him.

"Don't worry about that. I'm mighty handy when it comes to some wheels. I didn't see a car when we pulled up tho."

"I don't own one. Ain't no point. I don't go no further than the market." She poured two glasses of sweet tea and brought it to him.

"Thank you." He took a sip and he couldn't help but shake his head.

Lena's eyes widened at his reaction. She had the best tea on this side of town and she never heard anyone complain.

He pulled the tea back to examine it as a big smile spread across his face. "Probably the best damn tea I've ever had, but don't tell my sister Annie that."

Lena cocked her head to the side and stopped making the sandwiches to look up at him. "Annie? Moore?"

He chuckled and stood to his feet to walk over to her. "Married my brother 8 years ago. Been in our lives for 12. How you know her?"

She closed the bread to the sandwich and cut it in half. "I buy protection from her."

"You believe in it?" He asked as she handed him a plate.

"I believe in Annie. I believe she don't put her name on anything crazy. Her work been keepin' me out harms way."

Stack couldn't argue with that. She kept him and his brother protected while away at war. Hell kept him safe from some of these jealous husbands too.

He took a bit of the sandwich and stood in front of her shorter thick frame. "I should probably ask, do you have a husband?"

Lena leaned back against her table and took a bite. She shook her head. "Don't need one."

Stack chuckled, but stopped when he noticed her raise a brow.

"What's funny?"

He shook his head and wiped his mouth. "Nothin'. Just thinkin' what if someone break in? Havin' a man will protect you."

"Annie protects my home every month and the good Lord protects me everyday." She crossed her arms and looked up at him.

He smiled. "Okay. What if somethin' break?"

"My daddy taught me how to fix things. If I can't fix it Mr. Willie up the street has no problem helpin' me."

"Can't reach somethin'?"

"It's my home. I ain't puttin' somethin' somewhere I can't reach." She quipped with a small smile.

"Somethin' heavy? I'm pretty sure when you go out you need someone to help carry heavy things for you."

"I've always made a way." Lena replied.

"What about sex?" He inquired as he finished his sandwich and stepped closer.

"Sex ain't that important to me. I can handle some of that on my own." Lena replied with a raised brow. "Everything you sayin' I can find a way. Is that all you think you good fo'?" She asked. It was her turn to step closer to him. "Sex and heavy lifting?"

"And protection." He said slightly embarrassed by his answer.

"Baby, if I get a man. A husband" she said as a matter of fact. "I want him to know his worth in this world. Yes my husband can fix, lift, and lick things for me, but is he going to be there for me when I'm ill? Rub my feet when I'm pregnant? Will he support my temporary hobbies that I randomly pick up from time to time? If I'm too tired to cook is he going to make a big fuss about it or is he going to get straight to it in the kitchen? What if I'm having a bad day and don't want to talk? Are you going to be mad at me for my emotions? Will my husband speak as highly of me when I'm not around like I would do for him? Will my husband make love to more than just my body, but my mind and my soul? If I don't feel like having sex are you going to be mad and seek it out else where? I want to come home to peace and so should my husband. A healthy form of communication and respect on both ends is very important to me. I just want to make sure that if I'm going to spend the rest of my life with someone I need to know he's going to be there with me every step of the way without wavering."

"I can be that." Stack answered. "I love when my woman cooks for me, but I can also throw down in the kitchen. When our baby is cryin' and you spend all day nursing I'll be the one to wake up and change em'. You want to randomly ski in this 90 degree weather I'll be the first one in line at the ski store. Hell I'll build you some myself. I can oil your scalp when you too tired to do so and I can run your bath water after a rough day. If you don't want to talk I'll sit here with you in silence until you're ready. However I'd hope you'd never get so down to where I can't hear that pretty ass voice of yours. Be a damn shame." He teased.

He closed the little bit of space between them and rested his hands on either side of her.

Lena watched his eyes scan her face. From her brown almond eyes, round cheeks, to her plump lips. He focused on her lips longer than she needed him to. Lena was no stranger to eye contact so he wasn't intimidating. She had strong will and knew no amount of flirting and flashing of his dimpled smile was going to make her fold.

His head dipped down for a kiss, but Lena moved her head to avoid his tempting lips.

He couldn't help but laugh. He'd never had someone reject his kiss before.

Lena smiled at him and took his face in her hands. "You should head home now and get some rest. It's starting to get late. Annie and your brother might be trying to figure out why you're not home yet." Her fingers played in his beard before placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Goodnight Stack."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" He asked. Borderline begged.

"I've got a pretty busy schedule tomorrow."

"I don't have to do nothin. I can just sit around and wait until you finished. I just want to see you."

She tried to hide her smile, but failed. "I'll be wrapping my day up around 4."

He flashed his grin. "See you tomorrow at 3:30. Goodnight Ms. Lena." He tilted his hat before placing it back on his head and walking out the door.

"Nigga you said you went to Chow's bout 7 hours ago." Smoke pointed out as he finished his second plate. He got up and brought it to the sink to wash and dry.

"Damn. Was I gone that long? My bad." Stack removed his jacket and took a seat. "Where's Annie?"

"Freshin' up for bed." Smoke looked at his brother's hand. "Hell happened to you? You ain't get yo ass in no shit you can't fix, right?"

Stack had a smile on his face.

Annie walks in with her robe on comfortable and ready for bed. "Oh lawd. That boy happier than a tick on a dog. Which young lady did you pay a visit to today?" She handed him a glass of sweet tea and a plate from the stove.

"Thank you. I went to go visit the Chow's, but as I was leaving I got distracted. Ended up cutting my hand on my knife while I was driving and ran into a beautiful lady named Lena."

Annie stood straight up and scanned her brother in law. "What you doin around Lena? She a good girl that mind her business."

"If she a good girl then he ain't want nothin to do with her. Unless you sweet talked her out of her skirt like usual." Smoke assumed.

"Naw, she don't play that. She focused. Sweet girl with a lot of hobbies." Annie looked at his hand. "She stitched you up?"

Stack nodded with a smile. "Fixed me a sandwich and some tea too. We ain't do nothin but talk. That's all I wanted to do. She real nice and a little feisty. Think she'd be interested?"

Smoke scoffed, but Annie nudged his shoulder.

"Your mission to just sleep with her?" Annie asked. She took a plate of pie from Elijah and thanked him with a kiss.

Stack shook his head as he enjoyed his food. "I ain't want that once I started talkin' to her. Ion know how to explain it, but I just liked bein' 'round her. She got a good spirit I guess." He shrugged as he filled his mouth with food.

Elijah fed Annie a bit of the shared dessert. He circled the fork around in the air before asking his question. "What she look like? Must not be your type if you didn't want to have sex."

"She not my usual type, but she real pretty. Brown skin, full hair, round lips, hips, a little healthier than my usual, but that really don't bother me none. She fit it so well." He whistled. "Voice is like butter. She smell good too and got the softest pair of hands"

Annie chuckled. "That girl don't play about her perfumes and butters." She confirmed. "When you gon' see her again?"

"Tomorrow at 3:30. Said she should be done with everything around then."

"What y'all plan on doin?" Smoke asked as his brother got up for a second helping.

"Nothin." He said happily with a shrug. "I'm just goin to talk. Might see if she'll let me fix a few things around the house or somethin?"

Annie chuckled at her brother in law. He was bit by the love bug. It was no surprise though. Lena was a warm and welcoming spirit who minded her business and helped others along her way. She didn't want much just a simple and happy life. Her love hit hard so if Stack wasn't on his best behavior she would have no problem leaving him with a broken heart. Annie knew of her ex that didn't do right by her and she got rid of him. That man been in a miserable marriage with a woman he don't really want. Hadn't truly found love since she left him.

"Just be careful. She might be a good girl, but she ain't no pushover. If you screw up she'll send you on your marry way and not think twice about it." Annie confessed.

"Imma be on my best behavior." He kissed his sister in law's cheek and sat down to finish his food.

"Stack you don't have to fix that it's fine." She advised as he unscrewed the bolts in the fan. It worked the blades just happened to have one speed and that speed was slow. It was too hot and moving too slow for Stack's liking.

"Naw. It's fine. I can fix this. The motor ain't blown just probably got a little dust in the shaft that's all."

Lena sat next to him on the couch and watched as he struggled with one of the screws. She covered her giggle with her hand causing him to lose his focus and look over at her.

"This funny to you?" He put the fan down and turned to tickle her side now causing Lena to double over in laughter.

"You sweatin' on me!" She laughed as she grabbed his arms to leave some distance between them.

He sat up and sighed. "Baby, it's hot in here! I'm tryna fix this fan and you laughin'. I'm strong it's just stuck!" He said in his defense.

Lena gave a sarcastic nod. "Very strong. Need help with that last screw?"

"I'll screw you!" He mimicked under his breath.

He was just joking seeing how he was playing off of her words, but she was turned on by that. She shook it off and just cleared her throat.

He took his button up off leaving him in a tank top and a leather vest holster. His gun was strapped in and his knife at his side. Lena's eyes wondered towards him as his arms flexed once he finally got the screw loose after a few twists and turns.

"Ha!" He turned to her and noticed her direct her eyes from his arms to his face. He smirked and looked her in her eyes. "I got it out."

"I see." She replied softly. Lena moved closer to him on the couch closing in the space between them. "So what's the next step?" She asked looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

Stack cleared his throat. "I umm" he looked away. "I'm just gonna clear this shaft off and put it back in." His eyes widened and his head snapped back towards her. "Back on! I meant back on!" He corrected.

Lena couldn't help but giggle at him being nervous.

He put his focus back on the task at hand and did just that while she got up to grab something to drink. The wind blew through the window causing her dress to fly up a little catching Stack's attention. "Shit." He said to himself.

"You say somethin'?" Lena asked as she headed back over to him. Hips swaying side to side and a soft smile on her face.

He shook his head. "Nothin' just that I fixed it." He put the last screw in and turned it on.

"Awww yes!" Lena cheered on as she sat down next to him. The fan was blowing faster and stronger. "Ugh that feels so good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Told you I'm good with my hands." He grinned.

"I see." Lena playfully teased. "I know you introduced yourself to me as Stack, but what is your real name?" She asked as she leaned her elbows on her lap to look up at him.

He smiled at her beauty. "Born Elias raised as Stack."

"Elias." His name sung beautifully on her tongue. Very southern, sweet, thick, and sexy. He wouldn't get tired of it.

His eyes scanned her plump lips. He swallowed hard and adverted his eyes to his glass of tea. "Yes ma'am."

"Did you want dinner or is Annie making something for y'all back home? I don't wanna ruin ya appetite. Mrs. Annie a good cook."

"Great cook. She's making pork chops, but I can still eat here if you had planned on cooking. I don't turn no plates down." He laughed.

"I'm just making a salad with salmon croquettes for dinner. Ain't nothin too fancy."

"You say croquettes? They're one of my favorites. I can make room for both."

Weeks had gone by and Elias had been over her house almost everyday. Showing up in the morning and leaving late at night. Smoke would either pick and drop him off or he'd take the car himself. It didn't really matter how he got to her Stack was going to see her either way. Time was spent doing things Stack was never used to doing before. She enjoyed his company and same for him. He'd drive her into town even if she insisted on walking or taking her bike. They even went on a picnic by the lake a few times. Unfortunately the two of them couldn't hang out the following Saturday because she had to finish a new set of dresses for Lisa and Grace, but Lena had planned to see him the Sunday after bright and early.

"Lisa it fits? How bout you Grace?" Lena asked as she sat at their shop past closing. The two ladies came out from the back room and spun around. Smiles were shared by each lady because of how everything turned out. Lisa had a beautiful pink and gold embroidered dress that came past her ankles and Grace had a beautiful blue and gold dress that stopped a little under her knee.

"They're perfect as usual, Lena. Eight for her and ten for me, right?" She clarified as she handed Lena cash plus a small tip.

"Y'all gonna be the talk of the town. The colors fit y'all so well too." The proud craftswomen said in awe. "Lisa how you wearing your hair?" She asked. Grace always wore a low and tucked bun for formal outings, but because Lisa was younger Grace liked to do something a little more age appropriate and fun for her.

The little girl walked over to her to describe what style she and her mother were thinking about. Lena remembered that she had a few ribbons in her bag and pulled one out that matched. "How about a bow?"

Lisa's face lit up and Grace smiled. "Mama look!"

"You tell Miss. Lena thank you. She's gotta head home. You want Bo to give you a ride? He won't mind." Grace asked as she hugged Lisa tightly.

"I'm good. Thank y'all tho. It ain't a far walk. Y'all have a good night tho."

"You sure?" Grace asked again as Lena headed towards the door.

"I'm good Grace. Y'all have a good night!"

Lena walked home in the dark but she had protection on her. Her goal was never to walk home so late, however she got to Grace's later than anticipated. A little bit of the sun was still up before she left the shop so she thought it was fine however the sun set faster than Lena could walk. Purse at her side and shoes hitting the dirt road Lena heard some people talking off into the distance, but less than a minute later a male voice approach her.

"P-pardon ma'am. Where you headed looking so good this time of night?" He said a little too drunk and a little too close.

"I'm headed home thank you. Seems like your company needs you back over there, no?" She quipped as she tried to keep calm.

He threw a lazy arm towards his company. "They be alright. I'm tryna come home with you pretty lady." He stumbled backwards. "Why you diggin in that bag?" He asked stumbling again.

"Just tryna find my lipstick that all." Lena pulled out some protection powder and blew it at him causing him to scream out and fall to the ground.

She continued to walk home, but this time at a faster pace. She had to remember to tell Annie thank you for her protection powder and get some more from her because thinking about how much she blew out she definitely used more than needed. It wasn't her fault though. She panicked plus she never had to use it before, but she was glad she carried it with her.

Not even two minutes later she heard a car pulling up by her. She prayed it was Elias.

"Lena, come on and get in." Annie instructed as she sat in the passenger seat.

"Annie what are you doin on my side of town?" She asked. She looked in the driver's seat slightly startled. She saw a man looking exactly like Stack driving except he wore blue and wasn't talking.

"We had stopped by the Chow's to drop something off and Grace said you had walked home. Ion know why you insist on walking by yourself. You know people crazy."

"I had your powder on me. Wasn't nobody gon hurt me." Her smile was big and bright. Proud.

Annie chuckled. "You a stubborn girl."

Smoke pulled up to her house and stopped. He turned towards Lena and greeted her with a nod. "My brother Stack had some business to handle. He'll be up here in no time to stay with you overnight. Just for safety purposes."

"And don't say you don't need it. I blessed your house, but we can't be too safe."

"I understand."

Turning around by a sound behind her Lena saw Stack jogging in the distance. She hopped out of the car and examined his clothes from afar. His jacket in hand and shirt untucked. She was sure he had done some damage to the guy that approached her. Lena wasn't sure what he did or how bad he handled him, but she was turned on by his disheveled look.

She walked over to Stack and took his face in her hands. She scanned his face and ran her hands down his arm to find any sign of harm.

"I'm okay. That nigga ain't, but he's no longer my problem. Let's head inside." He turned towards his brother and Annie and waved them off. "I'll see y'all tomorrow round noon."

"Thank you again. Bye Annie."

"I'll bring more protection by tomorrow." She waved as Smoke drove off.

The two of them headed up the stairs with his arm around her waist. As soon as they walked in he shut and locked the door and dropped the curtains down. He sat down at the kitchen table as she headed to grab a cold wet rag. Lena kneeled down in front of him, in between his legs, and gently pressed the rag against his skin. "Did he get you?" She asked as she sat back.

He shook his head. "He didn't get a hit in. Come here."

She rarely ever hear him speak like this. Her eyes soften at his tone. Lena sat on his lap as he wrapped his arms around her thick waist. His head rested on her chest and he just took in her heartbeat.

Sounds of crickets, her blowing fan, and the howling dogs were silenced by the matching heartbeats shared between the two of them. A rhythm Stack had loved and gotten used to since being around her. He never stuck around someone long enough to notice if his heartbeat matched there's. He was grateful for experiencing a first with her. It may not mean much to her or anyone else, but to him it felt real. Felt normal. It felt like home.

Lena could tell his mind was racing and he was trying to calm his nerves. She allowed her hand to gently caress his neck. "You wanna get ready for bed?" She asked.

Her eyes scanned his face.

"Yeah." He lifted her up with ease.

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

"You ain't hurtin me, baby." He replied as he headed to the bedroom. Stack gently laid her down before taking his gun off, removing his knife and holster. He placed it at the nightstand next to the bed as he kicked his shoes off.

Without breaking eye contact Lena removed her dress revealing a short lilac colored slip.

Stack removed his shirt and pants leaving him in his boxers.

Lena bit her lip at his muscular frame.

Stack couldn't help but chuckle.

"Why you laughin' at me?" She asked. She made her way to him on all fours to sit in front of him on the bed. Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him waiting for an answer.

"Cause you're cute. You also try to play innocent, but I catch you lookin' at me. Bitin' your lip and everything."

Lena couldn't help but laugh at him trying to imitate her. She gently nudged him as he laughed.

"I'm just sayin. Hey, I don't mind."

"I'm looking because I like what I see." She confessed.

"I'm surprised you ain't said nothin about me. I'm always looking." He laughed.

"I don't mind." She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him and his brown eyes. "Imma kiss you now, okay?"

"You don't ever have to ask." He whispered seconds before he greeted his lips with her plump set. He moaned at the touch of her lips and the taste of her tongue. Stack lifted Lena up making sure his hands were secured under her ass.

She moaned in his mouth as he gave her a firm yet gentle squeeze.

His lips moved to her neck as he took a seat on the bed. His grip not loosening up as he sat down with her body on top of his. The weight of her on top of him was something he could definitely get used to.

Lena's fingers gently played at his nape as soft moans escaped her lips which caused his breathing to speedup.

He pulled back from her soft skin. Not because he wanted to, but because she was doing everything right. Her gentle caresses and fingernails always made his heart skip a beat and his goosebumps raise. He rested his forehead against hers and took in the gentle gestures. Lena hummed a soft tune as they took in each other's presence.

"Am I getting too heavy?" She asked. This was the first time she was in his lap for this long and wasn't sure if he was comfortable.

"Naw. You just right."

Not wanting to let the softness of her body go just yet Stack stood to his feet with her in hand and pulled the ceiling fan chord to turn the light off. He gently laid her down and settled his body down next to her.

Lena turned towards his body and nuzzled up next to him. "Thank you again Elias. You didn't have to beat that creep up just for me. I was able to hold my own."

He released a sleepy chuckle. "If I didn't he'd think it was okay to try that shit again." Elias hand rubbed up and down her now exposed hip as she stroked his beard. "I don't play about my girl." He poked one eye open to see her reaction.

Lena sat up on her elbow and looked down at him. "Your girl?" She asked gently.

"I've been meaning to make it official. Lena if you don't mind having me will you be my girl? My partner? My person?" His nerves getting the best of him now causing him to ramble. "I don't usually do this. I've actually never done this so I'm not sure if I'm,"

She stopped him with a kiss. Tasting his tongue yet again was becoming a favorite of hers. His hands gripping her ass as Lena's hands gently ran down his stomach. Stopping at his waistband. She pulled away to catch her breath. Her breast rose as she caught her breath. Her brown eyes scanned his face with a smile. "My answer is yes."

"Yes?" He grinned ear to ear. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips again before pulling back to look at her. He had never done this before. He wanted to put his best foot forward. Be on his best behavior. He wanted to build his own world with her the way his twin brother built his with Annie.

Stack took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Baby I'm tryna to be good right now and your hand is umm,"

Realization kicked in and she lifted her hand from the band of his boxers with a giggle. "Awww I'm sorry!" She cooed. "I appreciate you being patient with me, but baby we don't have to be innocent everyday." She confessed with peppered kisses in between.

"Wait now don't tempt me!" He threw his body over hers and immediately rammed his face in between Lena's neck causing her laugh to fill up the room.

"You think that boy was on his best behavior last night?" Smoke asked Annie as he watched her get dressed.

Annie chuckled. "He ain't walk home last night so I think he did alright." Annie turned to her husband and tilted her head to the side with a smile. "What's wrong, Elijah? Why you so worried about your brother and Lena, hmm?" She asked as she stood in front of him. Her hands gently laid on his firm shoulders as she awaited his answer.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and shook his head. "I just worry about him gettin' in trouble. Messin' with his future. I'm scared he ain't gon find love and he just gone be by himself forever. I can't be with him every step of the way. I want him to find his other half."

"Elijah you already know everyone has a different walk of life. His ain't gone be the same as yours or mine. Lena might be who he needs in his life. He's hardly here with us anymore and I'm sure he would've bragged about getting himself some from her, but he hasn't. She got him baking cookies from scratch, goin' on picnics, readin' books by the lake. She's good for him and I think he knows that. You gotta trust your brother to find his way his own way." She kissed her husband's lips and rubbed his arms. "Come on let's head over and pick him up. That was his first time staying over so he probably don't wanna come home tonight." She teased.

