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jiminrings · 1 year ago

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 year ago

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Infernal Shadows 03

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it. Carmilla and Velvet feud because I also live for that. I also really favor Zestial for some reason as a calm mediator.

Song for this chapter: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback & feedback in general on the last two posts!! I really didn’t think this would catch so much attention but I’m so glad people like it. For some reason Tumblr’s being weird and doesn’t want to let me tag certain people, I don’t know why but if anyone does please let me know because I really don’t like that ;/ But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Please note that some blogs cannot be tagged, so I recommend checking this post and to check your settings to make sure I can tag you! If anything I can always just message you when the next chapter comes out, and yes I am making this series longer :) it’ll also be posted on my Wattpad soon!

Word count: 3890

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @iaaeav @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @pretty-puppy-stuffies @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @lunalixya

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part two. // Part four.

Engaging with guests throughout the night had become an exhausting endeavor, and a part of you yearned for the solace of your absence. Nevertheless, you maintained the façade, acknowledging every sinner whose smile dripped with crimson mischief. Having greeted each guest, you discreetly slipped into a shadowed corner, your shadows enveloping your figure quickly, seamlessly disappearing from the expansive room in mere seconds and emerging into an intimate gazebo outside, meticulously arranged beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you marveled at its unique ambiance. Unlike the earthly counterparts that stood white, the willow in your realm bore a deep crimson hue, its leaves adorned with a subtle, luminous sheen. A gentle smile graced your lips as you leaned against the sturdy black iron railing, delicately cradling a piece of the weeping willow between your fingertips. In the distance, the grand mansion hosting the gala loomed, its opulence contrasting with the simplicity of your secluded retreat. Despite the awareness of etiquette dictating against leaving guests unattended, the need for a mental break led you to this haven, a safe space for you. Reflecting, you acknowledged a desire for better preparation and rehearsal with the shadows, realizing the repetitiveness of conversations with the familiar sinners had rendered the night somewhat lackluster. It almost felt like you had come out of hiding for nothing. Quite the disappointment.

You sigh, massaging your temples, the lace fabric on your fingertips only slightly soothing the growing headache. However, not too far behind, you hear the sound of soft grass. You straighten up and turn around, seeing none other than your long time friend Zestial, who just smiled, nodding at you.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial inquired, standing by your side with his back against the railing. You resumed your original position, taking a moment to appreciate his father. Mentally noting how much of your grandfather Zestial reminded you of, you kept the sentiment unspoken.

Tonight, Zestial adorned himself in an outfit resonant with his time period, preserving his distinctive color scheme. A dark, meticulously tailored coat with lime green accents draped over his slender frame, capturing the essence of his demonic class. The cloak, adorned with lime green spider webs, unveiled a mesmerizing display when unfurled—his lime green eyes radiating, the upper pair embellished with vivid red irises. Instead of the customary big top hat, Zestial selected a smaller, more appropriate hat with a touch of flair. Dark as the shadows you command, it featured a light grey patch at the front and was finished with a grey-colored skull and a lime green and red-striped feather on the right side, adding a distinctive touch that mirrored his nature.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial repeated, shifting toward you a bit. Yet you resumed your original position, savoring the quiet ambiance before finally answering him. “What shall we discourse upon during our repast this eventide?” Zestial asked. Though his wording occasionally posed a challenge for others, having grown up in a family of eloquent speakers, you easily deciphered his intent. Something he truly appreciated. Though he was learning to speak more ‘modern’, or as modern as he could be.

“Quite unsure of that. Everything is changing, and I fear I might be left behind,” you expressed bluntly. Zestial sighed in response, a mix of understanding and concern evident in his lime green eyes.

“Madame, thou art timeless,” Zestial said with a bow, his cup proofing into smoke. “I pray thee, vex not thyself o’er so trivial a matter,” he added, his words resonating with both reassurance and genuine care.

You nodded, handing him a card. His surprised expression upon finding two cards instead of one didn’t escape you. “What manner of thing is this?” Zestial inquired, prompting you to summon a shadow for yourself, knowing he would find his own means back to the Gala.

“Carmilla. I am no fool to the both of you,” you said, amusement coloring your words as Zestial shook his head.

“Thou dost astonish me on every occasion,” Zestial remarked, standing by your side as you walked into your portal. Two seats vanished, leaving four empty seats at your table and six occupied.

In your study, you floated scripts in front of you, checking off names on the table list for tonight. With a few overlords left to choose from, Alastor and Charlotte secured seats based on trust and connections. Vox, Zestial, and Carmilla, an unspoken but potent couple, promised intrigue. Reconsidering Velvet for her potential devolution, you weighed each decision with strategic acumen.

Valentino, the Von Eldritch twins, and other weaker options were dismissed, maintaining a careful balance of power and influence. As you weigh the option of inviting Rosie to the gathering, her unpredictable nature adds a layer of excitement and potential surprise to the upcoming discussions. However, this unpredictability could also introduce challenges, creating an air of uncertainty around her contributions. Hopefully with Alastor around, she’d feel more inclined to behave. You check her name off the list.

In considering Stolas, the Goetia prince, his personal issues and tarnished reputation pose significant hurdles. Divorcing from his wife, sleeping with an imp for fun, as well as losing control of his daughter on Earth, it all seemed too risky to get involved with. While his wisdom and influence could contribute positively, the shadows of his struggles may complicate the dynamics, stirring potential conflicts and requiring delicate handling. Someone might get out of line with a comment towards him. His power was incredibly useful, but not worth the risk.

Husk’s transformation from a former overlord to a bartender signals a decline in power and status. While his laid-back demeanor might bring a sense of unpredictability, his diminished influence raises questions about the relevance of his involvement in the current political landscape of hell. Though he was your friend, you needed to keep your reputation pristine.

As the you contemplate the overlords assets, a mix of excitement, caution, and uncertainty envelops the decision-making process. Each overlord’s potential positive contributions are balanced by the looming negatives.

“Madame?” One of your