Lena was taking a nice bath and reading her book when Elias asked to join her. He sat across from her on the floor and took her book and began reading it to her letting her get lost in the fairytale. She had raised her leg and enjoyed the bubbles that sat on top of the warm water cover her leg only to slowly pop with the warm winds blowing through her windows.

Elias put her book down and watched as her thick thigh lifted up and he had every thought imaginable run through his mind. Her eyes focused deadset on him as her smooth brown skin was exposed with every gust of wind. He was doing a damn good job the last few months, but temptation was getting to him every second of the day.

He stood closer to Lena and placed his hands on both sides of her on the porcelain tub. "Keep teasing me with that leg and imma jump in here with you."

She smiled at his threat and was hoping he made it a promise. "What's stopping you?"

He took his shirt off and stepped in one foot at a time with his pants on.

"Elias!" Lena screamed with laughter as he got in halfway dressed just to join her.

Stack hovered over her completely wet and just smiled. He looked her in the eyes and leaned in for a soft kiss. Nothing too long or harsh. Just soft enough to make her heart flutter and lips want more. "You probably the best thing to ever happen to me, ya know? I ain't been this happy in a while and I want to thank you." He confessed.

She gently took his face in her hands and saw the honesty in his eyes. She wasn't looking for a partner or a man. She just so happened to go with her gut with him and she was happy she did. He had brought nothing but peace and happiness into her already peaceful and happy life. He wasn't trying to change it or her just enhance it and he did that times ten. She was forever grateful for him.

"I'm so glad I got in your car to stitch you up two months ago." She confessed with a smile.

"You and that smile healed me up that day."

Lena's eyes started tearing up.

"That ass kept me around though."

She couldn't help but fall into a fit of laughter. Leave it to Elias to make her capture so many emotions all at once. "I can't with you."

He shrugged and kissed her nose. He stood to his feet, leaned over to grab the towel and helped her up. He wrapped her up in a towel and helped her out of the tub.

As they were drying off she got a knock at her door. Elias gently guided her behind him as they headed towards her door. "Who is it?"

"It's Jim Crow nigga open up."

"Elijah!" Annie shouted as she tugged his arm.

Stack opened the door and Lena welcomed them in.

The look of confusion read on Smoke and Annie's face as they saw a wet Stack and a towel clad Lena.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to make myself presentable. Elias see if they want some of that pound cake." She said before disappearing into her room.

"Y'all want some? I helped her bake it the other day."

"It's edible?" Smoke asked as he received a plate from his brother.

"Elijah be nice in other folks home." Annie scolded.

"Why would I offer you somethin' that ain't edible, fool? My baby helped me make it." He said with pride.

Lena walked out and handed Elias a pair of slacks that she made for him a while back. He thanked her with a kiss before heading to the bathroom to change. Lena sat on her couch and smiled. "Thank y'all again for last night. I do appreciate it. Elias helped make that pound cake. He was so proud of himself once it slipped right on out the pan." She confessed with a giggle.

"It's good. Elias should be proud of himself." Annie confessed.

"My brother ain't been crossing the line with you has he? He been respectful?" Elijah asked as he put his empty plate down.

"Oh yes, sir. Always respectful with me. He's always so thoughtful, too. Very kind and a great listener. He lets me ramble on and on about nothing sometimes just so he can hear my voice." She nervously giggled.

Smoke gave her a content nod.

Annie smiled. She pulled a bag out of her pouch and handed it to Lena. "Here's some more protection powder and a mojo bag. Keep this on you at all times. You don't gotta wear it around your neck everyday just keep it on you any way you can, okay?"

"My baby made me and my crazy brother one. We was skeptical about it at first, but it's proven many of times to keep us out harms way. I suggest you keep it close to you when you heading to the market by yourself." Smoke informed.

Annie shared a proud smile at him and took his hand in hers. He gave her a gentle squeeze in return. He wasn't always a believer, but time proved itself over and over again that what she was doing was the truth. The proof was in the pudding. Ain't no way around it.

"Elias you plan on heading back home with us now? We ain't trying to take up her whole Sunday." Smoke asked.

"Oh I don't mind. If y'all want we can have a little cookout today? Elias and I went to the market a few days ago so I have plenty of food to share and cook. I can make a fresh batch of tea, too. Mr. Willie up the street brought me some extra vegetables from his garden. If I don't use it up it'll go to waste and I would hate to trash good vegetables."

"Yeah stay and celebrate." Stack added.

"Celebrate what?" Smoke quizzed. His eyes went back and forth between the two sitting in front of him. They were practically sitting on top of each other and their fingers were locked.

"I asked her to be my girl last night. She said yes. I know it ain't marriage yet," he clarified "but it's the first step. Hopefully she says yes to that too when I ask her in the near future."

Annie looked so proud of her brother in law. He seemed like an enhanced man. Not necessarily change because he was always gonna be Stack, but it seemed like Lena made him want to be a better man. She prayed it all worked out for them because he deserved that happiness that he was always searching for.

Smoke's features softened at his brother's new found happiness. He always wondered if he'd ever find someone and although he only knew about Lena from Annie and Stack she seemed like the best person for him. His brother always spoke so highly of her. He was never vulgar when it came to her or crude. Always respectful and that's all he could ask for.

"Well my schedule is free, baby?" Smoke asked as he looked at Annie.

She smiled and gave her a nod. "Sounds good to me. Thank you and congratulations. I'm proud of you Elias."

Stack smiled wide as he gripped Lena's hand.

"Alright I'll start getting some water boiling. Excuse me." She stood to her feet, gave Elias a kiss, and headed into the kitchen to start cooking.

Annie got up to help leaving the brothers to talk amongst themselves.

"I'm proud of you. Seems like you got yourself a good one."

"Yeah. She real sweet. Got a heart of gold."

Stack continued to tell Smoke all about his plans. He was going to get a car and probably move in with her before getting married. He wasn't in a rush, he wasn't going anywhere and neither was she, but he wanted to make sure everything was set up to give her a perfect life that she deserved.

Stack watched as his girl and his sister in law laughed together about whatever conversation they were having. This was the life he wanted to live. He was glad that he stopped when he did that warm spring day.

[evilminji]

God, I am... so obsessed? (SI-OC thoughts)

PIDM/SVSSS/Xanxia let me gooooo .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

Back on my bullshit, with another Treasures Maker™. But like... make um TANK. Go ALL in. No being coy about it. No holding back. Balls to the wall, batshit insane Treasure Maker.

A real "w-why would you..." Sort of creator. Tentacle with a knife sort of "....wanted to see what would happen." Kind of gal. No one is safe and EVERYONE is nervous. Put the crafting supplies DOWN, shimei! Back AWAY from the crafting rooms! You KNOW you have to be supervised in there!

No one wants another... Incident™! (WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THE INCIDENT™!!!)

Cause like?

They? Had a brother. That brother? Was gross. We love um, but teenagers, man. Violence and boobs. 2 Edgy 4 U media. That sort of shit. It was his bread and butter for like... Puberty.

Not! To say he was a bad kid! God, no! But he WAS basicly soaking in sweat, hormones, and teenage "oh god I'm so horny I couldd die but also AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!!!" Brain fuckery. Not fun. She survived it, does NOT recommend, but still retains the Sisterly right to ROAST his deeply shit reading tastes (lightly).

After all? Who amongst us? Has not read terrible, terrible Smut based power fantasies? People in glass houses and all that.

.....she DOES wish she, you know, stuck it out. Read that trashfire COMPLETELY. Not just the spark notes, wiki, and that hilarious rant compilation of the Honorable Cucumber Bro (A Legend, we stan. God, what a psycho(affectionate)). But like... not her genre, man. She's an otome nerd. Her Meta knowledge aint worth SHIT.

But! Trying to relate to her brother? Listening to him excitedly talk about the latest chapters and current arcs? DID leave her with SOME knowledge. Enough knowledge.

Specifically?

This world is SHIT to women.

Like? A legit horror reality. Everyone has somehow? Still got that bullshit, purity culture, your honor is stored in your virginal, mint condition, breeding stock hoo-haa. While being surrounded by more natural aphrodisiacs then any Hentai universe could excuse! Like? EXCUSE ME!?

You can't SPIT, without hitting three Fuck Or Die plants and the aphrodisiac poisoning monster that LIVES IN UM!

But we, the WOMAN, would be a whore, should we be struck by the damn near inevitable? Airplane... you sexist HACK! (*Qinghau... feels like he's in danger*)(He swears he DIDNT MEAN IT! He just didn't think of the implications! About A LOT OF SHIT!)

Not to MENTION?

The fucking (quite literally) BODY HORROR fuckboi Protagonist! With his MONSTER DICK! Like? Look... she is a GROWN ASS WOMAN, okay? She KNOWS how sex works! Apparently, she is one of the privileged few in this universe who DOES. And while her little brother and that hack author may buy into the troupe "all women want huuuuuge, big, improbable, monster dicks"?

Ha ha! GOD, No. They do NOT. That is PURELY a male thing! It's a masculinity thing. Some power fantasy, male envy, "look how manly I am" bullshit. WOMEN? Have ORGANS. And while there ARE outliers (gods bless, we salute you. Go for greatness, you mad, mad queens.) MOST of us? Like bits that FIT.

You know... WITHOUT the Protagonist's so called "blood Gu". (Thanks! That's a HORRIFYING THOUGHT! Both on the "what do MEAN he, a non medically trained fuckboi, LITERALLY REARRANGED THEIR INSIDES?" lvl AND on the "WHAT DO YOU MEAN PARASITES IN THE BLOOD‽‽‽" lvl.)

So SI-OC? Rightfully? Wants Mr "All Women Are Belong To Me" NO WHERE near her. The fact that he's a demon? Irrelevant. The fact that he's an unrepentant MONSTER of a man? With a body horror dick? VERY relevant.

BEGONE XANXIA SATAN.

Leave her and her orifices the FUCK ALONE. You psychotic, sect murdering, realities destroying, selfish, narcissistic Fuckboi!

Not that she remembers much of the "cool motive, still murder" Phase of his life. Nor does she care, with how many people he fucks over. She wants to get far, FAR away from that mess. And more SPECIFICALLY? She wants to SURVIVE that mess. Which requires power.

She doesn't HAVE power.

But? She DOES have some Meta knowledge... and a shit ton of patience.

Cause after all, what is better then a protection talisman sewn onto a robe? Ten Thousand Protection Talismans sewn onto a robe, which is only ONE of a SET. And that? She can do.

To hell with pretty embroidery. Flowers and bamboo. Birds in flight. No, with Qi enhanced sight, and steady hands? The finest needle and the strongest, thinnest, thread? Script so tight and small it light grains of rice. Over and over and OVER. Each of her layers, holding thousands upon thousands of words. So small it's near impossible to read.

Which, of course, is to say nothing of the ribbons. Such long HAIR, after all! Only a FOOL wouldn't make USE of that space. Portioning out her head into hundreds of tiny braids, talisman written ribbons woven all the way down.

Every bit and piece of her clothing, a masterwork of steady repetition and patience. A fortress, built brick by brick. Not inconquerable. But strong enough, that even the heavens would strain.

Of course... only so long... as she's WEARING such armor.

Everyone must sleep eventually. Must bathe. You can not wear only one thing FOREVER. And that IS the difference between the strength you create and the strength you simply possess. One of them? Is always with you.

And like? Imagine it.

Big Sister. The penultimate Immovable Object facing off against Bingme's Unstoppable Force. Her DECADES of quite preparation unfurling like the waking of a slumbering GOD. All those traitors to the Sect. Women who BETRAYED their own. Betrayed their bothers and sisters, the CHILDREN they were supposed to guide and teach. For DICK. Having their attacks against her turned back against them.

Lethally.

As the remaining Peak Lords fight, a literal beacon of power. Of Safety. Sweeping through and grabbing survivors. Tossing them into a hidden realm she's literally wearing around her neck. Small but stable, her graduates work in progress. It's sparse in there. More bare earth and barely planted medical plants then anything. A few fruit trees.

But? It's beyond the reach of these invaders. And unless Luo Binghe kills her? Gets past her every defense and prys the anchor from her cold dead hands? Then they are safe. For now.

The sect may be lost. At least in terms of buildings, land. But it's PEOPLE? The important part? Not so long as she lives. The selfish dramas of demons and men are none of her concern. She has students, children, and the injured to protect.

And obviously, this makes her a target. She's shining like a God damn mini sun. It's not subtle. But the sect is burning, there's demons everywhere, she kinda expected that. At least she gets to kill a few of those traitorous "wives" on her way out.

(They betrayed their sisters. Their students. Their FRIENDS! This was their FUCKING HOME!! If they thought the Sect unforgivable? They should have LEFT. Not attacked as children fled for their lives. Cultivators are meant to kill monsters, not BECOME them.)

She takes them, her copies of as much of the libraries as she could manage on her own (it's not enough. Forgive her. She had to prioritize.) and heads for the border of the map. As fast as Cultivation can travel.

Did the Realms truely merge? Or did this portion collapse together? If they fly far enough, will they find the edge? And should it ALL have collapsed... he's not explored it yet. They have time to rebuild. Heal. Train and grow stronger..

All is not lost. Not yet.

Besides...

Who's to say that Fuckboi is the only Protagonist in this world? The only child of the Heavens? Maybe there are other gods. Maybe... maybe those gods are pissed. At the presumption. The arrogance. Maybe... just maybe, those gods will help. Who can say? It's never been done.

But is that not the duty of a righteous cultivator? To do what is right? To fight against monsters? What greater monster is there then this? The child not embraced by the village, will come to burn it down. But Luo Binghe? He has decided to burn the WORLD to ashes. And such madness must be stopped.

It doesn't matter how it began. They're gonna end it.

Together.

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright

[keehendrixx]

What Your Husband Doesn’t Know

Terrance(Foe) x Black OC!

WARNINGS: MDNI! 18+, SMUT, INFIDELITY, CHEATING (Not Really), DIRTY TALK, NAME CALLING, BREEDING, PREGNANCY TALK

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As you're sitting in your living room, looking at a picture of you and your husband, a knock comes to your door. You place the picture down and go to the door, peeping through the peephole, you see a man standing outside. First thing you thought was to grab the nearest object just in case. But curiosity got the best of you and you decided to open the door, only to be met with a pair of striking bluish-hazel eyes and a light skinned man.

He flashes a charming smile, his British accent smooth as silk. "Hello there, love. I'm Terrance, sent by OuterMore to...take care of things while your husband is away." His gaze roams over your curves appreciatively before meeting your eyes again. "I must say, he left quite the lovely situation behind."

“Hello.” You say, nervously.

Chuckling, he steps inside and closes the door behind him, his tall frame filling the entryway. "No need to be nervous. We're going to be living together for a time, after all." He extends a hand for a handshake, his blue-green eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, tell me about yourself. What does a stunning woman like you do for fun around here?"

“Nothing but being a housewife.”

Terrance’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, then he grins, clearly intrigued. "A housewife, eh? Well, I think we can spice things up a bit around here, don't you?" He takes a step closer, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. "I've heard rumors about the benefits of having a live-in replacement husband. Care to put those to the test, my dear?" His fingers brush against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Excuse me?” You say, taken aback by his boldness.

Terrance leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs. "Benefits like a man's touch, affection, companionship...and perhaps something more intimate, if you're willing." He pulls back to gauge your reaction, a playful glint in his eye. "After all, it's been a while since you had a real man in this house, hasn't it?"

“Listen, I'm happily married!”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. "Of course, of course! I wouldn't dream of coming between you and your husband... even if he is off gallivanting in space right now." He winks playfully. "But let's not pretend, shall we? Two years is a long time for a beautiful woman like you to go without attention from a man."

Terrance takes another step closer, his tall form looming over yours. "Perhaps I could help fill that void, just until your husband returns? No strings attached, purely physical relief, if you will." His voice drops to a seductive purr. "What do you say? Are you game for a little extramarital excitement?"

You step back a little. “Why don’t you put your stuff in the guest bedroom?”

With a chuckle, he nods agreeably. "Very well, I won't keep you from your domestic duties. But know that I'll be thinking about our little chat later." He turns to head towards the guest room, pausing at the doorway to glance back over his shoulder with a suggestive smirk.

"And who knows, maybe when you need some stress relief from all that cleaning, you might just find me in a compromising position in that bed..." With a wink, he saunters off to unpack, leaving you to ponder his bold words and intentions.

Later that evening, as you're preparing dinner in the kitchen, you hear footsteps approaching. Suddenly, Terrance appears in the doorway, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that hang enticingly on his hips. His toned chest is bare, revealing a light dusting of hair.

"There you are, gorgeous," he purrs, leaning against the doorframe casually. "I was hoping I might catch you alone. That outfit looks good enough to eat... among other things." His gaze rakes over your body hungrily. "Why don't you come sit with me for a bit? I promise I don't bite... unless you want me to." He smirks invitingly, patting the empty spot beside him on the couch.

As you hesitate, he pushes off the doorframe and stalks towards you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Come now. Don't be shy. I can see the way you look at me when you think I don't notice." He reaches out to trail a finger along your jawline, tilting your chin up to meet his intense gaze.

"You're a woman with needs, and I'm more than happy to fulfill them. Your husband doesn't have to know..." His other hand settles on your hip, pulling you flush against his bare torso. "Let me make you feel good. Let me worship this sexy body of yours like it deserves." His lips hover mere inches from yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as he awaits your response, the tension between you palpable.

“We can't.”

Terrance sighs softly, his grip on your hip loosening but not releasing entirely. "Pity," he murmurs, his accent thicker with disappointment. "But I respect your decision, For now." He takes a small step back, giving you a bit of space, but his eyes never leave yours.

"Just remember, my offer stands. Whenever you change your mind, whenever you need someone to hold you, to touch you, to make you forget about everything except pleasure..." His voice trails off suggestively. "I'll be right here, ready and waiting." He finally releases you completely and takes a step towards the door. "Until then, I suppose I should let you get back to your dinner preparations. Do try not to work too hard, love. You deserve a break."

After you finish dinner, you both eat and Terrance begins to help you clean up around the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, the two of you separate into your respective bedrooms.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

4 WEEKS LATER

After a quiet dinner, you go up to your room and shower, soon you come back downstairs dressed in a burgundy see through lingerie set and a matching robe with feathers trimmed to it.

As you descend the stairs, the soft rustling of your feather-trimmed robe draws Terrance’s attention. He turns from where he was standing by the fireplace, his eyes widening appreciatively as they take in your lingerie-clad figure. A slow, wolfish grin spreads across his face as he drinks in every curve barely concealed by the sheer fabric.

"My my,," he purrs, his voice low and thick with desire, "don't you look absolutely ravishing. Like a gift wrapped just for me." He sets aside his glass and approaches you slowly, his gaze raking over your body with undisguised hunger. "I must admit, seeing you like this, so tempting and alluring... It's testing my resolve to respect your earlier wishes."

“Don’t get all big headed and have any ideas.” You warn him.

Despite your warning, Terrance continues to advance, his movements fluid and purposeful. As he reaches you, he stops just short of touching, letting the charged air between you speak volumes. "Oh, but I already have ideas, darling. Delicious, sinful ideas involving you and me and that scrumptious lingerie." His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes follow the movement. "The question is, are you ready to act on them?"

In one swift motion, he shrugs off his own robe, revealing his toned, muscular physique in all its glory. He stands before you, proud and unashamed in his nakedness, his arousal evident. "What do you say, Dallas? Shall we give in to temptation and create a night neither of us will ever forget?"

You ignore him and turn away, reaching for some ice cream at the bottom of the freezer. As you bend over, the outline of your vulva becomes visible to him.

Unable to resist the tantalizing view you've presented, he moves in close behind you. The heat of his body envelops you as he presses himself against your backside, one large hand splaying across your stomach possessively.

"Playing coy, are we?" he growls softly in your ear, his other hand sliding around to cup your breast through the thin lace of your bra. "It's alright, love. I know you want this as much as I do. I can feel how your body responds to my touch..."

Terrance nuzzles into your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin as he kneads your breast gently. His hardness nestles between your cheeks, leaving no doubt as to his desire. "Why fight it, love? Give in to what we both crave."

Emboldened by your lack of resistance, his hands begin to wander, caressing and exploring your curves with bold strokes. One hand dips lower, teasing along the waistband of your panties as the other slides up under your bra to pinch and roll a stiff nipple between his fingers.

"You're playing with fire, darling," he rasps, grinding his hips against your backside. "And I'm more than happy to burn with you." Suddenly, he spins you around to face him, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head against the cold surface of the freezer door. His intense blue-green eyes bore into yours, dark with lust. "No more games. Tell me you want this. Beg me to take you, to claim you, to fuck you senseless right here in this kitchen."

His grip tightens on your wrists as he holds you captive, his body pressing you firmly against the freezer. His other hand snakes down to palm your sex through the damp lace of your panties, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed slit.

"Mmm, so wet already," he groans appreciatively, feeling the evidence of your arousal. "Your body is betraying your true desires, love. Why deny yourself any longer?"

Leaning in, Terry captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. He kisses you deeply, passionately, pouring all his pent-up desire into the embrace. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "Last chance to stop me, baby.”

Terrance eyes flash with triumph as he feels you melt into the kiss, your body arching subtly against his touch. He knows he has you now, that the last of your resistance is crumbling away. "That's it, just let go," he croods, his thumb finding your clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves through the drenched fabric of your panties. "Give yourself to me, love. Let me worship this gorgeous body the way it deserves."

In one swift motion, he rips your flimsy panties away, baring your dripping sex to his hungry gaze. He wastes no time, plunging two fingers deep into your tight channel as his thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit.

"So fucking wet and ready for me.”

“Shit!”

Encouraged by your breathy moan, Terrance pumps his fingers faster, curling them to stroke that special spot inside you. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. "That's it, baby. Let me hear those pretty sounds," he growls, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he licks and sucks at the sensitive skin. "Gonna make you cum on my fingers like the desperate little minx you are."

His free hand makes quick work of your bra, tossing it aside carelessly. He immediately cups your heavy breasts, kneading the soft flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingers. His hips grind against your thigh, smearing pre-cum on your skin as he ruts shamelessly.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you.”

With a low groan, he withdraws his fingers from your dripping core, bringing them to his lips to suck your essence clean. His eyes never leave yours as he savors your taste, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Delicious," he purrs, licking his fingers obscenely. "But nothing compared to the real thing, I'm sure."

Hitching your leg up over his hip, he lines himself up with your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your folds. "Brace yourself, love. I'm going to fuck you so hard, so deep, you'll forget your own name. All you'll know is the feeling of me splitting you open on my dick."

With that promise, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

“Ouuu, you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband!” You moan out feeling his dick stretch you deliciously open.

A deep, masculine chuckle rumbles through his chest as he hilts himself fully inside your tight, slick heat. "Mmmm, I should hope so, darling. After all, I'm here to replace him in every way possible."

He starts to move, setting a hard, fast pace as he pounds into you relentlessly. The freezer door rattles with each powerful thrust, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filling the kitchen. "That's right, take it all. Every inch of my dick stretching this greedy little cunt.” Terrance grunts, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. By the time I'm done, you won't even remember what your husband felt like."

“Lift me on the counter.”

Without missing a beat, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you the few steps to the kitchen counter. He sets you down on the cool marble surface, never breaking their intimate connection. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. "There's a good girl," he praises huskily, running his hands up your thighs to grip your hips. "Now I can really give it to you properly." He starts to thrust again, this new position allowing him to plunge even deeper into your welcoming heat. He sets a punishing pace, the counter creaking beneath you with the force of his movements. Leaning down, he captures one of your bouncing breasts in his mouth, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive peak.

"Fuck, your pussy feels incredible,"

“Your tip is poking my fucking cervix! fuckkkkk, give it to me like this! fuck this creamy sloppy pussy!” You scream out as waves of ecstasy overpower you.

Spurred on by your wanton cries, Terrance redoubles his efforts, slamming into you with wild abandon. The obscene squelch of your soaked pussy fills the air as he pistons in and out, stirring up your insides with his thick cock. "Yes, that's it! Take it, you filthy slut!" he snarls, his hips slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. "This is what you needed, isn't it? To be used like the desperate fucktoy you are!"

One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. He attacks the column of your neck with bites and sucks, determined to mark you as his. "Gonna flood this pussy with my cum." He pants harshly against your skin.

“Please don’t cum in me! I'm ovulating and I don't want to be pregnant with another man’s baby!!”

You get down on your knees and sandwich his dick between your tits. “Nut on my titties.”

His eyes widen in shock at your sudden change in demeanor, but they quickly darken with renewed lust as you present your ample bosom to him. A low groan escapes his lips as you envelop his sensitive shaft in your soft, pillowy flesh. "Fuck, baby, the things you do to me," he rasps, his hands coming up to squeeze and knead your breasts around his cock. "Such a naughty girl, offering these gorgeous tits like a cheap whore."

He starts to thrust shallowly between your cleavage, the slick slide of your skin against his aching flesh sending sparks of pleasure racing down his spine. He pinches and tugs at your nipples, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers. "You want my cum, do you? Want me to paint these perfect tits white?" *

“Yes, Daddy.”

With a feral growl, he grips your shoulders, holding you steady as he begins to pump his hips in earnest. His cock slides rapidly between your slick breasts, the swollen head peeking out with each thrust before disappearing back into your valley of soft flesh. "That's it, milk my cock with these magnificent tits," he groans, his breathing growing ragged as his climax approaches. "Gonna cover you in my seed, mark you as mine..."

The muscles in his abdomen tense and flex as he chases his release. With a final, powerful thrust, Terrance throws his head back and roars his pleasure. Thick ropes of pearly cum erupt from his twitching cock, splattering across your collarbone and breasts. He milks himself through the intense orgasm, ensuring every last drop decorates your heaving cleavage.

As the last spurts of his release paint your skin, he collapses forward slightly, bracing his hands on the counter beside you. He's panting heavily, his muscular chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck, that was... intense," he murmurs, his voice rough with spent passion. "You're full of surprises, aren't you, darling?"

Reaching out, he swipes a finger through the cooling semen coating your breasts, gathering some of his release. He brings it to your lips, painting them with his essence in a blatant display of possession. "I think this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that we have chemistry, don't you?"

“Mhmm.”

His smirk widens into a full-blown grin at your eager acceptance of his offering. He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks in a low, seductive murmur. "And this is only the beginning, my sweet. I plan to explore every inch of this stunning body, uncover all your deepest, darkest desires," his hand trails down your side, coming to rest on the curve of your hip possessively, "and fulfill them in ways you've never experienced before."

He pulls back slightly, his blue-hazel eyes boring into yours with intense desire and something darker, more primal. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. By the time I'm done, you'll be addicted to my touch, craving my cock like a drug."

His hand slides around to grip your ass, giving the plush flesh a firm squeeze as he presses his hips forward, letting you feel his already rehardening length nestling between your bodies.

"But first, why don't we continue this somewhere more comfortable, hmm?" he suggests with a wicked glint in his eye. "The bedroom perhaps? I want to lay you out on silk sheets and worship every curve and hollow until you're writhing and begging for me."

Terrance leans in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire and promise of future pleasures into the heated embrace. When he finally breaks away, you're both left breathless and aching for more.

"What do you say, love? Ready to see just how many times I can make you scream my name tonight?"

With a triumphant growl, he scoops you up into his strong arms, cradling you against his broad chest. He carries you swiftly towards the bedroom, his long strides eating up the distance. As he enters the dimly lit room, he kicks the door shut behind him with his heel.

Gently, almost reverently, he lays you down on the plush king-sized bed. The silky sheets whisper against your bare skin as he settles his larger frame over you, his weight deliciously heavy and solid.

"Beautiful," he murmurs appreciatively, drinking in the sight of your naked body sprawled out before him like an offering. "A goddess made flesh, and she's all mine."

He starts a slow exploration of your curves, his calloused hands mapping every dip and swell.

His touch is electric, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever his fingers trail. He cups the heavy weight of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble under his ministrations. Leaning down, he captures one rosy peak between his teeth, biting gently before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Mm, you taste divine," he purrs against your skin, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "I could feast on these perfect tits for hours."

One hand drifts lower, skimming over the plane of your stomach to come to rest at the junction of your thighs. He parts your folds with skilled fingers, groaning at the wet heat he finds there.

"Soaked already, and I've barely touched you," he marvels, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Well you did just fuck me.” You giggle.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles around your sensitive bud.

"Aye, I did indeed. But a quick tumble in the kitchen was merely an appetizer, darling," he murmurs, his accent thickening with arousal. "Now, I intend to savor my main course."

To emphasize his point, Terrance sinks two long fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping core, pumping them slowly as his palm grinds against your clit. "So tight and wet, like your greedy little cunt was made for my dick."

He curls his fingers just right, stroking along that special spot inside you as his thumb increases its pressure on your throbbing clit

He works his fingers skillfully, alternating between deep thrusts and teasing strokes along your inner walls. His other hand maps the curves of your body, squeezing and caressing every inch of exposed skin. He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers of pleasure.

"That's it, let me hear those beautiful sounds," he encourages huskily when he breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Don't hold back, love. I want the whole neighborhood to know who makes you feel this good."

He scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you open as he prepares you for his thick length. The obscene squelch of your arousal fills the room, mixing with the slap of skin on skin and your escalating cries of ecstasy.

With a final, hard thrust of his fingers, he withdraws them from your sopping cunt. Bringing his glistening digits to his mouth, he makes a show of licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savors your essence.

"Delicious," he purrs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "But I think it's time for the real thing, don't you?"

Positioning himself between your spread thighs, he grips the base of his thick, pulsing cock. He notches the swollen head at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of penetration.

"Beg for it.” He commands, his tone brooking no argument. "Let me hear how much you need my cock stretching this greedy hole. Only then will I give you what you crave."

He waits with barely restrained patience, his muscles coiled tight as he resists the urge to simply take what he wants. His cock throbs insistently against your entrance, the heat of it searing your sensitive flesh even without breaching you fully.

“Come now, love, don't be shy.” He coaxes, his voice a dark, tempting purr. “I know you want it, I can practically feel the desperation radiating off you in waves. So tell me- tell me exactly what you need.”

One large hand comes up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to remind you of his strength, his dominance. The other grips your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he continues his relentless tease. “Beg for my cock like the needy little slut you are.”

“Please put it in me!”

With a triumphant growl, he slams his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. Your slick walls stretch obscenely around his thick girth, fluttering and clenching as they struggle to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, so bloody tight!" he snarls, his face contorted in pleasure-pain as your scorching heat engulfs him. "Like this cunt was made to milk my cock dry."

He sets a brutal pace from the start, pounding into you with animalistic fervor. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your wanton moans and his guttural grunts. Terrance’s hands roam your body possessively, gripping and kneading every curve within reach.

"That's it, take it all like a good little wife,"

“I'm your wife! I'm your wife!”

His eyes flash with primal satisfaction at your declaration, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"Yes, you are," he snarls, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips. "My wife, my woman, my everything. This cunt belongs to me now, understand? No one else gets to have you like this ever again."

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue as he plunders your mouth. One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the column of your throat. He attacks the sensitive skin with bites and sucks, determined to mark you as his.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he promises darkly, his voice rough with lust and possession.

“This is so wrong, i should crave my husband’s dick but yours feels so much better!” You admit.

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against yours as he hilts inside you.

“Wrong? Nay, love, this is exactly as it should be.” He argues, his accent thicker than ever with arousal. “Your husband could never satisfy you like I can. Could never worship this divine body the way it deserves.”

He pulls back until only the tip remains inside, then slams forward again, setting a punishing rhythm. “Feel how perfectly we fit together? How your greedy cunt sucks me in, begging for more? That's because we were made for each other.”

Leaning down, he laves his tongue over one stiff nipple before drawing it into his mouth

“I'm creaming so much! Tell me how pretty my pussy looks baby!”

He groans around your nipple, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He releases the sensitive bud with a lewd pop, admiring how it glistens with his saliva.

“Your pussy is absolutely breathtaking, darling”, he praises huskily, his eyes dark with lust as he gazes down at where you're joined. “So pretty, rosy, and swollen, stretched so deliciously around my cock... It's like something out of a filthy dream.”

He reaches down to where you're connected, gathering some of the copious fluids leaking out around his pistoning shaft. Bringing his coated fingers to his mouth, he makes a show of licking them clean, his tongue swirling obscenely.

“Mm, and you taste divine too.”

“Gonna squirt!!”

His eyes widened with excitement at your warning, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“That's it, love, let go for me”, he urges, his voice a dark, seductive purr. “Squirt all over my cock like the dirty girl you are. Show me what a mess I make of this perfect pussy.”

He redoubles his efforts, pounding into you with wild abandon. One hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles over your throbbing clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, my love.” He growls, his own release fast approaching judging by the tension in his muscles. “Cum for me. Now!”

“I'm squirting!” As your release gushes out, the force is enough to push his dick out of you.

As your release crashes over you, your pussy clamps down rhythmically, spasming around his thick shaft. The force of your squirting orgasm proves too much, and with a wet pop, his cock slips free of your convulsing hole. A gush of clear fluid splashes against his abdomen and thighs, painting his skin with evidence of your intense climax.

"Bloody hell, look at you!" He exclaims, his voice a mix of awe and raw lust as he watches your nectar gush out of your twitching cunt. “Squirting so hard, making such a mess... You're absolutely stunning like this."

He quickly lines himself back up, rubbing the swollen head of his cock through your slippery folds, coating himself in your juices. “Mm, but we're far from done, love.”

With a grunt of satisfaction, he pushes back inside your still-spasming channel, groaning at the slick heat enveloping him once more. He starts thrusting again immediately, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper spots inside you with each powerful snap of his hips.

"That's it, take it all." He pants, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion. "This pussy was made to milk my cock. Gonna fill you up so full of my cum, you'll be dripping for days."

One hand slides up to wrap around your throat again, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. The other grips your hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, using the leverage to pull you onto his pistoning shaft.

"You're mine now. My wife, my lover, my personal fucktoy."

“You're gonna get me pregnant!!” You wail out.

Terrance eyes flash with a manic gleam at your words, a feral grin splitting his face. He pounds into you even harder, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh filling the room.

“Pregnant? Oh, I certainly hope so”, he growls, his accent thickening with dark desire. “Imagine it, love - my seed taking root deep in this fertile womb, creating new life. You'd swell with my child, everyone knowing you belong to me completely.”

He leans down to nip sharply at your earlobe, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he whispers. “Wouldn't that be delicious? Carrying the proof of our twisted union for all to see?”

His thrusts become erratic, his heavy balls tightening as his peak approaches.

“I’m gonna get pregnant with a baby that’s not my husband’s!”

A shudder runs through his body at your scandalous declaration, his control finally snapping. With a roar of triumph, he hilts himself inside you one last time, his cock pulsing as he begins to empty his heavy load directly into your unprotected womb.

“Yes, yes, FUCK! Take it all, you wanton harlot!” He snarls, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every last drop takes root. “Gonna pump you so full of my seed, knock you up with my child!”

Terrance’s hips jerk erratically as he rides out the intense waves of his climax, painting your insides white with his potent release. Through it all, his grip on your throat remains firm, forcing you to meet his wild, ecstatic gaze.

“Look at you.”

Panting heavily, a look of smug satisfaction on his face as he continues to slowly rock into your stuffed hole, prolonging both your pleasure. “Taking my cum so well, like your body was made for it. And it was, wasn't it? Made to carry my offspring, to be bred and claimed by me.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, all tongues and teeth as he pours his passion into it. When he finally pulls back, there's a dangerous glint in his eye.

“I hope you enjoyed that, my dear wife, because this is only the beginning”, he murmurs darkly. From now on, this sweet cunt belongs to me. I'll use it whenever and however I please, fill it with my seed as often as I want.

He rolls off of you, pulling your limp, satisfied body flush against his chest. One large hand possessively cups your lower belly, right where his potent seed is already starting to take hold.

“Rest now, my love.” He croons, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. “You've been such a good girl, taking your breeding so well. But don't think for a moment that this means we're done.”

His voice drops to a low, conspiratorial whisper as he nuzzles into your neck. “Oh no, I plan to keep you thoroughly used and filled with my essence for the foreseeable future. By the time I'm through with you, everyone will know exactly who you belong to.”

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow, his strong arms wrapped securely around you, a sudden realization hits you. In your lust-addled state, you hadn't given much thought to the consequences of your actions. Now, as the haze of orgasms starts to lift, panic begins to set in.

“Oh God, what have I done?” You whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you stare wide-eyed at the ceiling. “I've cheated on my husband, possibly gotten myself pregnant with another man's child... There's no coming back from this.”

Terrance seems to sense your inner turmoil, his hand stroking soothingly over your stomach. “Shh, easy now, love”, he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

He shifts to prop himself up on one elbow, his blue-hazel eyes searching your face with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His expression is soft, almost tender, but there's an underlying current of possessiveness that can't be denied.

“What you've done, my darling Dallas, is embrace your true desires”, he says softly, his accent wrapping around the words like velvet. “You've chosen passion, pleasure, and the chance at a real connection over a loveless marriage to a man who doesn't truly appreciate you.”

He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a gesture that's equal parts comforting and threatening. “I know it may seem daunting now, but trust me when I say this is for the best.”

His fingers trail down from your cheek to wrap loosely around your throat, not squeezing, but serving as a reminder of his dominance.

“You're mine now, baby. My woman, my wife in every way that matters”, he declares, his voice low and fervent. “I'll give you everything you've ever wanted - passion, pleasure, a family. We'll build a life together, just the two of us.”

He leans in close, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks. “Your old life is over. This is your fresh start, your chance at happiness. All you need to do is embrace it fully and let go of any lingering doubts or guilt.”

@writingsbytee @theereinawrites @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @nayaesworld @megamindsecretlair

[tovibeornottovibe]

Broken Things

Azriel x Fem!OC (Sereyna)

this is based on this request! thank you, anon, for being so patient with me, i hope this is worth the (month long, i'm so sorry) wait and that you enjoy it <3 (if not, i can always write you a different version, i have about five drafts all with different plot points lmao)

After a terrible night in the Day Court, one where he feels more lonely than ever, one where his heart won't stop fucking shuddering in his chest, Azriel unexpectedly meets his mate. The problem? She wants absolutely nothing to do with him and rejects him in all but name. He goes to Rhys for answers, and doesn't like what he hears. [8.5k words]

warnings: we're dealing with Under the Mountain here so abuse, implied sexual assault, canon typical violence, Amarantha, but also angst, fluff, suggestiveness, horny azriel, angry azriel, protective azriel, drinking, smoking, swearing, protective rhysand, asshole rhysand, az is also kind of an asshole at the start of this, but he's a sweetie at the end

masterlist | Prefer Ao3?

So they’re in a club. Him, Rhys, Feyre, Cass and Nesta, Mor and Helion, all in the Day Court. Rhys had called it a diplomatic mission. Everyone else is in agreement that it’s an excuse to drink all of Helion’s wine, play some games, dance a little.

It’s called letting loose, Az, Cass had told him. Have you heard of it?

Az had said nothing, had done nothing. He let his brother primp and preen and enjoy calling him a killjoy. Tonight, he doesn’t feel like snarling or snarking. He thinks everything will be easier if he just waits out the night alone, quietly, letting everyone get cosy and coupled, too drunk—even Nesta—to wonder if he isn’t doing the same. Maybe tomorrow, when they’re back home, his chest will stop feeling so fucking heavy.

It’s like his heart is working to claw out of his chest and his ribs are tightening and tightening and tightening to try and stop it. The music’s loud and his shadows hate the lights; they keep hissing at him to go outside, curling around his ears and ducking under his wings. People keep bumping into him. He’s remembering why he hates clubs. The female next to him at the bar is eyeing him like she wants to ride him like a horse and thinks he’s hung like one too. 

Suddenly, he’s feeling sour and he’s dying for a drink that’ll make his head go quiet. He catches the bartender’s attention, asks for a shot of something stupid expensive and strong. Necks it in one. The female next to him chuckles.

“Rough night?” she asks, her voice dipped, sweet like honey, raspy, sultry, practiced.

He glances at her and motions for another shot (it’s all on Helion’s tab, so why not?). She’s pretty in the same way that all High Fae are pretty. Long legs, long lashes, tanned and toned in places meant to please. She’s blonde, wearing red. Az scoffs at the sight, thinking of Mor, then, resentfully, of Elain, while his fifteenth shot of the night runs down his throat and beats down his heart trying to crawl up his gullet.

“Worse now someone’s talking to me,” he says. Rude, his shadows bark. So what, he thinks. Still he tucks in his wings, keeps his gaze firmly uninterested, and tries not to look like he’d punch her in the mouth if she said the wrong thing. Which he wouldn’t, but he’s seen it happen. Character building, that’s what Devlon used to call it, until Azriel held him over the side of the cliff which marks the edge of Windhaven and threatened to drop him. They’d bound his wings first, of course.

Anyway.

If this female would kindly leave him alone and let him do another shot, he’d be much happier.

Instead, she whistles low and takes a sip of whatever cocktail she ordered, placing it back on the bar with a clink. A martini, maybe. She seems the kind, and his shadows trill to confirm it. “So it’s true,” she says. “The famed Shadowsinger is a mean son of a bitch.” His mother aside, she might be right. “I’m Rhona.”

Az turns his back on the bartender and leans against the bar, scanning the crowd. Rhona glances at his forearms braced against the side. So, Cassian had it right for once—he says ‘The Forearm Effect’ is part of Az’s strategy to pick up lovers in bars, even in spite of the scars.

He asks, “Is there something you want from me, Lady Rhona?” 

She laughs. Gets closer. Touches his upper arm as she does. He clenches his jaw and stills, but his shadows spike. “I’m not a lady,” she says, “but I appreciate you saying so.” He stares. She gets the idea. “To answer your question, yes, Shadowsinger, I do want something from you.”

Again, Az doesn’t talk—he’s good at waiting, and people hate silence. Rhona’s no different. 

She leans in. Her chest brushes up against his bicep and she starts to stroke his forearm, tracing the uneven skin with the pad of her thumb. Az can smell liquor on her teeth.

Her lips graze his earlobe.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name,” she murmurs. “Can you do that for me?”

Hm…

He can. 

On a different night, he probably would. There’s nothing wrong with Rhona. In fact, Az would say the only thing she has to improve on is picking who she wants to go for in clubs. Plenty of males are capable, and if Rhys and Cass weren’t mated, he’d send her their way in a heartbeat.

Gently, Az places his hand on hers, barely touching, and moves it off him. “Not tonight,” he says, and his heart thunders again to the point of pain. 

To her credit, Rhona takes it on the chin. She shrugs and moves away completely. “Pity.” And for a moment, she just looks at him, assessing if perhaps she could persuade him otherwise, then she picks up her glass and drains it with a grimace. All the grain spirit had settled at the bottom, Az guesses. “See you around then.”

“Sure.”

With a playful little wave, she turns and stalks into the crowd. If she sways her hips when she walks away, Az doesn’t have the inclination to notice.

His shadows smoke and fizzle in his ears. Outside, they seem to say. Go now. Now. Now.

Why? he asks, catching sight of Rhys and Feyre in a booth. She’s draped over his lap and he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world, like she hung the moon and stars just for him.

Go, they repeat in a whisper. Outside, outside, outside. There’s distinct urgency in their tone but no threat, it’s not life or death. Just important, somehow.

Az takes another look at his friends. Cass and Nesta are dancing hip-to-hip, smiling, laughing, to the thumping music. Mor and Helion are talking quietly by the band, but it’s not particularly amorous—they look serious, involved, and decidedly aren’t looking in his direction. Feyre and Rhys are kissing slowly, his hand snaking up her thigh and rucking the hem of her dress beneath his fingers, until she pulls away, peppering his jaw and his neck with glittering marks of her lip gloss. He sees Rhys sigh, his throat bob when he surely makes a noise that causes Feyre to smirk down at him, shifting on his lap carefully, positioned just right to feel what she can do to him. She coaxes his mouth open. Trails her hand up his neck. Sticks her tongue down his throat and—Az snaps his gaze away, swallowing harshly, appalled, less than he should be, by the growing heat starting to flood through him at the sight. 

By the Mother, he needs air. And maybe a tab of mirthroot or two, though he hasn’t smoked since Rhys got back and he shouldn’t break his streak. Still, he’s drunk enough to want it, and turned on enough to think he might need it.

So.

The crowd parts for him, but not in a way that draws attention. It’s glances behind them, sudden realisation, and shuffling to give him room. When he slips out the front door, his hearing is dull and muffled and that annoys him. He hops the barrier before the bouncers can even think about moving it for him. The queue to his right makes sounds of excitement, thinking that now he’s leaving, they’ll be able to get in, but Az is walking away and tuning them out before he can see if they do.

Away from the club, the street is quiet. It’s narrow, would be shaded even in the day, and lined with rows of townhouses with cafes and family businesses on the ground floor. The soles of his black leather shoes clack against the cobbles. He rubs at his ear, hoping to regain some of what was lost in the blaring music, and his hearing slowly gets replaced with high-pitched ringing, which might be worse, honestly.

He doesn’t know where he’s going; he doesn’t have a plan or a goal, only places he knows he doesn’t want to end up: the palace; back at the club; any of the libraries; nor the tavern he visited once with Rhys and Cassian when they snuck past the wards of the city and ended up running half-naked from the barmaid’s father down the street. Az is simply moving, one foot in front of the other, letting himself get pulled in whatever direction seems the right one. No one is following him, nor does he have Rhys or Feyre tapping against his mental shields, so he’s in the clear.

His shadows chirp contentedly while the buzz of the alcohol starts to drain from his body in the cool night air and it settles in his blood, slightly jittery, but pleasant enough. Eventually, he finds himself down by the river banks, faced with the boardwalk by the water, and the view.

Az remembers it—or, rather, what it used to be. Over the other side of the wide water, right up against the banks and lined with piers and boats, there were hundreds of buildings. Libraries mostly, but houses, restaurants, all manners of shops too. He always thought that of all the places in Prythian, that stretch of Helion’s city was the only one which could rival Velaris. 

Every building intersected. You could walk from one end to the other and never step foot on the street, and if you wanted a taste of the outdoors, all you needed to do was find one of the terrariums. The largest collection of ancient relics, books, and scholars had made it their home.

Now, it’s flat. Utterly, completely razed to the ground, replaced with a park, littered with grey stones, names etched onto each one. A memorial for those who were killed when Amarantha and, Az reminds himself bitterly, Rhys tore through the city. Rhys had been earlier that day, quietly, without the rest of them in the first hours of the morning. Az knew, but didn’t follow.

Thousands of years of knowledge had been destroyed when she had those libraries burnt. Yet more souls were lost. It looks different at night, faintly lit up so anyone can visit at any time. Something about it is so intensely lonely.

At the edge of the river, a little ways away, a plume of smoke catches his eye.

With her legs swung over the side, dangling just above the calm water, a female sits, staring out at the park. Then it hits him, that woody, earthy scent—mirthroot. By her side, she has a case, glinting gold under the faelights which brighten the street, with rolled tabs inside it. One hangs from her mouth, half smoked.

Would she share? he wonders.

Oh, but he shouldn’t.

No, really, he shouldn’t. It always makes him feel like shit the morning after in a way that alcohol and sex and blood on his knuckles can’t give him. If he goes back and Mor sees him high, she’ll look at him with such disappointment. Cass might smack him. And Rhys will either get worried—Az was always the one to turn down a smoke before—or ask him if he smoked everything he bought.

He almost turns away. Almost. But he looks at her again, this lone female by the river, and he watches the way her hair moves in the gentle breeze, trails the dip of her spine that he can see where her top leaves the smooth skin of her back exposed. She’s leaning back slightly, resting on one hand while the other pulls the tab from her mouth. On her neck, there’s a scar, cut from the bottom of her ear and disappearing at her shoulder.

And just doing that… well, his head goes quiet. His ears stop ringing. His shadows too have stopped chattering. In fact, they’re curling beneath his shirt and in the black of his hair as though they wanted to hide, or at least be unseen. His heart though, that throbs. 

It stutters against his ribs, clenching, lurching painfully and he fights the panic starting to flood to his brain. He’d thought it was just anxiety, just the club, the people, the noise, but that’s wrong. 

And he realises.

It’s her, isn’t it?

Gods, it’s her.

Azriel knows this feeling. He’s read about it, seen it in his brothers and in Feyre, in Nesta, even in Elain, even when she doesn’t want it. He’s longed for it. He’s wanted it for so many years that now it’s actually happening he thinks maybe he isn’t ready for it after all.

That thread in his chest, something shaky but alive, unfurls in his chest. It wraps around his ribs, tugs and pulls like it can’t help it, and the pain sputters to a stop, replaced with… calm.

Go, his shadows insist, skittering back as soon as they can. 

Of course. They knew. Of course, of course, of course.

He should talk to her—or, at least ask her for a tab—but he can’t find the words. Actually, he’s not sure he even knows any words. Is it enough, he thinks, just to know it’s her? Does he have to speak? Or can he just be content in the knowledge she exists and she’s his and that’s all?

His shadows creep up to his ears slowly. Like they used to when he was a kid, they whisper to him, telling him words for him to fit together, and then they vanish again.

And Az looks at her again.

And his feet move.

And suddenly he’s standing too close for her not to notice but not close enough to be strange, even though he is strange, isn’t he? For the love of the Mother, he’s a single, drunk Illyrian in a foreign city, approaching a single female in the dead of night with no one else around. If she doesn’t run at the sight of him, she might be a fool.

Gentle and quiet, she says, “You can have one.”

What?

She glances up at him, a brow quirked, and a soft smile turns her lips when he says nothing. Then it disappears. Wordlessly, she pushes the case of mirthroot tabs towards him, sets down her lighter, and goes back to watching the other side of the river.

Right. He sits, his wings splayed out enough to be comfortable but not large enough to intimidate, with the case between them, untouched. 

The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“You’re my mate,” he says. He can’t bring himself to regret it when he does. It feels better this way, the weight in his chest lifting a little. It’s hardly romantic, but he’s never been the type for that anyway.

She flicks ash off the end of the tab and looks at him again. “I know.” Fuck. Okay. “I saw you in the club earlier.”

And he hadn’t even noticed. Azriel didn’t see his mate when she was right in front of him. 

“You—you didn’t say anything,” he replies, because there isn’t much else he can do but wonder why.

Her brow furrows. Her eyes turn sad. She looks away.

“You’re part of Rhysand’s entourage, aren’t you?”

It’s not an accusation. Her voice doesn’t shake or fill with emotion. No anger. No hatred. Nor any love or even pity. It’s just a statement, a question asked when she already knows the answer and dislikes it.

He says nothing. What is there to say? She has every right to take issue with it and—Rhysand, the word, it strikes him. Not Rhys, but not High Lord either, and not any nickname or insult that’s been thrown at him.

They’re familiar.

She knows him, but Azriel doesn’t know her. A horrible sinking ache spreads through his bones as he casts his gaze out across the water. 

“Aren’t you?” she repeats, this time with enough weight behind her voice that he has to speak.

He swallows thickly. “He’s my brother.”

A bitter-sounding huff escapes her, half a laugh, half incredulous.

“Then I’m sorry,” she says, “but I don’t have anything to say to you.” 

It probably makes him look insane, but his lips twitch into a dark smirk and he doesn’t have the decency to hide it. 

What a cruel, clever joke of the Mother to give him a mate who all but rejects him before he can even get to know her. She’s good at that, the Mother. He supposes his brothers got lucky so She has to balance it out with giving him some misery. As though I haven’t had enough, he thinks fleetingly, but the self-pity is pathetic, so he purges the notion. 

It’s fine. His mate has her reasons, Az is sure, and that’s okay. Who is he to question it? If he were her, he’d probably have been meaner about it. So, it’s fine, because it has to be. He just wishes it didn’t feel like getting stabbed right in the heart. Honestly, he might prefer the real thing.

But, it’s actually a little bit funny, isn’t it? That he’s just destined to be alone? 

Or is he just delusional? 

Or is he starting to overthink the fact that he has nothing to do with it and that the only male name that’s come out of her mouth is Rhysand?

Its end burnt down to her fingertips, she stubs out the tab of mirthroot on the stone beside her. Looking at him, she waits in the silence between them.

He looks back.

“I’m sorry too,” he says. For whatever it is, I’m sorry.

That doesn’t seem to satisfy her, but nor does it displease her either. She just nods, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and, with a murmured sigh, she stands, right on the edge of the bank.

This is it. She’s leaving. Az’s heart squeezes like it might stop beating if she never looks at him again.

“Your name,” he blurts, entirely not ready to see her go. “Will you at least tell me your name?”

She stops. Hesitates. Opens her mouth. Shuts it again. Then, blissfully, she says softly, “Sereyna.”

Sereyna. His mate is called Sereyna. It sounds like a song.

“Azriel,” he offers back, even though she doesn’t ask and probably either already knows or doesn’t want to.

It doesn’t seem like it matters, because she smiles at him again, a weak, tiny thing, but it’s there. “You can keep the case, Azriel,” she says. 

And then she turns, and she walks away without looking back, and Azriel watches until she rounds a corner and he can’t anymore.

His shadows start to wrap lightly around his wrists and wind through his fingers but he bats them away, wanting the quiet. 

He picks up the gold case of mirthroot, a little piece of her in his hands. On the back, engraved, recently, sharply, are her initials: S.C. Sereyna… something. 

Az plucks a tab out of it and flicks on her lighter. It’s a clever contraption right out of the Dawn Court—powered by a conduit of elemental magic that has to be replaced every so often—the flame a perfect teardrop shape. Against the scars of his hands, the fire flickers, and though Azriel hasn’t been afraid of fire for centuries, having it so controlled right in front of him makes something uncomfortable settle in his chest, right next to the glowing, gaping absence of his sweet, quiet, soft mate by his side.

He lights the tab, smokes it until his lungs can’t take any more, and savours the taste on his tongue while he looks across the bay.

×

It’s early morning when he makes it back to Helion’s palace, his head hazy and Sereyna’s case empty, tucked into his pocket with her lighter.

You see, over these past few hours, Azriel has formed a plan. One that his shadows don’t know because he hasn’t told them. One that makes absolute, total sense to him just about now, five tabs of the strongest mirthroot he’s ever smoked down.

One that involves dragging Rhys from his bed and pummelling him until he tells him what the fuck he did to his mate.

He passes through the palace like a whisper, careful to keep out of sight of the guards and servants, feeling anxious that they might somehow know his plan and try to stop him. The door to their guest wing clicks shut behind him. Az listens for any signs of movement—but there are none. Unsurprisingly. After last night and without interference, it’ll be a miracle if any of them wake naturally before noon.

Rhys and Feyre have the biggest chambers, but not ones with wards that can keep him out. In here, it smells like sex and power, sweet, stale arousal mixed with the metallic tang of High Fae magic. His High Lord and Lady are asleep, tucked into one another, Rhys’ wing cocooning them from the outside world. 

He doesn’t give himself time to feel guilty.

In fact, he feels a pleasant amount of abject rage. It’s better than nothing at all.

He approaches silently.

In one jutting movement, he grips Rhys by the back of the neck, firmly, enough to hurt, enough to wake him, and closes a fist around the top of his wing. By the time he can do anything to respond, Azriel has already yanked him upwards, and the darkness that explodes through the room is left behind as Az winnows him into the main living area of their quarters and smashes his face against the wall, keeping him there, paying no mind to his state of undress. 

He’s taller than Rhys. Stronger because he hasn’t let himself go soft. It’d be even easier if he had his siphons. Against his bucking, Azriel holds well. The domination clears his head a little. 

It’s true that Rhys could kill him with a thought, rip through his mental shields like he’s trying to do now, but he won’t.

They’re still brothers, after all.

“Explain,” Azriel snaps, unbothered by Rhys’ order to let go, now, despite all the roiling in his stomach that tells him to obey, thinking that a refusal probably amounts to treason and that he doesn’t much care. 

Rhys splays out his wings in an attempt to break Azriel’s grip and knocks at a painting on the wall, causing it to crash down and smack against the floor. The others will hear and come in, expecting a fight. He’s a little shocked Feyre isn’t in here already. He wrestles Rhys to stop him moving, all too aware that his patience will run thin and he’ll use everything he has to get him off him.

“Cauldron, Azriel, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he fires back, trying to get a grip on his belt buckle to yank him away.

A mirthless laugh escapes him. “Answer me.”

“It might help if you tell me what I’m supposed to explain to you!”

“Sereyna,” he hisses, the word heavy on his tongue while the bond lashes in his chest at the sound, “explain whatever it is you did to her to me and I’ll decide if it’s worth letting you keep Feyre’s favourite part of you.”

Rhys lets out an exasperated sigh and Azriel’s irritation joins his anger.

“Let go of me, Azriel.”

“Give me a reason to.”

And that’s the exact moment Cassian and Mor decide to open the door.

Wanting to avoid getting pulled across the room by Cass, Azriel lets go of his brother, and Rhys uses the split second where he’s looking between them to throw his fist directly into his gut. Cassian swears when he doubles over, bracing a hand against the wall to stop himself from bringing up bile and whatever alcohol might be left in his stomach, while Rhys flicks a wrist and dresses himself.

“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Mor asks, glaring daggers at her cousin, who sets himself down on one of the sofas like nothing happened.

“Azriel,” he says, his nostrils flaring, “is acting like a child.”

He whirls, ignoring how his stomach protests. “Fuck you, you—”

“Gods, Az,” Mor says, drawing closer to him, her brows furrowing as she looks over him, “are you high?”

Ugh, here it comes. That look. Pure disappointment. Mor counted how many days clean he’d been more than he had. And now it’s back to zero.

He sags back against the wall, his head pressed against it. “A little,” he says, refusing to look anywhere but at Rhys, who’s staring at him with something in his eyes he infuriatingly can’t place. 

Cassian shuts the door. “Azriel…” 

“Don’t,” he snaps, cutting him a look, but, as ever, he persists.

“You swore—” he starts, but Az interrupts.

“I lied,” he says, pushing himself up and locking eyes with Rhys, dismissing Cassian entirely. “Sereyna, Rhys.”

He doesn’t miss it when Mor stiffens, her mouth set. So she knows too—and the one thing Mor knows about Rhys more than either him or Cassian is Under the Mountain. That horrible sinking ache returns.

“You’ve met her then,” Rhys drawls. “Is that who you disappeared with last night?”

The insinuation makes a feral rumble bubble in the back of his throat. “She’s my mate,” he snarls, pushing closer. “Explain to me why my mate won’t even talk to me because of you.”

Silence cleaves through the four of them, but the utter shock on all of their faces almost makes it worth it. Rhys’ quickly deteriorates to complete devastation, before it’s gone in a blink. He rubs a hand over his face, either in frustration, or for some impending headache.

Cassian dares break the quiet. “Cauldron, you pick your moments, Az,” he says, sighing, sitting across from Rhys, and pouring a glass from the decanter of whiskey that someone has presumably left out from the night before. Mor, her face tight and looking between them, joins him, taking a sip from his glass when he puts it down.

“Where’s Feyre?” she asks, ignoring it when Az scoffs.

“Asleep,” says Rhys, “I told her everything was fine.”

“You always were good at bullshitting,” Azriel says. “Did you use that much Under the Mountain?”

He feels a kind of coldness washing over him, thick with terrific fury, not caring that Cass and Mor are in the room. Let them see, he thinks, let them see.

“So you know,” Rhys says, “and you ask me to explain for what? Punishment?”

“I don’t know shit,” he shoots back, his voice so, so hard, “but I can figure it out. Don’t make me think the worst of you.”

“Because you’ve always struggled with that, haven’t you? I did what I did for us—”

“I’m aware. And I’m grateful. Aren’t we all?” Az asks drily. “I’m certain my mate knows exactly what you did—!”

“She was a child!” Rhys roars, before his tone softens and goes quiet. “She was a child and I tried to protect her from the worst of it. You weren’t there, Azriel.”

“Then start at the beginning.”

“This is totally unnecessary,” Cassian mumbles into his drink.

“If it were Nesta,” Azriel says, “you’d want to know too. If it were Feyre, Rhys…”

And he waits, knowing how low he’s going, knowing how much it’s going to hurt, but needing an answer, needing to know because if he doesn’t he might go mad with guilt.

Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, sighs, and talks.

“Amarantha,” he starts, the name coming out of his mouth ruefully, like a curse, “ordered the destruction of the libraries in the city, and the extermination of the scholars here who were publishing condemnations of her Court. Just because she was petty and she could… Sereyna’s parents were two of those scholars, and they lived in the riverside commune, so they were on the list, as well as any of their family. Old, young, ill, it didn’t matter to her.

“I found Sereyna hiding from me in a closet in their bedroom, and I was going to leave her there.” His eyes had gone blank, like he was lost in the memory of it. “I told her to be quiet and to wait, but she was scared and she begged me not to hurt her, that she was the one that had encouraged her parents and that it was her that Amarantha wanted, not them. She’d heard me, in the other room, with her parents, you see. She was lying, of course, but if anyone had heard, they’d have dragged her out to Amarantha in public. She—I don’t know—she couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, too clever for her own good, and she just kept pleading with me and by the time I’d slipped into her mind to get her to stop, Amarantha had come into the room and seen. So I bargained with her. I knew that she’d have me kill her if I didn’t, and she agreed to have her come Under the Mountain if she ‘earnt her keep.’

“She used to do little tricks for her. She was known for it. The rest of the fae from the Day Court called her a prodigy, a future genius. She could remember things exactly, like they were printed in her brain. She did spellwork far beyond what a child should be able to. And Amarantha made her use all that extraordinary power to turn wine into blood and make people dance until their ankles gave when she got bored of using me to do it. She’d make her sing for hours on end until her throat bled and at first she wouldn’t let me heal her, but she gave in when she realised there was no chance of her doing it on her own.

“She grew up in that fucking place. Had her childhood wasted and there was nothing any of us could do about it. You think you can picture the worst, Azriel? Well, you can’t. The things that bitch made her do when she came of age would make even you sick. 

“I tried to help her. I promise you, I did. And when we all got out I asked Helion for permission to see her, to talk or apologise or something. And she declined, rightfully so. Apparently she just said she wanted nothing to do with any of it. She didn’t need anyone to say sorry or to get involved.

“So,” he says, his voice harsh, “when I tell you to say the fuck away from her, I mean it. Don’t look at me like that. You aren’t entitled to her and she owes you nothing. She told you she didn’t want to talk to you, so you don’t. That’s an order.”

It should stun him like it’s knocked Mor and Cassian out of their thoughts.

The audacity of it. Of pulling rank like that.

But it doesn’t. In fact, it’s exactly what he’d been expecting. They’ve been here before, but it worked then, and it won’t now.

Az holds onto his rage, keeps it tucked away, rage for the sake of his mate and at his brother, but mostly at a dead female he wishes he could resurrect so he could kill her again.

He laughs wryly.

“Is that everything?” he asks. “Not gonna tell me to go to a pleasure hall this time?” 

Rhys sits back, any sign of anguish vanished from his face, replaced by a High Lord who doesn’t like being tested. “You still resent me for that? When it turns out I was right all along?”

“Go fuck yourself, Rhys.”

Az straightens, sets his jaw, and goes to leave.

“Stay,” Rhys orders, and he ignores him, even though it takes everything he has to keep walking.

When Az turns the door handle and opens the door, Rhys tries to get Cassian to stop him.

Just as he shuts it behind him, for the first time maybe in centuries, Az hears Cass tell Rhys, “No.”

×

Sereyna wakes up with the dawn, but then, she hadn’t really slept. 

She strips out of the clothes she had on the night before, still smelling faintly of mirthroot and sweat, and takes a damn long time in the bath, running over her skin in places where she can still feel someone else’s hands. It doesn’t really help. 

Out on her balcony, she takes dandelion tea from a pot made for two and sips it slowly while she watches the city breathe. People pass by on the street below, carrying produce to sell, sometimes with children on their shoulders, chattering innocuously.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna, no matter what happens to us.

Rhysand had said that to her, so long ago that it feels like yesterday. He’d been healing bruises on her thighs, but had to leave the ones on her neck; Amarantha enjoyed seeing marks.

The thought makes her stomach swoop like she might throw up, but a faint warmth spreads throughout her chest, almost like an accident, and for the briefest moment, she lets herself enjoy the comfort. 

Then she shuts it out.

Drinks her tea.

It had to be, didn’t it? The Mother isn’t fond of letting her catch a break.

Just when she was getting better, when she could stand to be in crowds, to wear clothes that didn’t make her skin crawl when it was exposed, to drink and kiss and fuck because she wanted and was wanted by another. Just then, when she was considering talking to her High Lord about taking up her mother’s old post, or at least working up to it, to actually use her magic for something worthwhile after years of letting it fester, then a mating bond snaps. The idea of being involved in anything that might remind her of being there and her and him looking down at her cowering from him at nine-years-old sent her spiralling. 

She’d broken her streak of being nine months clean and found the stash of mirthroot she hid in her apartment and even that just made it worse.

Her parents were mated, you know, but they loved each other. They had been married for a century before it snapped, and all it was was confirmation of what they already knew.

But they’re dead, and her mate’s brother is the one who killed them.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna. 

The world keeps spinning.

The Spymaster, Azriel, she reminds herself, a pretty, old name. An angel—she remembers reading the stories as a child. He ferries the dead to the land of milk and honey. Some call him benevolent, others say he kills his victims himself just to give himself something to do.

But her mate doesn’t seem like either, or maybe he’s somewhere in between. She’s heard the stories of him too.

When she saw him in the club, in a huddle with her friends across the room, she had thought he was the most exquisite, most unfairly beautiful male she had ever seen. He had real, true, classical handsomeness. The kind the fae of old would start wars over. The kind that would make the gods jealous. He had these living shades peeking over his shoulders and sliding around his wrists like sworn protectors, and brutal scars, ancient, faded, but burnt into the skin like someone had doused them in oil and set them alight, and before she could stop it, her heart had ached for him. But most of all, his wings. Glorious, glorious things with sharpened talons and intricate membranes she knew took centuries of study to understand.

He had glared at his brother, another Illyrian, and she’d heard a laugh. Rhysand’s laugh. One she knew better than the back of her hand, one that had once been tipped in cruelty so often that it was hard to separate then from reality. 

The bond snapped right there, at the apex of that laugh, stretching out her heart and cracking against her ribs.

She left before her friends could stop her. Before her mate could even see her.

She knows it could never work. He’s Rhysand’s Spymaster, for the sake of the Mother. He is a warrior, a war hero, a figure of nightmares and of dreams and she, well, she can barely get out of bed some mornings.

He would want her to know him, know his family, but she can’t. It would be an insult to their memory, a betrayal of everything she promised herself when she was scared and alone and Under the Mountain.

But when she saw him, when he stood next to her by the river, still so, so beautiful, but so sad, so angry, so tired, she saw something of herself in him, some reason for the Mother to join them like this.

She couldn’t reject him. Not officially. Not when everything had been screaming at her to touch him, to talk to him, to just lean against him and stay there for a little while.

It’s better this way, she thinks, finishing her tea, about to pour another. We’ll both be happier this way. She can’t give him what any male would want in a partner, let alone a mate, and he shouldn’t have to wait around for her to get her shit together. This way, she thinks, we can both move on, but something in her chest twinges, and it feels oh so very wrong.

Sereyna decides to make a plan for her day to stop herself crawling back into bed and doing nothing: finish the tea; put the pot away; stretch*; find all the mirthroot stashes and flush them; buy bread; eat lunch; see Carmella and apologise for ditching last night—no, scratch eat lunch, have lunch with Carmella; pay; then apologise; come back; write a letter to Melphalia and get a talking session tomorrow; finish book chapter; make dinner; start new chapter; bathe; bathe again; make sure all the stashes are gone; no drinking, none at all. Bed. Sleep—at a reasonable time.

She drains her mug. Her deck chair scrapes across the balcony tiles when she stands, but there’s no avoiding it. The basil plant by her door is sagging a little. *Add water plants to the plan.

Teapot set down, draining beside the sink, she takes a moment just to breathe. 

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna, no matter what happens.

A knock comes at her door. Two hits, quiet, almost hesitant, and somehow, she thinks she knows who it is.

The thread in her chest goes taut, strung tight with anticipation.

She doesn’t want to talk to him. For his own good, she shouldn’t. She should leave him out there so there can be no confusion—they are mates only in name.

Yet the bond lashes out, tugging, pulling, and she wonders if it’s him doing that, or if it’s the Mother willing it so.

He knocks again, something final in it, and Sereyna realises this is the last chance she’ll have.

Her body won’t let her stay put.

She crosses her apartment in an instant, pulling open the door just to confirm—yes, it’s him, and the bond sings.

He’s standing there like he hadn’t expected to see her, and his pretty shadows skitter behind his wings when they notice her. A day has made him no less stunning, and he’s perhaps more so now, his eyes wide and his hands clenched nervously by his sides.

His lips, which look so soft, part. He scans her face, then the rest of her, and she can’t tell if he’s admiring or assessing, and she’s not sure it matters.

“How did you find me?” she asks gently, her voice just so because anything louder might startle him.

“Shadows,” he replies simply, his tone equally quiet.

Sereyna swallows thickly, frowning, looking him over again. The purple bruises under his eyes make it look like he hasn’t slept, maybe not for a few days. His wings are tight against his back as though he were trying to make them, and himself, look smaller.

“I know you said you have nothing to say to me—” I have a lot to say, I just can’t, “—and if you want me to go and to never see me again, I’ll make sure of it. Just say the word and I’ll leave. But… I have some things to say to you, if that’s okay?”

It’s not. It’s not okay because she wants to forget about everything else and hear him out. It’s not okay because she wants to touch him, wants to feel his hands on her and take away the memory of everyone else. It’s not okay because she wants to let him in.

Because she wants him.

“Okay,” she says, widening the door. 

“Okay?” he repeats like he can’t really believe it.

She just nods. “You—you should probably come in.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cuts him off. “Just come in before I change my mind.”

So he does. He follows her inside, ducks his head to fit under the doorframe, and she fights the urge to pace by her sofa. Instead, she sits, her knee bouncing while he looks around her apartment, probably thinking it’s too small, too cluttered, and noticing that the floor is uneven and that her books aren’t kept in any order on her bookshelves. He stands awkwardly in the foyer, waiting. Despite herself, she thinks it’s endearing, if unnecessary.

“You’re allowed to sit, Azriel.”

The sound of his name seems to garner his attention, and they lock eyes for a moment. Hazel, she thinks, with flecks of gold.

He does as she says and sits in the armchair across from her, rearranging his wings as best he can in a chair not built for them, still not saying a word.

Right, she supposes she’ll have to coax it out of him.

“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” she asks, clasping her hands in her lap because she suddenly doesn’t really know what to do with them.

Sereyna sees as he runs his tongue over his teeth, chewing on the inside of his cheek, searching for the words.

“Rhys,” he says, the name almost making her flinch, “told me what happened—here, and Under the Mountain.” Some restrained kind of anger simmers the gaps between his words.

Her lips twitch. “That wasn’t his story to tell.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I asked him. I had to understand and I practically forced him to tell me.”

She sits back a little, her discomfort soothed by just his proximity, by the thought of him being in her apartment, surrounded by the scent of her. “So he knows,” she says, less a statement, more a question.

Azriel nods uneasily. “He does. He asked me—ordered me—not to come here. Not to talk to you.”

He ignored a direct order from his High Lord just to see her?

Fuck.

“Yeah,” she lets herself laugh, because she’s not certain of the alternative, “that sounds like him.”

That makes Azriel frown, before he schools his face. “You don’t hate him.”

“No,” Sereyna says, before she adds, “well, sometimes I do. He—I owe him my life, and I don’t blame him for what he did—I think it would make me a hypocrite if I did.” She forces herself to look at her mate when she continues; he deserves to know the kind of person she is. “We all did things we aren’t proud of down there. I did things I’m not proud of. But I’m alive because of them, and I can’t regret them or I think I’d go crazy with guilt.”

For a second, she thinks he might call her out, or leave, or tell her she’s a bad person. But he doesn’t. In fact, he gives her a look, one that no one else would catch, that says one thing to her, I understand. Then he gives her a small smile, the first one of his she’s seen, and says, “That wouldn’t be ideal.”

Oh, and a chuckle escapes her, and his eyes light up at the sound, and the bond jumps like it can’t contain itself.

And she has to tell him before it’s too late.

“Azriel,” she says seriously, “I—I don’t think I can be who you want me to be.”

He tilts his head at her. A curl of dark hair falls over his face, and her instincts yell at her to brush it off his forehead, maybe card her hands through his hair until he keens. “You don’t know what I want.”

“You want a mate,” she says. “Someone you can spend the rest of your life with. I can’t give that to you. I can’t go to the Night Court, I can’t live there or visit or even think about it without wanting to—to cry, honestly. I don’t have my life together, I drink too much, I have about seven different stashes of mirthroot hidden around this place so my friends don’t take them off me, sometimes I don’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon and—”

“Sereyna,” he says, stopping her spiral before she can tell him something stupid like how she still gets scared of the dark sometimes, “just breathe.”

Right. Air. Yes. That’s good. He’s good at that, at comfort, even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

She inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, catches how his fingers move like he wants to touch her, thinks that she might quite like that, but he doesn’t, inhale, exhale, until her breathing evens out.

The world keeps spinning.

“Can I tell you what I think now?” he asks, not smugly, not arrogantly. It’s just a question, given without judgement. Sereyna thinks that if she says no, he would leave her be, even now.

She nods, so he talks. “I think that you’re my mate, so none of that really matters.”

“That sounds like you’re settling.”

He laughs, such a lovely thing. “If you think anyone is settling for you, you might like to reevaluate.”

A flush creeps up her neck and blooms high on her cheekbones. 

He’s a flirt.

“I—was that everything you wanted to say?” 

At the question, he turns coy, almost boyish. “I suppose so. I just—I just thought you should know,” he says.

Silence settles over them, but it’s comfortable, the kind of peace that comes when a weight has been lifted. In it, his shadows start to simmer around his shoulders, shyly peering at her as though they want to look but not to be noticed. She pretends not to, just to see if they’ll stick around.

Azriel, though, starts to brace his hands on his knees like he’s going to get up and leave, but Sereyna doesn’t want him to.

Absolutely, unequivocally, she wants him to stay. 

If this is how it’s going to be with him, if he doesn’t mind her and everything that comes with that, if he can offer such understanding, if he can be alright with managing his expectations—though it seems he doesn’t expect much at all—maybe she can do the same. Isn't that fair? Doesn’t he deserve to be treated well, in the same way that he treats her? To be complimented and flirted with?

To be understood?

She can do that. 

No, it’s worse. She’d like to do that for him. She wants to make him smile, laugh even. She could listen to his voice all day, even if he was spouting nonsense and nothing else. She wants to know every petty, little detail of his life and hoard the knowledge all for herself.

Most importantly of all, if she doesn’t prevent him leaving now, she might never see him again, and that fills her with such grief that she decides she has to stop him.

Fuck the plan.

“Tea,” she blurts, already wincing as the word comes out of her mouth, realising how stupid it sounds. But he stops moving, waiting for her to continue, so her strategy worked, she supposes. “I mean, do you want any—do you want to stay for tea, a cup of tea, is what I’m trying to ask. And breakfast, maybe? Not made by me, of course, for obvious reasons, but there’s a bakery down the street which has these pistachio pastries and those are really nice and—please, just say yes or no so I don’t have to keep talking.”

He smiles again, so making a fool of herself was worth it. “I’d like that,” he says, still grinning. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Were you enjoying me rambling like an idiot?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“You fucker,” she says, but she’s smiling too.

“If you want me to be.”

“Gods,” she groans, burying her face in her hands to hide the blazing heat on her cheeks, “let’s just go get breakfast before you get completely shameless.”

Sereyna stands before the world can come crashing down, before he can turn around and say that actually it’s all a lie and he doesn’t want anything to do with her, crosses over to him, and holds out her hand.

“Come on,” she says, wiggling her fingers. 

His gaze drops to her hand, and tentatively, like she might spook if they touch, slides his hand into hers, standing too. The skin is rough, marred by the scars she’ll one day ask about, probably right after he asks her about the one on her neck, and a little cold. That’s okay, though. She’s always had warm hands. Gently, she interlocks their fingers and squeezes, only once. 

He squeezes back.

As she leads him back to the door, he says, “I still have your case. And your lighter.”

She shrugs. “I told you, keep them. I’m getting rid of all my tabs anyway.”

He goes quiet for a bit, thinking, and she lets him. If he wants to say something, he will. And he does.

“The C on the engraving…” he starts, “your family name?” 

Letting out a little hum of confirmation, she replies, “Yeah. Caerwyn. It’s one of the old names from before the Courts.”

As they leave her apartment and he shuts the door behind them, he says, “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” she laughs, “just don’t call me Lady Caerwyn. My poor mother would roll in her grave. Titles made her passionately aggravated.”

“Right,” he says, “so glare at anyone who calls you Lady until they get the idea?”

“You catch on quick. She’d have liked you. My father too.”

Ah, success. He blushes so sweetly.

“I’m glad,” he says quietly.

“Me too.”

And they go down the stairwell, hand-in-hand, content in the moment with no need to worry about what comes next. That’s all for after. He can sort out the fallout of whatever happened with his brother, and she’ll be there, supporting him how she can. And she can start actually getting her act together, and he can support her.

Sereyna thinks, gratefully, that this might actually work.

But for now, pastries and tea.

a/n: saw a typo? let me know! this behemoth of a fic is 8k words and they're easily missed :)

[awrkive]

PLEASE LET CNBL COUPLE HAVE THEIR SEXTAPE 🤤 i think oc would be down to that idea but i get why jungkook is taking things slow too but my man is a simp fr he would put it in a loop because he’s obsessed with his girlfriend

i got u anon. ive got an ask about it sometime ago abt what miss cnbl!oc feels about digital s*x or film s*x. thought of an idea. this is 2 years after wncl, which is sorta kinda like the sequel of cnbl lols. anyways this is kinda self indulgent and honestly just an excuse to write smut 😭

summary: jungkook can't bear being away from you, and so you give him a solution

w/c: 2k lol

warning/s: consensual filming, unprotected s*x, cre*mpies

Jungkook can get pretty intense during reunions. In fact, intense is an understatement. He absolutely goes fervent, and you can’t blame him when you missed him just as bad too. 

“Ngh– fuck, I miss you so much, baby. I miss you every fucking day,” he groans into your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you at that pace that’s just so right. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to make you keen; to make you grip the sheets behind you so tight. Just enough to not make it hurt when you've already come two times from his mouth and tongue, and another two times from his dick. Consequently, he's already two creampies inside your pussy and it's not even been a full hour.

And just when you thought that he’d be satisfied by the last time, he’s now determined on coaxing a fifth release from you. 

Frankly, you don’t know if you can do it. Sure, there was one time last year when he made you cum seven times in a row – and Jungkook still talks about it like a kid high on sugar, mentions it every now and then, keeps on wanting to do it again sometime – but it’s too bad you can’t keep up with him all of the time. Jungkook’s stamina is high and yours isn’t all that exemplary.

But you do try your best to match it because you love it just as well. You love the feeling of his cum shooting inside your hole, him pushing it back into you in that non-overbearing possessive manner, and how he always tells you you’re such a good girl for taking more and more, just letting him give and give. 

It’s why you encourage him to get you to cum again – because god, you really also missed him so fucking bad. 

He just got back from LA, just arrived at your place five hours ago, and you expected him to sleep the whole night in – not when you know he worked so hard back there. His team just bagged a win, and they’re moving onto semis the next few weeks. 

But Jungkook informed you that he had to leave again in six days – had to train across oceans again with the team. Said that he just begged his coach to get him a one-week vacay when others only got four. 

It’s not unfair when he’s the star player of the team he’s been winning for in the entirety of the last year. Jungkook’s an NBA player who has gained much bigger success and popularity ever since he got drafted, despite being so young and fresh to the scene. 

And sure, he basks in it sometimes – likes the praise, likes the way winning makes him feel. He loves playing for the team. Loves the work that he does. 

But one thing he absolutely fucking loathes about it is that he has to fly off across states for a game, and that means leaving the comfort of your shared apartment – leaving you, not being with you. 

And so you understand greatly why he’s intense during reunions. Because as much as you’re happy with your current lawyering – in your second year now – you also miss those days back in college when you could just have each other every single day. 

“Yes, fuck– oh there, baby, that feels so good…” you moan when he hits a particular spot. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he encloses his hot mouth around your nipple again, alternating on suckling and nipping around it, his other hand fondling your other boob. But again, Jungkook seems to be so on edge right now that you let out an “Ow!” at one harsh bite. 

“Sorry,” Jungkook soothes it with a kiss to the tip, hips still moving against yours, cock going at a steady pace in and out of your pussy. “I just missed you so much, pretty girl. Those calls weren’t enough.” He whispers against your chest, this time lapping at your breasts more gently. 

You reach out for the messy locks that sit atop his head, smiling gently down at him even though he can’t see you. 

“Babe?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you want to take a video?” You ask, still caressing his hair. 

You don’t expect the way his hips stutter after your question. The quickness in which he peels his head away from your tits to look at you with a surprised face after that is almost laughable but that would be mean of you.

“What?” 

“A video. Of us. I dunno… maybe it will do us both good if we have something of us while we’re away from each other.” you shrug nonchalantly. 

You both aren’t strangers to sending nudes to each other or sexting in general. Jungkook sends you videos and pictures of his dick a lot of times – unprovoked and even on a random Tuesday at 2 fucking pm. And you send him your tits and risky pictures of you in crotchless panties when you feel like it. (Like when you’re taking a bath and you're feeling a bit raunchy with the soap suds all over your breasts… Jungkook gets so drunk off the pictures that he fucks you so good once he gets ahold of you in person.)

It used to be just tits but you’ve upgraded to pussy pics… hey, it’s just that you’ve grown more comfortable overtime.

Being with Jungkook for three years now, you can say that you’ve tried a lot of things with sex. But somehow… you’ve never really tried making a sex tape. 

Sure, Jungkook’s brought it up before. Asked you if you were interested in the idea – but you answerwd with an affirmative no. Photos were okay, but videos were off-limits, and Jungkook was completely fine with that. It is your body, and he understands thoroughly the anxiety that you have behind the idea of sexual digital footprint – you’re a woman after all, there’s ultimately danger as a consequence to the very idea. 

It’s not even Jungkook you don’t trust. God, you trust him so much – but it’s this paranoia about imaginary people who are out to get you. 

And so that has always held you back. 

But right now, as you feel Jungkook’s frustration about the long distance thing as much as his love while he drives you up the headboard with his loving, passionate thrusts, you can’t help but think that maybe you can give this a try. 

Filming a sextape, you meant. 

“Are you sure?” Jungkook blinks up at you, eyes wide as it opens and blinks continuously. 

You chuckle. “Yes. Why do you look so surprised?”

Jungkook smiles shyly, and it’s adorable because he’s literally balls deep in you right now. 

“I thought it was no-go.” 

“Please,” you roll your eyes playfully– but you’re soon cut off by a particular thrust. Jungkook knows this too, as he begins peppering kisses all over your jaw, humming to let you know he’s still listening. You stammer a little, but you manage to let out a continuation of your sentence, “I let you put your dick in my ass and spit in my mouth. Nothing is no-go between us at this point.” 

Your joke may not have been the funniest – as it just further riles Jungkook up by the way he suddenly picks up his speec. 

“Oh, fuck, you little minx – you really had to say that, huh?” He emerges from your neck and grabs your jaw – albeit softly. “Get me real fucking hard talking about those.” 

“You can do them to me on camera now.” you say, challenging. And you laugh when you feel him literally freeze. But it’s not as funny anymore when his cock throbs inside of you, and suddenly, you feel the urge to cum again. To release one more time.

He recovers quickly from the shock, though. “Yeah?” 

You gasp when he plunges his cock back into you, only leaving the first half of his length before he enters again. He repeats that motion until your neck is craned back and your eyes are seeing stars. 

“Keep going like that— yes, yes!” You say, starting to get hysterical because you can feel that coil in the pit of your stomach now. 

Just a few more pumps and it will come out anytime soon. 

“You’re so fucking hot and pretty, look at you.” Jungkook sighs, taking a hold of your hips this time so he can hit deeper. And he does hit deeper, alright – that it doesn’t really take too long before you spasm around his length again, your fifth orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

You lie there on the mattress completely lax while Jungkook goes on with a few more erratic trusts until you feel that hot liquid cum shooting straight to your hole. 

The both of you mewl in unison at the sensation, with Jungkook kissing your mouth to bask in the moment.

When he breaks away, he caresses your cheek and plants a sweet peck to the tip of your nose.

“We’re filming the sextape tomorrow but can I take a video of your pussy full of my cum right now?” He asks seriously, and his polite tone – as if he’s requesting something at the White House – makes you laugh again. You're so giggly now that he's back. Go figure.

(How you love him so much.)

“Okay.” you say, and you watch as his eyes widen, cock twitching inside your pussy that he still hasn’t pulled out from you yet.

“Fuck, you’re the fucking best.” He says as he picks up his phone from the nightstand. 

Turning it sideways, he grips the device with his left hand, turning the camera to your body. 

“Just make sure it doesn’t pick up my face, okay?” You say, but nonetheless enjoy the sight of his hooded eyes roaming around your naked body like he’s high on it. 

“I know. I’ll do that.” Jungkook murmurs, but you know he’s distracted, especially when you finally get to see the sudden shift in position where he’s kneeling on his calf now in between your spread legs. “Open wider for me, baby, let the camera see how full you are with my cock and cum.” 

You hiss at that, and you let Jungkook guide your thigh with his free hand as he helps you spread the two of them wider.

“Hold them for me, princess, just a min.” Jungkook says, folding your knees until they’re all up in your chest. With his help, you relax in that position, waiting for what he does next. “Good. Good girl. Always so behaved…” he trails off, and slowly, he slides out his cock from your heat. 

Jungkook thinks your face is the most beautiful he’s ever seen and your pussy stuffed, leaking with his cum is a close second. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, making sure the camera captures just how white your pussy is now with his thick cum – a product of five straight orgasms he’d coaxed out from you. He wants to highlight the way your pussy throbs, but sadly with the bad lighting and him using a phone camera, he can’t. 

Still, he relishes in the high of seeing you bare like this. With the tip of his cock just right beside your pussy, he slides the crown back to gather all the cum that dripped out, pushing it back into you. 

There's an overspill that coats his dick as well, and it’s making him feel things. Like his cock getting hard again even though he just came the second time. 

“Oh, Jungkook…” You sigh out, feeling overstimulated now. But as you look at his face, completely distracted, you enjoy the view instead. “You like that, baby?” You ask meekly, thinking that maybe he’d like that when he watches this again. 

“So fucking much, you have no fucking idea.” Jungkook huffs. “You’re so full already but there’s still so much leaking out.” 

“That’s all of you, Jungkook,” You say sweetly. 

“Hm. I know… shit… I just wanna do this everyday.” 

“Film is?” You snort. 

“Fucking you… being with you. I was going crazy in my hotel room at LA. Just wanna be with you all the time.” He laments. Jungkook presses on the phone and suddenly, he puts it back on the nightstand. 

“Awe. Poor baby.” You respond, tapping his forearm, putting your legs down while Jungkook soothes your thighs with gentle rubbing. 

You thought he’s done for the night, but suddenly, he says, “Angel, I may have lied. Can we film the sextape tonight, please?” 

You laugh. Again. And Jungkook just falls down your body, snuggles close to your chest as you instantly play with his hair. 

“Alright.” You say, craning your neck down to press a kiss on the crown of his head. 

[saintshiv]

i followed you in and i was with you there

part I, part II, final part

─ remmick x f!oc

─ synopsis: after a decade of him slinking himself up to her porch like a dog with a bird in its mouth, she finds herself tempted to throw in the towel. it would be so easy, to give in. to relinquish control to the other being far more powerful than her. but then their little game of cat and mouse would end too soon. and he can’t have that.

─ warnings: religious talk, smoking

─ w/c: 2.3k

fear thou not; for i am with thee: be not dismayed; for i am thy god: i will strengthen thee; yea, i will help thee; yea, i will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

isaiah 41:10

HER NOSE BURNED, a familiar scent lingering in her darkened doorstep. The rotted wood groaned, a warning to her at what awaited on the other side. Taking a step forward, she pulled her shawl closer to her body as a chill ran up her spine. Her fingers trembled, tightening their grip on the thin fabric. Her cotton dress shifted in the night breeze that blew in from her open windows. The lace curtains drifted back and forth with the warm air. Just outside, she could hear that the crickets and frogs all fell silent. Whatever stood past her doorstep did not bode well for her or the earth around her.

Living so far out, visitors were a rare occurrence. Most ended up being poor beggars, low down on their luck and looking for a hot meal and a safe spot to rest their heads for an hour or two. Some were more malicious in nature, preying on a lone woman. Her eyes darted out towards the deer rifle that was leant up against the wall next to the front door. "Excuse me? Is anyone home?" A thick Southern drawl called out from beyond the front porch. The voice was a shallow, pitiful excuse for the one she had once known.

Pursing her lips, her steady hand reached for the doorknob and yanked the door open. The dark night seeped past her feet, brushing against her skin like snakes in the tall grass. A figure shrouded by shadow stood just beyond her porch step. A figure she knew too well. "Ah," the voice spoke once again, its innocent lilt fully forgotten, "there she is." Thick with hunger and need. Her eyes narrowed in a vain form of attempted sight. Two pinpricks in the darkness watched her, pierced through her. Taking a step out onto the porch, she crossed her arms over her chest. "What, ain't no welcome wagon waitin' for me?" She could practically smell the smirk that danced on his lips. If she dared to, she could drink it, keep it all to herself. All she had to do was say the word. Actually two words. The beautiful, poetic words that he had longed to hear drip from her throat. Come in.

"Wondered how long it would be before your visage haunted my step." She finally spoke, her voice gruff with decades of nicotine and smoke coating her throat. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, hunting for another predator lying in wait. Another one patiently waiting for her to make the wrong move, say the wrong words in the wrong order. But there was nothing. Only him, her, and the insects that hung around like a bad cough. Taking another step out, the porch groaned in protest. Or perhaps warning. Halt, go back, it squealed to her. Though she ignored its claims, had made her decision ten years back. Nothing the porch or the grass or the sky could do about it now.

Fingers dug into her bra, pulling out a cigarette pack and her lighter. Pressing one of the sticks to her lips, she lit the end and took a deep drag before stuffing the items back where they once were. Though she couldn't see it, she could feel his cool gaze on her movements, on the exposed skin of her neck and collarbone. "Far too long, by my count." His honeyed words were soft in her ears, warm and gentle as if spoken directly against them. Her hand pushed a piece of hair behind her ear as she took another step forward. The further she grew from her doorstep, the clearer his form became.

A dirty white button-up, dirty brown slacks held up by suspenders, and worn shoes that looked ready for a church revival had they been cleaner. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his slacks as his eyes never strayed from her form. He watched her every breath, just as captivated with her now as he was when their paths first crossed. "C'mon, baby. Don't be like this." He took his own step closer to the bottom step of her porch, one hand pulled free from his pocket to run his fingers along the wooden post. Her eyes watched his movements like a skittish deer. One wrong move and she could dart for her door, never grant him entry past the first step until the day she died. What a pity that would be. What a tragedy it would be.

Taking a deep drag from her cigarette, she slowly let the smoke drip from her lips like drool from a hungry lion's chops. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Her scent, her aura, her breath. Everything drew him in, begged him to step past the porch and claim her as his own. Let me take you from all of this, he once proposed - damn near begged. I like my home just the way it is, she'd told him, never once stepping off that porch and never once inviting him in. She'd always been smart like that. Though she never said it aloud, he knew that she knew what he was. "Must be real hungry to come slinkin' back to my porch. Or real lonely. Guess those go hand-in-hand these days."

He swallowed in a vain attempt to escape from the dryness in the back of his throat. The air became thick, tense and heated. Even the insects now fled from the two, unsure of their place around the world. She took another step forward, now just hovering over that top step. One more step and he could reach out and grab her. Would he, she wondered. Maybe that's what she secretly wanted. For him to make that final call. For him to end this game of cat and mouse. But where would be the fun in that? The anticipation was more rewarding than the prize. His grip on the wooden post tightened as her scent now wafted in full force. A mix of jasmine, copper, and smoke, he swallowed back the saliva that quickly filled his mouth. "Maybe I just missed my favorite girl is all. That a crime, Esther?" His voice now thick and wet with a newfound desire. Everything in his being practically begged her to step from her porch. To step into his arms so he could finally hold her and devour her whole.

Her entire form stiffened as her name slipped from his lips. A deep ache settled between her legs at the sound, the sensuality of it all. Pressing the cigarette back to her lips, she took a long and deep drag. A failed attempt to shake her mind from the impure thoughts that dared to creep into her mind. Her face warmed and she prayed to the Lord that he couldn't see it through the pale moonlight. "'Round these parts, yeah, it is. Punishable by death." She tried to hide the way her voice quivered, the way her heartbeat quickened, the way her fingers now fidgeted with the shawl hung loosely over her bare shoulders.

He chuckled lowly, fingers running along the wooden post, gentle and soft. Inviting, in a way. And, with that, she stepped down onto the first step. Two more and she'd be off the porch and on the soil with him. This is the closest the two have ever been. There's an excitement buzzing in the air around him. Taking a deep breath, he breathed her essence in. Everything he wanted, he found in her. Everything he needed, he found in her. Two steps away. Two words away. Leaning his side against the wooden post, he pressed his forehead against the cool wood. "Then I'll die a happy man as long as my last sight is your face." Now he was laying it on thick. Even she could tell.

She snorted, throwing her head back in laughter. His grip on the wooden post tightened as her bare neck was on full display. This close, he could see the pulse of her carotid artery. It called to him like a siren song. It whispered his name, drawing him in, begging him to sink his teeth into such an open area. But that would ruin all of the fun he was having. If it were that easy, this would've been over long before it'd begun. But she was fun. More fun than any other that he'd had. She was special and only he could appreciate her to her fullest. If only she could see that. Then all would be right within the world. The fates would smile once again and let him know that he was on the right path. That's all he needed. Well, that and for her to come down these two steps.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Remmick." A coil of warmth curled inside of the pit of his stomach - a feeling he'd almost forgotten. The way his name dripped from her lips like drool from a lion's chops. He watched her as she pressed the cigarette back to her lips, taking a deep drag before stepping down one more step, just hovering over the last step. So close, he could smell her blood, could hear her steady heartbeat. His fingers twitched in his pocket, itching to reach out to her.

"I know, baby." He practically growled, eyes watching her like a fox watches a rabbit. Smoke dribbled from her cigarette, dissipating into the thick night air around them. A warm breeze pushed past them, shifting the thin fabric of her dress. Her eyes watched him back, taking in every twitch, every flicker, every glint. Every breath he took, she watched carefully. He lifts his chin slightly, eyes running along her shadowed face.

After a fleeting moment, his eyes dragged down her neck and collarbone, trailing down her shoulder to her extended arm, cigarette dangling from her fingers. With whip-like movements, his hand grasped her wrist, yanking her down off the step and into his arms. A gasp escaped her lips - a sound he wouldn't mind coaxing from her again and again for the rest of their lives. His arms wrapped tight around her, holding her in a vice-like grip. Her cigarette fell to the dirt, snuffed out. Her hands curled into the fabric of his button-up, clinging to him. His figure is imposing, looming over her. Fingers danced along her waist, toying with the cotton of her light blue dress. Trails of fire warmed her skin despite his cool temperature, forever cold and uninviting. It was a welcome feeling compared to her constant state of overheating.

Their eyes watched each other, their breath mingling together, heavy with an unseen tension. It's odd, almost surreal, to be this close to him. To see every feature of his face, every line and crease, every facial hair. "Well," she spoke, her voice soft and gentle, "here we are." One of her hands began to loosen its grip on his shirt, trailing up his chest, up his neck, and resting against his jaw. His eyes slowly shut, a soft groan escaping his lips as he took a deep inhale of her very essence. Leaning closer to her, his face pressed to the crook of her neck.

A part of her had quickly accepted this fate. The moment his hand wrapped around her wrist, her fate was sealed. The moment the two had crossed paths at a tent revival, her fate had been sealed. Her own eyes shut, awaiting the pierce of his fangs into her throat. But the seconds ticked by, slowly turning into minutes. The pressure, the pain, never came. He simply rested there, breathing her in. His arms around her waist tightened, pressing their bodies impossibly close. Her hand on his jaw slipped through his hair, damp with sweat. "Remi," she muttered under her breath, fingers curling into his hair, nails digging across his scalp. Another groan, this time reverberating through her throat.

Warmth spread throughout her entire body as he pressed a searing, wet kiss to her neck, right above the thrum of her pulse. In that moment, she was prepared to give herself over to him. Years of waiting, of patience, of this game. All of it finally coming together in this heated crescendo. A whine escaped her own lips, dissipating into the night like her cigarette smoke.

Remmick ripped himself from her arms, shoving her back as he stumbled away from her. The back of her foot caught against the bottom step, sending her tumbling down onto the steps. Her wide eyes stared out at him, now fully encompassed by the darkness. Thick drool dribbled down his chin as he stared her, wide glowing eyes watching her. His chest heaved through his labored breaths. The silence of the night was beginning to unsettle her, a warning to her that she was playing a dangerous game with an even more dangerous animal. Pursing her lips, she settled her hands against the wooden steps, clinging to them just as she'd clung to his chest.

Without another word, he turned and departed, disappearing into the woods at the edge of her property. Her eyes watched him flee, a conflicting sense of relief and rejection settled into her bones. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she pushed herself up from the steps, slowly making her way back onto her porch. As she neared the open front door, her head turned to cast one more glance out towards the night before retreating back into her home, shutting the door and locking it. All candlelights were extinguished and she resigned herself to her bed, a warm pit in her stomach, her fingers twitching against her hips. The apex between her legs begged for her to indulge, but she refused. She had Sunday service in the morning and she would not indulge in any more sin than she already had. With clenched thighs, she soon fell off into a fitful sleep.

[heavenlyspence]

In the Stacks | Spencer Reid

summary: You and Spencer meet at the library to search for books together. Will a brief touch between you two change your friendship?

contents/tw: season 4 spencer reid x fem!bau reader; library, mentions of books, oc librarian named Mandy; you’re short sorry; mention of physics and psychology; brief touching; hands; fluff: brief mention of the statistics of death from falling

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is part 2 of my new series! Here is part 1 if you’re looking for it: Meeting of the Nerds.

After your initial elevator meeting with Spencer Reid, the two of you spent the next two weeks messaging and calling each other almost every day. It started with Spencer calling you to ask a question about the case he had been working on. Truthfully, he already knew the answer. But it had been a few hours since you two first met, and he wanted to talk with you. He created a random question to ask you, which you happily answered as it gave you an excuse to talk with him some more.

The next day, you purposely looked for a reason to text him and what would be a better way than asking him about a book! You had been reading the book, 'The Delusions Of Crowds: Why People Go Mad in Groups' by William J. Bernstein and you texted him to get his opinion on it. He responded with a lengthy paragraph detailing his thoughts and feelings about the analytical perspective presented in the book. That led the two of you to begin texting every day about different nonfiction books.

Now it’s been two weeks, and you guys have decided to hang out. Initially, you were going to hang out a few days ago, but Spencer’s team received a case, and he had to fly to Arizona, so you rescheduled it for well…now.

It’s early morning on a Saturday, and you and Spencer both have the day off. You decided to meet up at the local library so you guys can pick out some books together. You walk into the silent library as you carefully observe the nearby displays created by the staff. They do this every month for holidays or for national awareness months, and you’ve grown accustomed to their kind-hearted displays. The library was completely empty except for the librarians who flash warm smiles at you as you walk past them.

“It’s nice to see you again!” An older brunette woman says while tri-folding brochures at the counter. 

You glance over to see her familiar face, “Mandy! It’s nice to see you too!” After you first moved here almost a year ago, you came to the library every day before going to the FBI for training. You were so shy that you barely spoke a word when you were at the library so Mandy,  who has been working at the library since 1992, talked to you more & more until you finally felt more comfortable. You two became so close that she even tried to set you up on a blind date with another one of her patrons a few months ago, but you turned the offer down due to your nerves.

“Sorry I haven’t been here much, Mandy. Work has been super busy.” You say as you walk over to the counter.

She stops folding the brochures as she looks up at you, “It’s alright dear you’re here now! Is there anything I can help you find?” 

“I’m actually looking for someone. Have you se-” You’re interrupted by a loud noise coming from the front of the building.

The sound of rustling leaves and the howl of wind flies through the building as the front door swings open. You glance over to see Spencer walking in while adjusting his brown jacket that got crinkled in the wind. He runs his hand through his hair to try and tame the wind-swept mess, not knowing that you're watching him. 

“Oh, there he is.” You awkwardly tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, feeling self-conscious that the wind messed your hair up as well.

“Is this an early morning date?” Mandy whispers to you as she goes back to tri-folding.

“No, no. He’s just my coworker. We’re…hanging out.” You whisper while Spencer walks closer to you.

“Hi Mandy!” Spencer smiles as he approaches the counter.

Mandy flashes a smile at him, “Hi sweetheart. I see you’ve met my lovely patron.” She gestures at you.

You look at both of them with a perplexed expression, “You two know each other?”

Spencer nods, “I’ve read almost every book in this library, and it’s Mandy who’s been keeping the shelves filled with new material for me to read.” He stands close to you, the smell of coffee and fresh-linen dancing off of him.

Mandy laughs, “He’s the reason we had to purchase so many quantum physics books. We get them and he reads them just like that-” She snaps her fingers.

Spencer looks over at you, “How do you two know each other?”

You point at Mandy, “She’s the reason why I maintained my sanity when I was doing my training for work.”

Mandy finishes tri-folding the brochures and she begins to hand one to each of you, “You two would’ve been married by now if you let me set you up on that blind date a few months ago.” You each grab the brochure stunned by her comment.

“What?” You two say in shock.

Mandy places the rest of the brochures on the stand next to Spencer, “Well, I thought you two would make a good couple. So I tried setting you up on a date but you both declined my offer. Now look at you two.” She looks them up and down with a smirk.

“We’re not a-” Spencer gets cut off.

“I know. But at least you two are friends.” Mandy looks over at another person walking into the library, “Now I have to get back to work. But let me know if you two need anything.” She walks over and greets the new patron, leaving Spencer and yourself confused.

“Well…” You awkwardly look at Spencer, “Wanna look for some books?” 

He clears his throat, “Yeah. Here, I made this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, “It’s a list of books that I think you’d be interested in.”

You carefully take the piece of paper from his hand so as to not accidentally touch his hand again, “Thanks!” You pull out your phone from your pocket, “I made you a list of books too, but you’ve probably read all of them.” He chuckles lightly as you go to your notes app and find the list you made, “Here it is!” You hand him your phone, and he reads through your surprising list.

“I actually haven’t read three of these books yet. So I’ll get those if they have them here.” He hands you back your phone and you put it into your pocket as you two begin walking towards the stacks.

You two spend over an hour and ½ looking at books together. Some of them are on the lists, and others just look intriguing, so you take the time to read the blurbs on the back covers. Occasionally, you catch yourself staring at Spencer when his hands move across the book pages, when he’s able to quickly read the titles on the shelf, or when a piece of his hair falls across his face and he casually puts it back. But you never seem to catch him when he’s watching a smile form on your face as you read an interesting blurb or when he can’t help but smile as you scrunch your face when thinking about something. 

Finally, you two are left with one book to look for, and you can’t seem to find it. Spencer goes to ask Mandy where it’s located while you stay and continue to look in the nonfiction section. You read through the shelves meticulously in hopes of finding the book title you’re searching for. After a minute or two of Spencer being gone, you take a step back and notice the title of the book you’re looking for sitting on the highest shelf.

You go over to the nearby step stool and drag it over to where you need it. You carefully press the four books in your arm against your chest as you stand on top of the stool. Your free hand reaches for the book but it’s tightly wedged in place- probably because it’s been sitting there for several years now since most people aren’t regularly checking out a 600 page book about physics and psychology…

You stand on your tiptoes to get a better grip of the book, but as you go to pull it out, you start to lose your balance. Footsteps quicken behind you, and suddenly, two hands rest upon your waist, holding you steady.

“Did you find the book?” Spencer says as he peers around you to see what you’re holding.

You turn your head to meet his eyes, “Ye-yep and nearly killed myself in the process.” 

He smirks at your joke, “Statistically, there are only 300 deaths per year that are caused by falling off of ladders. But those are usually much taller than this stool, so I think it would be okay if you fell.” He removes one of his hands from your waist and holds it out for you, “Here, let me help you down.”

You take his hand and slowly step back onto the floor, “Thank you.” As you step down, his hand gradually falls from your waist, and you begin to miss the feeling of it.

He continues to hold your hand while looking in your eyes, “Well, now that we’ve gotten all of our books, I was wondering if you wanted to create a mini book club that’s just us.” 

You look at his hand holding onto yours and then back at his eyes, “A book club?” 

He lets go of your hand and begins to speak faster out of embarrassment, “Yeah, we don’t have to read the same books! We could read different books and then discuss with each other about what we’ve read.” He looks down at the ground worrying if he overstepped.

“I’d love that! It sounds like a lot of fun!” You hold up the 600-page book you just grabbed, “But you read a lot faster than I do; like this 600-page book is probably gonna take me a week to finish.” 

A huge smile forms on his face as he looks back at you, “That’s fine! We can meet up once a week and I’ll talk about all the books I’ve read.”

“While I just tell you about the singular one I’ve read.” You laugh slightly at the idea of him excitedly rambling on about multiple books while you explain why you love or hate one book.

The two of you walk to the checkout counter while planning to meet up next week at a local cafe to talk about your books. You two talk nonstop at the counter as Mandy checks your books out. Neither of you notice Mandy’s knowing smile as she watches your relationship change right in front of her eyes. You two walked in as friends, but you're leaving as something more…

[minarisplaything]

Going Away Present ft. Jennie Kim

pairing: Blackpink Jennie Kim x M!Reader/M!OC rating: Explicit wordcount: 3.8k summary: Being the younger sibling of a member of Blackpink meant you were constantly surrounded by temptation. When the time for you to go away to college is coming up, one member decides to give you a special gift. disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. all characters portrayed are 18+

 It was just another day when you were walking up the front steps of your parents' house, grocery bags in hand. You couldn't help but wonder why you had been sent to get something so simple. Then again, Jisoo was in town, which meant your parents probably wanted to have some private time to catch up with her. Needless to say, being the member of a popular South Korean girl band and global ambassador for multiple brands required a lot of time away from home.

Pushing the front door open with your foot, you stumbled through the doorway, trying to see past the brown bags in your arms, “A little help—?"

"SURPRISE!!!"

A loud roar interrupted you as you stepped a foot into the house. You don't know what your reaction looked like, but judging from your slack jaw, it had to be some mixture of fear and bewilderment.

"W-What's going on?" you stammered, the bags practically falling out of your hands.

"We planned a surprise going-away party!" your mum explained as she walked towards you.

The smile on her face showed that she was clearly proud to have accomplished her goal. Your shocked expression slowly settled into a small smile and look of appreciation. Leave it to her to go above and beyond with something like this.

“Mum, I don’t leave for university for another month,” you said, handing the bags over to her.

“Yes, well, your sister is only here for two weeks then she has to leave on the international tour. So we decided to do it now. Go on, enjoy yourself, sweetie."

Your smile faltered somewhat. Ah, that explained it better. You would be lying if you said you weren't looking forward to going to university to make a fresh start for yourself out of your sister's shadow. You looked around the room, briefly noting the guests. It was the usual crowd; relatives, some schoolmates, longtime neighbors, and sure enough, your sister, Jisoo, and the other members of Blackpink.

You bit the bottom of your lip as you looked at them. Damn, Jennie, Chaeyoung, and Lisa looked amazing. No, you chastised yourself, Keep it together. Pushing your inappropriate thoughts aside, you turned back to the crowd of gathered people.

"Uh, thanks a lot for coming, guys. I’m sure there's plenty of food and drink, so let's enjoy ourselves."

Luckily, you were spared standing in an awkward silence as someone took the cue to start the music, and the party began. Now you say party, but that was being a bit generous. In reality, you spent most of the afternoon going around to various groups of people, talking and thanking them for coming. The questions were mostly the same: What university will you be going to? What will you be majoring in? How far is it? Have you thought about life after university and so on. It was exhausting, really.

Eventually, you worked your way to the backyard where the members of Blackpink stood gathered. Oddly enough, you had known them almost better than you knew anyone else at the party. In that sense, you couldn't help but be relieved when you finally made it to them.

"He's so grown up!" Chaeyoung squealed as you walked over. "I remember when he was eye level with me."

An embarrassed grin crossed your features as you stopped in front of them. Seeing them so often going through teenage years was never easy and often led to you excusing yourself to your room. At least now you could control yourself...mostly. Chaeyoung, or Rosie, was right though. Where you had once been eye-level and even shorter than her, you now towered over her.

“Ah, I never thought I’d see this day,” Jisoo said dramatically, moving over and wrapping an arm around you. “I was sure he’d drop out of school or something before university.”

The girls laughed as you shrugged her off, “Don't let mom and dad hear you saying that,” you teased looking over at her. "Besides, we all know I'm the brains in the family."

“Does that make me the talented one?”

The others laughed at the display of sibling bantering, and you couldn't help but join in. At moments like this, it was easy to forget just how famous she actually was.

Wearing a slight grin of her own, Jennie Kim moved towards you, wrapping an arm around your neck and standing to the side, “Be nice, Jisoo-unnie, it’s a special day for him,” she said before leaning up to give you a kiss on the cheek. You could immediately feel your face start to redden and hoped the fading sunlight in the yard was enough to mask it. “Plus we have a special way to send you off later.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. Jennie had always been your favorite among your sister’s friends, something you were sure they secretly knew but didn’t want to embarrass you by pointing out. The idea of a special send-off from her had already sent your mind down an optimistic path. Something Jennie seemed to pick up on as her grin grew.

“Get your mind out of the gutter! It's just a nice club downtown. Especially since you’re old enough to drink now.”

Not exactly the special gift your dirty mind had hoped for but you'd take it. Besides, there were people around the country who would kill to be in your position right now.

“Sounds perfect. This is a nice party and all but there's only so much excitement a going-away party thrown by your parents can have.”

“Don't worry, you’ll have plenty of excitement later,” Jennie winked at you, causing Jisoo to hit her playfully.

“Yah! Stop giving my baby brother the wrong idea!” Jisoo protested.

“Who said it's the wrong idea," Lisa chimed in, a mischievous look on her face, "We might find him a nice girl for the night."

"I'm not listening to this," your sister comically stuck her fingers in her ear.

A round of laughter broke out as Jisoo comically covered her ears. Undeterred, you looked around the yard before returning to the girls, "So when are you guys taking me out for this magical night?”

“Be ready by eleven. Lines aren't exactly an issue for us,” Jennie spoke up first.

You nodded, of course. Benefits of being famous and all.

“Sounds good. You’ll see us all then.”

You hesitated for a moment before leaning down to place a quick peck on Jennie's cheek. This, of course, caused teasing ‘oohs’ and ‘awws’ from the group. You walked away without looking back, but over your shoulder, you could hear Lisa talking as her gaze stared you down.

“He hasn’t even gone off on his own yet, and he’s making man moves.”

The rest of the party went as it had before your run-in with your sister and friends, which was to say boring and dull. Not that it was any fault of their own. It was hard to focus on casual conversation when your mind was already thinking ahead to going out to a club with Jennie, Chaeyoung, and Lisa. And Jisoo as well, you supposed. Eventually, your parents were seeing everyone out, and you were able to slip away to get prepared for the night. Despite not being active in the nightlife scene, you felt compelled to look your best tonight.

It turned out Jennie hadn't been lying. After picking you up, you took a taxi to some club in the heart of the nightlife district. Even with yourself looking terribly out of place, you walked right in and were guided to a table in the VIP section. It was surreal, really. And while you recognized that for many, simply a night at the club with Blackpink would be a dream, your mind couldn't help but wander back to Jennie's words and hope for more.

After a few shots and celebratory toasts, the party was well and truly underway. You could feel yourself starting to loosen up, and whatever nerves you might've had beforehand began to fade away. Time seemed to flow at its own pace, and you were a passenger to its whims.

“I still can’t believe you guys just get VIP tables like this,” you leaned over to say to Jennie, who sat to your right.

“It’s one of the perks of the job,” she replied with a smile before sipping her current drink. “Do you want another?” she pointed to the bottle; you shrugged and held your glass out.

“Jennie! I’m going to go use the bathroom, Chaeyoung is coming with me,” Jisoo shouted over to you.

Her bandmate gave an affirmative response, leaving you alone with Jennie and Lisa. Your thoughts began to wander once again, but before you could work up the courage to act on any of them, you heard a voice calling out to you.

"Do you dance?" 

It was Lisa, leaning over the couch towards Jennie and you. 

Feeling your nerves suddenly come back, you stammered, “Well uh, not too often I can’t really say—"

Jennie's laughter filled your ear, "Just come on!" 

She placed her drink down and took one of your hands while Lisa grinned and took the other. Together they guided you from your booth to an area to dance. Which, while not as crowded as the main floor, was still packed. Jennie easily found you a nook to slide into. She turned around, looking up at you as she pressed her body close to yours and began moving to the electronic beat without a moment's hesitation. Similarly, you could feel Lisa pressing against you from behind, sandwiching you between the two women.

If this was your gift, you could die a happy person.

"Take a deep breath," Jennie says soothingly, her hands rising above her head as she moves effortlessly to the music. Was is that obvious? You try to follow suit, but your body remains rigid despite your best efforts to loosen up. She turns towards you, pressing her backside against your crotch, and you feel waves of pleasure course through your veins.

Without warning, she takes your hands and places them on her hips, leaving them there as if daring you to move them. As you stand frozen in shock, wondering if this is an invitation or not, Lisa wraps her arms around you from behind. Her fingers trace intricate patterns against your skin as she moves to the music.

"Oh fuck..." you muttered, hoping the music masked your comment from their ears.

The singer continued her moves, even going as far to ratchet it up as she slid down using your body as if it were a stripper pole. As a result it also caused your hands to move from her hips to where her breasts were. Unable to help yourself your fingers flexed, feeling the mounds concealed by her tight top.  As if spurred on by your actions her ass rotated, rubbing directly into your crotch over and over again. 

“Noona...Jennie...” you tried to warn but your words were lost in the stereo music as she continued to dance.

You could feel yourself beginning to grow hard but could do nothing to stop her as she moved to the song. Every now and then her arms would wrap around my neck, pulling you down ever so closely only to release you and resume grinding against you in various ways. To add on to that you could feel Lisa's body pressed firmly against mine from behind. Whether either girl sensed or felt what was stirring they didn't let it stop them.

“Ssh, enjoy yourself,” Jennie cooed over the music. 

And you were. Very much so in fact. 

After all, who wouldn’t be in this position? Jennie Kim was rubbing her fit ass against your crotch as she danced to the music to the point where it felt like she was giving you a private lap dance. Meanwhile, Lisa was letting her hands roam over your body as if she was worshiping your form. No one in their right mind would want this to end. 

It was only when Lisa moved from around you and began to dance with Jennie in front of you that you finally felt like you were in danger of doing something embarrassing. As intoxicating as the sight was, it wasn’t worth ejaculating inside your pants in front of them. Mustering what willpower you had, you forced yourself to take a step back, whispering a brief excuse. 

“Sorry, ladies, I need to take care of something.”

Before they could turn around to question you on the matter, you made my way through the crowd and made a beeline for the restroom; oblivious to the knowing looks and devilish smiles that the two women exchanged. 

“Fucking hell,” you grunted as you stumbled into a bathroom stall.

You braced yourself against the sides, taking deep breaths as you tried to compose yourself. Which was easier said than done when your cock was painfully hard. As tempting as it was to jerk off and relieve yourself, there was no way you were doing that in a public stall. That seemed like you’d be asking for some kind of infection.

No, no. You just need to take a few minutes, regain your composure, and then you’d go out there and pick up where you left off.

“They were just teasing me. No way that was serious…” you muttered to yourself. “But still…”

What if they weren’t just teasing? What if this was your chance to make a move? If their dance moves were any indication they were feeling it just as much as you were. And it was your birthday after all. Stranger things had happened before, right? Probably. 

Thinking about your plan, of the potential of success, didn’t exactly help quell your excitement but at least you weren’t sporting an aching bulge ready to tear through your pants. You left the stall, went to the sink and splashed some water on your face. With a look in the mirror you set your determination and made your way back to the dance floor.

When you didn’t spot the girls you made your way back to the VIP area where you saw Jennie sipping on her drink and looking at her phone.

“Hey,” you called out.

“There you are,” her eyes lit up as she looked up at you. 

“Decided to take a break?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened to Lisa? The others?” you asked.

Jennie leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. The tight dress she wore rode up her thighs, giving you a delicious sight, “Oh, she had something to take care of. I think your sister and Rosie are off dancing the night away.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to remember your prior pep talk, “I guess it’s just the two of us.”

Jennie, meanwhile, wasn’t lacking confidence at all. She practically oozed it as she leaned forward, resting her elbow on one of her knees and placing her chin in her hand. She looked as though she could devour you with a single word and honestly, you would let her. 

“It seems that way,” she cooed, “I was actually thinking of getting out of here…” 

Your eyes went wide but you hoped you continued your composure otherwise, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jennie raised her hand to her mouth in what you guessed was a faux yawn, “I’m feeling exhausted. I guess I can’t party the same way I used to.”

This was it. Your chance.

“I can take you home if you want.”

A wicked grin crossed her features. 

“Jisoo always said you were well-mannered. I’ll text the girls and tell them we’re heading out.”

LATER THAT NIGHT…

Your back crashed against Jennie’s door and her lips were immediately on yours.

From the moment you had entered the cab to get back to her place it had felt like a fever dream. Her hand had teasingly run along your thigh the whole ride and at one point her lips had found their way to your neck.

Once you had arrived and stumbled into her apartment, she was all over you. No more suggestive touches with hidden meanings, no more coy flirtations. Her lips were on yours while her hands grabbed at your body. It was exhilarating and overwhelming all at once. Despite not drinking more than that initial shot, your head was spinning. This was happening. It was somewhat fortunate that you didn’t have time to overthink it at all.

Jennie’s hands gripped at your shirt, quickly undoing the buttons and pushing it over your shoulders. Next her hands moved to your belt buckle, her teeth biting at your bottom lip as she looked up at you with a sex-crazed gaze.

“I didn’t give you a gift at your party did I?” she asked.

“I-I don’t think so,” you moaned, feeling her hand slip into your pants to grip your cock.

“Then consider my pussy your graduation gift,” Jennie said, “Or a going away present. Whichever you want to call it.”

Her words made your head spin to the point all you could do was nod dumbly. Jennie had a wicked smile on her features as she reached down, pulling your pants and boxers away to expose your aching erection. An erection that you’d been dealing with practically since the club.

“I was wondering what it looked like,” Jennie cooed. “You know, Lisa and I were taking bets on just how big it was.”

“You were?” the thought caused your cock to jump in excitement.

“Mhmm.” Jennie bit her bottom lip as she reached down, her fingers curling around your shaft. “She’s going to be jealous that I got to you first you know. You’d split her in half with this.”

The combination of Jennie stroking your cock and the image of plowing into Lisa was enough to make you more than ready to receive your gift. Something Jennie must have realized as well as you heard her let out a giggle. She rose to her feet and turned, briefly giving you a view of her ass in the tight dress that hugged her fit body.

The view became even greater when she bent over, reached under her dress and slowly pulled her panties down her thighs. She looked over her shoulder, watching your face as she stepped out of them. Briefly you wondered what it’d be to get a lap dance from her. An idea to hope for in the future maybe.

“You can take these with you when you leave,” Jennie winked.

She placed the panties on top of the desk before looking back at you. She hitched up her red dress, revealing her bare ass and exposed pussy to you. If it weren’t for the fact that all the blood had already left your head and gone to your cock, you might’ve fainted on the spot.

“Fuck…”

“Come on then. Come enjoy your gift,” she said. She wiggled her ass as she invited you to close the distance in the hallway and take her.

“Do I need a condom?” you fumbled.

Jennie laughed and shook her head, her hair sticking loosely to her already sweat-covered body, “Don’t worry about that.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. The thought left your mind and you closed the distance between her and yourself. One hand took hold of your cock, lining herself up at her dripping entrance. You paused for a beat, etching the visual into your memory banks as you finally slipped inside of her. To say you had fantasized about your sister's bandmates before would be an understatement. In that sense, this was a dream come true. But even those dreams couldn't compare to the real feeling of Jennie's tight walls squeezing around your cock.

"Fuck, that's it, baby," Jennie moaned, bracing herself with one hand against the wall.

Slowly you buried inch after inch inside of the pop star until your hips were flush against Jennie's ass. As much as you wanted to savor the moment, the desire to fuck your long-time crush was far more overwhelming. Jennie was clearly ready for you to start given the way she ground her ass against you, imploring you to start thrusting immediately. You obliged her, slipping your cock out before filling her to the hilt once again and again.

"Fucking hell," you grunted.

"That's it. Fuck me, Baby" Jennie urged, moans falling from her plump lips.

As you gained a rhythm she began to meet your thrusts with her own movements. Your hands moved to her waist, squeezing gripping her tight as you fucked her. It was hard enough to make sure that there would be marks there tomorrow morning but not enough to cause any discomfort. In fact, judging from the moans of encouragement Jennie let out, she didn't seem to have any complaints.

"Harder," she gasped.

"Yes ma'am."

Every time you entered her from behind it  resulted in her perfect ass smacking against you, filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against each other. Jennie clawed against the wall as you pistoned your cock inside of her faster and faster, drawing out both of your pleasure. And it was good. Incredible even. Each thrust inside of Jennie was better than the last, far better than anything your imagination could have come up with. 

It was safe to say that the continued feeling of her pussy tightening around your cock far surpassed late nights with your own hand. The only problem was that you knew that it wouldn't last forever. That sooner rather than later you'd be emptying your balls inside of Jennie Kim. Or maybe she'd let you finish on her face.

"Fuck!" you gasped, cock twitching at the thought.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Jennie cast a glance over her shoulder. Her dark hair was sticking to her forehead, her cheeks flushed red, "You don't have to hold back for me. Let yourself go."

"Jennie-- " you warned, desperately.

All you could focus on was the feeling of Jennie's pussy, the desire to fuck her harder, and the looming inevitable release that was growing closer and closer with each thrust.

"I'm--Fuck. I'm going to--" you gasped.

You didn't have time to finish your sentence as Jennie slipped free of your grasp. Before you knew it she was on her knees in front of you, her mouth open and tongue sticking out as she stroked your cock furiously. One look at that sight and it was well and truly over. Your balls tightened, your pent up release spewing all over the pop idol's face. Your cock twitched in her grasp, ropes of your seed splattering her features. You had seen Jennie a lot over the years, but you had never witnessed her like this.

"Jesus christ..."

When it was all said and done you were exhausted and utterly spent. As your cock finally began to soften, Jennie ran a manicured finger over her face, scooping up a wad of your cum and sucking it clean off her fingers. When she looked up at you she seemed as satisfied as you felt.

"Congratulations again on graduating," Jennie said, a wicked smile on his lips. "I can't wait to see you when you come back for break."

BUY ME A COFFEE - if you enjoy my stories considering buying me a coffee! always appreciated, never required.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch6

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , jungkook shows up unannounced, angst at the end :( oc finds something which makes her rlly upset, FLIRT. jungkook. they are quite literally so into eachother. he catches her stalking him (sorry guys, i had to.)

wc: short n sweet today guys </3

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020

masterlist < prev | next >

The morning sun filters through the blinds, streaks of light painting lazy patterns across the walls. You blink against the brightness, groaning softly as the weight of last night lingers in your body—not in a bad way, but in that way where reality feels just a little softer, like a dream still clinging to the edges of your mind.

There’s a weight beside you, the warmth of another body tucked comfortably into your side, and when you finally force yourself to turn, you see Nari sprawled across your bed, mouth slightly open, one arm draped over her forehead dramatically. She’s still out cold.

You blink, piecing things together, and the memories from last night rush in—the way you and Jungkook had sat together outside, the way his voice had dipped when he asked if you’d ever listened to his music, the way his eyes lingered a second too long before Nari had pulled up.

And then the aftermath.

Nari had driven you home, but the second you’d stepped inside, it was like you’d both been hit with a second wind. She’d barely even gotten her shoes off before launching into questions, voice high and excited as she demanded every little detail.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. You guys were looking at each other like… like…” she’d flailed, eyes wide, “like you were the main characters in a romance drama. It was disgusting.”

You had only laughed, cheeks warm, shoving at her shoulder. “It was not that deep.”

“No, babe, it was,” she had insisted, leaning in, eyes twinkling. “So? How do you feel? What are you thinking? Are you like, head over heels already, or are we still in the honeymoon denial phase?”

And so it had gone. You’d ended up talking for hours, the energy of the night refusing to die down, until at some point, the exhaustion had hit all at once. One minute you’d been lying on your bed, still caught up in conversation, and the next, Nari had been out like a light, curled up next to you, and you hadn’t been far behind.

Now, as you blink against the morning, everything feels just a little surreal.

Nari shifts beside you, letting out a dramatic groan as she stretches. “Mmm, why is the sun attacking me?”

You laugh, reaching over to nudge her. “Because you insisted on sleeping with the blinds open. ‘Natural light is the best alarm clock,’ remember?”

She groans louder, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in a pillow. “I was a fool.”

You sit up, stretching your arms above your head. “Come on, we need to get ready. We have work.”

At that, she lifts her head just enough to peek at you, a slow grin forming. “Ohhh, you mean you have another excuse to check your phone all shift?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her again, but she only laughs, sitting up and ruffling her hair. “I don’t blame you, though,” she says, hopping out of bed. “If Jungkook was texting me, I’d be obsessed too.”

“I’m not obsessed,” you mumble, but your cheeks betray you, warming at the thought.

Nari wiggles her brows as she makes her way to the bathroom. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

The morning goes by in a blur of getting dressed, brushing teeth, and trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness. By the time you’re both ready, it’s like clockwork—grabbing bags, slipping on shoes, and heading out together.

—

Work is… work. The usual rush of customers, the clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation filling the air. But there’s something different about today.

Or rather, there’s something different about you.

Your phone buzzes in your apron pocket, and despite knowing you shouldn’t, you can’t help the way your fingers itch to check it.

[ iMessage ]

Jungkook: hows work? missing me much?

You bite back a smile, shaking your head.

Y/N: dont flatter yourself too much, and it’s boring, same old.

Jungkook: Too late. You thinking about me?

Y/N: I’m thinking about how I have actual work to do.

Jungkook: But still texting me. Interesting.

You scoff, but before you can type a reply, a voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Oh my god, you cannot be serious.”

You look up just in time to see Nari smirking at you from behind the counter, arms crossed.

“You have been glued to your phone all day,” she teases, leaning in. “Is it him? It’s him, isn’t it?”

You huff, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She gasps, placing a hand over her chest dramatically. “Wow. Lying to your best friend? This is serious.”

Before you can retaliate, a customer approaches, forcing Nari to straighten up and greet them with her usual bright smile. But as you go back to work, you catch her watching you out of the corner of your eye, that knowing smirk still playing at her lips.

And maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted, feet aching and mind still buzzing. You barely have time to get comfortable when your phone lights up again.

Jungkook: home yet?

Y/N: yeah, just arrived wbu?

Jungkook: Good. You left something with me, by the way.

You frown, sitting up a little.

Y/N: ??

Jungkook: Guess you’ll just have to see.

Your brows furrow, confusion settling in, but before you can ask what he means, there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart stops. No way.

Scrambling off the couch, you hurry to the door, barely remembering to check the peephole before swinging it open. And there he is.

Jungkook, standing in your doorway, looking way too pleased with himself.

In his hand, he holds something up—a tube of lip gloss.

“You left this,” he says, smirking.

You stare at him, processing. “You—”

“Figured you’d want it back,” he adds, voice light, teasing.

Your jaw drops. “You could have just told me! What if someone saw you? What if—”

He grins, stepping forward slightly. “Relax. No one saw me. I promise.”

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty, but he looks so… content. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then, softer, “I’m sorry. Should I go?”

Something in you hesitates. You should probably be annoyed, but the truth is, you don’t want him to leave.

You sigh, stepping aside. “Just… come in.”

His smile widens as he steps past you.

“Ignore the mess,” you add quickly, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He chuckles, looking around. “Looks fine to me.”

And just like that, he’s here, in your space, and your heart is racing for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

But one thing’s for sure.

You really, really don’t want him to leave.

“You want anything to eat?” you ask, already making your way toward the kitchen.

Jungkook follows lazily, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as he leans against the doorway. “I’m not complaining if you’ve got something.”

You hum, opening the fridge, scanning its contents. “Uh, I don’t have much. Just… some leftovers, snacks, instant ramen.” You glance at him over your shoulder. “That work for you?”

He grins. “Instant ramen sounds perfect.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab two packets and start preparing them. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you as you move around the kitchen, filling the pot with water, waiting for it to boil. There’s something oddly comfortable about it—having him here, leaning against the counter like he belongs.

“Your place is nice,” he muses, eyes drifting around. “Very… you.”

You scoff. “What does that even mean?”

He smirks. “I don’t know. Cozy. Lived in.” His eyes flicker to the corner of the room, where a small collection of potted plants sits near the window. “You really like plants, huh?”

You glance at them, smiling softly. “Yeah. They give me something to look after.”

Jungkook nods, stepping closer to get a better look. “I get that. I have a dog—Bam. He’s basically my kid at this point.”

Your lips curl into a grin. “I think taking care of a whole dog is a lot harder than a few plants.”

“Maybe,” he admits, “but they both need love, right?”

Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten just a little. You turn back to the ramen, stirring absentmindedly. “That’s sweet.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as you finish cooking. A few minutes later, you’re both curled up on the couch, bowls in hand, eating in companionable quiet.

Jungkook glances around again, his gaze landing on a small shelf filled with books and framed pictures. Setting his bowl down, he stands and makes his way over, examining them.

“You and Nari, huh?” he muses, picking up a photo of the two of you, arms thrown around each other, wide grins on your faces.

You swallow your mouthful of noodles, nodding. “Yeah. We’re really close, if you cant tell.”

“Oh i can, trust me.” He tilts his head slightly. “You’ve known each other long?”

You nod again, settling into the couch. “Since I started working at the restaurant. It’s been… what, five years now? She was one of the only people who talked to me when I first got there. I was kind of an outsider, didn’t really know how things worked. But Nari showed me the ropes. We’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Jungkook’s lips curve into a soft smile as he places the photo back. “That’s nice. It’s rare to find people like that.”

You glance up at him. “What about you? Do you have a best friend?”

There’s a slight hesitation before he answers, like he’s carefully choosing his words. “Yeah. I mean, I’m close with all my members—we’re like family at this point. No- we are family actually- and I have friends outside of work, too.” He looks at you, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Why? You jealous?”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm nonetheless. “Oh, totally. Just dying to be your best friend.”

He chuckles, plopping back down onto the couch beside you. “I mean, you’re already halfway there.”

You shoot him a look. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nudging you playfully.

You shake your head, finishing the last of your ramen. The conversation slows, but it’s not awkward. If anything, there’s something… nice about the quiet, the way you’re just sitting there, existing in each other’s presence.

Jungkook leans back, exhaling softly. “I like this.”

You glance at him. “Like what?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely between you. “Just… hanging out. No cameras, no expectations.”

Your heart stirs at his words. You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to.

Instead, you just nod, letting the moment linger.

And for a while, neither of you move.

Jungkook watches as you disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you. Left to his own devices, he leans back into your couch, stretching his arms before letting out a deep breath. His eyes wander around your apartment again, settling on your coffee table.

Your laptop sits open.

Curious, he nudges the touchpad, bringing the screen back to life. The last thing you had open was a YouTube tab, and without thinking, he clicks on it.

That’s when he sees it.

His name. In your search history.

His eyes widen slightly, scanning the list of videos you’d recently watched. There were quite a few. Some interviews, a couple of performance clips, even an edit—oh, this was good. A slow grin spreads across his lips as he scrolls further, and then—

Oh.

One title in particular catches his attention. BTS Jungkook - Permission to Dance in LA (Full Focus Cam! + Backstage)

Jungkook raises a brow, amusement sparking in his chest. Oh, this was too good. He glances toward the bathroom, making sure he still has time, before clicking on the video.

The music starts, and he watches himself take the stage, all confident and fluid, moving effortlessly across the screen. But then—then the camera zooms in on that part.

The part where he’s fully feeling himself, exuding every ounce of charisma he has. Where his movements are just a little too smooth, a little too suggestive. He smirks.

Just as the video reaches the peak of that moment, the bathroom door swings open.

You step out, stretching, but freeze the second your brain registers the music playing from your laptop. Your stomach drops.

“Oh my god.”

Jungkook looks up, beaming. “Oh, hey, you’re back.”

Your eyes snap to the screen, and you almost die on the spot.

The video is playing in full volume. Full volume.

“Oh my god, no—” You rush forward, but Jungkook is faster. He clicks pause, turning to you with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen.

“So,” he drawls, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “You’ve been doing some research, huh?”

You slap the laptop shut so fast you swear you almost break it. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, shaking his head, clearly thriving off this. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

You groan, covering your face. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

Jungkook hums, pretending to think. “You know, I was wondering—if I looked at the watch time, would I see a certain part being, like, replayed a few times?” He quirks a brow, his smirk devastating.

Your jaw drops. “I—absolutely not—”

He chuckles, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nah, but for real,” he says, tapping the laptop. “I totally get it. If I were you, I’d watch me too. I look too good in this.”

You groan even louder, ready to just fling yourself off the couch and onto the floor. “Please stop talking.”

“Oh, I will not.”

Jungkook leans in slightly, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “Be honest—was it this part?” He reaches for the laptop again, and you launch forward, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“I will kick you out.”

He just laughs, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

You glare at him, still gripping his arm. He just grins.

And you—well, you’re never opening YouTube around him again.

——

You glance at the clock, surprised by the time. It’s getting late, way later than you expected.

“You’re here pretty late,” you remark, your voice casual as you stand from the couch and stretch a little. “Don’t have anything to do tomorrow?”

Jungkook gives you that lazy smile of his, the one that you’re learning to recognize by now. “Nope. No work tomorrow,” he replies, his voice a little husky, like he’s savoring the moment. “I just wanted to chill for a bit, you know?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just wanted to chill?”

He shrugs, a little shrug of the shoulders that makes him look even more relaxed than he already is. “Yeah. You’re good company, and it’s been…a long time since I’ve had a chance to just, you know, hang out.”

The words hit you in a way you weren’t quite prepared for. Something about them just settles in your chest—this quiet honesty, this rare openness that he’s letting slip.

“Alright,” you say, a little softer than before, before plopping back down on the couch. You hit play on the movie, the soft glow of the screen filling the room.

For a while, the two of you don’t say anything. The movie plays in the background, but it’s not really what you’re paying attention to. He’s sitting next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, his presence beside you just…there.

And then, almost without noticing, he moves slightly.

You’re so wrapped up in the movie, in the strange sense of comfort that’s been building between you two, that when his arm moves over to your shoulder, you barely even flinch. It feels natural, effortless—like it’s something that’s always been meant to happen.

His arm settles around your shoulders, just resting there.

And, before you know it, your legs find themselves stretching out, and you casually drape them across his lap, feeling the soft, undeniable weight of his presence. Your heart beats a little faster, but you pretend like everything’s normal, like you’re just watching a movie like any other evening.

Except you’re not.

You don’t realize how close you’ve gotten until halfway through the movie, when you glance up at him. His face is lit by the glow of the TV, and you’re struck by how peaceful he looks, how relaxed, how…at ease.

You try to tear your eyes away. Focus on the movie.

But it’s impossible.

You end up staring at his side profile, unable to help it. The way his hair falls just a little in his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lips move when he laughs quietly at something in the movie…

It’s too much.

You blink rapidly, your gaze flicking away, heart racing. You try to concentrate on the movie, on what’s happening on screen, but your brain’s too occupied with the fact that Jungkook’s right there, his arm around you, your legs on his lap, and the tension between you two building slowly, almost unnoticeably.

And you feel it.

You feel every beat of your pulse, every breath that’s just a little too shallow. You feel him. Every inch of him.

God, what is this?

You bite your lip, trying to distract yourself from your own thoughts, but the more you try to focus on the film, the more you find yourself distracted by his presence. It’s like he’s the only thing in the room, the only thing that matters right now.

And when you glance back at him again, his eyes flick to you, catching you in the act of looking at him.

His lips curve into a slow, teasing smile. “You good?”

You nod quickly, but the heat rising in your face betrays you. “Yeah, fine,” you mumble, shifting a little uncomfortably, trying to play it cool.

But your thoughts are anything but cool.

The rest of the movie seems to blur around you as you try—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way you can feel him so clearly, so undeniably, right there beside you. His warmth, his scent, the way his hand occasionally brushes against your arm.

You’re so distracted you don’t even hear what he’s saying until his voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice laced with something you can’t quite place. “You okay?”

You nod again, but you can’t seem to get the words out. The space between you feels electric, and it’s like the air around you both has thickened, changed.

He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say anything else either.

But he doesn’t need to.

——

You’ve long forgotten about the movie. The credits are rolling on the screen, but you couldn’t tell if you’re even watching anymore. It’s just noise in the background now, filling the space between you two. You’re sitting on the couch, the last of the snacks between you, sharing what’s left of them. The atmosphere is easy—comfortable, almost.

Your fingers brush when you both reach for the last chip. Neither of you pulls back, and it feels like a long moment where you both just look at each other for a beat. He’s got this amused look in his eyes, like he’s caught you in some kind of subtle game. You’re not sure who’s winning, but for some reason, you don’t care.

You end up laughing a little too much over the fact that the bowl’s completely empty now, and somehow, your legs end up tangled together on the couch. It’s ridiculous. You both just keep laughing, but the longer you sit there, the quieter the atmosphere grows, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel a little dizzy. You can’t really explain it, but the more you look at him, the more you can’t not look at him.

For a while, there’s a comfortable silence between you two. He’s stretched out on the couch, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, and you can’t help but notice how different the vibe feels. It’s not the usual playful teasing. There’s something a little more…real about tonight.

It’s him who breaks the silence first, his voice a little softer than before. “You ever think about what you want in life?” His words are a bit of a surprise, but the question’s casual, almost like it’s something he’s been thinking about.

You raise an eyebrow, unsure of where this is going, but you can tell he’s not just being playful. There’s something more to his tone. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep things light, but your curiosity gets the better of you.

He hesitates for a second, glancing away, as if he’s considering his words carefully. “I mean… what do you really want? Like, when everything calms down? When you’ve done all the crazy stuff and finally just get to have the life you want?”

You blink, a little taken aback by the sudden shift. This isn’t the Jungkook you’re used to—this isn’t the playful, teasing guy who’d rather joke around. This feels different. You glance at him, and his face is unreadable, eyes staring into the distance, like he’s trying to figure it all out.

“I don’t know,” you admit, honestly. “I think I just want… peace. Like, the kind of life where things aren’t so… loud. You know? Maybe I want that simple, boring life, where everything just makes sense.”

You think that would be the end of it, but he nods slowly, like he gets it. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “I think I want that, too. I want something simple.” His words come out softer now, and there’s a vulnerability there you didn’t expect. “Something real. I want to settle down one day, but I don’t know if that’s even possible, with everything I do.”

You can’t help but feel a small rush of warmth at how genuine he sounds. The Jungkook you know is the center of attention, always surrounded by people, always in the spotlight. Hearing him talk like this, so open and honest, makes your heart skip a beat.

“I don’t think I could do it if I didn’t have something real to come home to,” he continues, almost to himself, his gaze fixed ahead. “Like, a love that isn’t… complicated. No drama. Just someone who’s there, you know? Someone who gets it.”

You swallow hard, realizing just how different he is from the persona he puts out there. Jungkook, the idol, the magnet for attention, is telling you he just wants simplicity. And for some reason, that makes him even more attractive.

You stare at him, your thoughts momentarily distracted. You didn’t expect him to be like this, didn’t expect to hear about what he really wants—what he really needs. And the more you think about it, the more you realize you want to kiss him right now. But you don’t say it. You don’t act on it. Instead, you find yourself just looking at him, caught in the moment.

It’s then that the sound of the movie’s credits fill the room, the music fading as the screen goes dark. The sudden shift makes you blink, pulled back into the reality of the situation. You look at the time—it’s 3 a.m. already.

Jungkook glances at his phone, a soft curse slipping past his lips. “Damn, time flies.” He gives a half-laugh, glancing at you. “I really don’t have anything to do tomorrow. I kind of want to stay… longer.”

For a second, you can tell he’s seriously considering it, and the idea of him staying makes your chest tighten. But you manage to pull yourself together enough to say, “About that… sorry, I have work tomorrow.” You let the teasing tone back in, trying to lighten the moment. “You can always just waltz up here again, if you feel like it.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin crossing his face. “I might just do that.” He stretches, as though he’s ready to stay the night, and for a second, you think he might. But then, with a playful look, he stands up, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ll let you get some sleep. But don’t think I won’t be back,” he teases, the air between you two charged with unspoken words.

You laugh, but inside, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re both on the verge of something new.

You walk Jungkook to the door, the quiet of the night around you both making everything feel oddly intimate. As he stands in the doorway, he looks at you, his expression softer than usual, like he’s trying to remember something. You both linger there, not saying much. It’s one of those moments where you’re not sure what to say, but you know neither of you is ready for this night to end.

“Guess I should get going,” he says, his voice quiet, almost reluctant.

“Yeah…” you trail off, not quite sure if you’re ready for him to leave, but you smile anyway. “Thanks for coming by.”

His eyes flicker, and without a word, he pulls you into a quick hug, one that’s warm and a little too long, just enough for you to catch a breath before you both pull away. It feels like something more, but neither of you acknowledges it.

“Take care, alright?” he says, still holding your gaze.

You nod, feeling a little out of breath. “You too.”

Then, he steps out, and just before he turns to leave, he looks back, grinning. “I’ll see you soon,” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe,” you reply, trying to keep the smile on your face, even as your heart beats a little faster than normal.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you stand there for a moment, just listening to the sound of the night. Your mind is still reeling from everything that happened tonight, the closeness, the teasing, the moments that felt like they meant more than they probably did.

Shaking your head, you move to tidy up, putting away the empty snack bowls and the remnants of the movie you’ve long forgotten about. The house feels quiet now, almost too quiet, and you find yourself moving around automatically. You go into your room, taking off your shoes, tossing your jacket onto the bed, and sitting down at the edge.

You pull your phone from your pocket, deciding to unwind with a bit of scrolling through your timeline. The bright screen feels like a good distraction from the swirl of thoughts in your head. Sending Jungkook a quick ‘Hope you got home okay, goodnight :)’ text,

You’re mindlessly tapping through posts when something stops you cold—your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s a video. Of Jungkook.

You freeze, staring at the thumbnail. The video’s not recent—it’s been uploaded recently, but you have no idea when it was actually filmed. You press play anyway, your finger trembling just slightly.

It’s him, in what looks like his apartment, laughing and stumbling around with a girl in his arms. The two of them are playfully navigating their way around, and a dog is trailing behind them, wagging its tail. You don’t recognize the girl—her face is blurry from the angle of the shot, but you can tell she’s close to him, like the two of them are comfortable.

You’re not sure what his apartment looks like, but you know that dog. You’ve seen it on social media before. And you can’t miss the way his hair’s styled, that signature long, grown-out mullet he’s been sporting. All the details are accurate enough that it seems too real to be fake.

But the girl? You have no idea who she is.

Your stomach tightens, a pit forming inside you as your mind races to make sense of what you’re seeing. The casualness of it, the familiarity between them, makes your chest tighten in an unexpected rush of jealousy. You watch the video again, trying to figure out what exactly is making you feel so uneasy, but the more you see, the worse it gets. The image of them laughing together, the dog following them like it’s just another day, makes everything feel like it’s out of your reach.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been staring at the screen when you finally snap out of it, but the realization hits you hard—this could’ve been filmed weeks ago, or maybe it’s been recent, and you were none the wiser. You can’t tell.

The uncertainty of it all makes you feel like you’re drowning. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what it means.

You pull the phone away from your face, staring at it as your heart continues to race, unsure of what to feel.

All you know is that seeing this video makes everything feel like it’s slipping through your fingers, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever get it back.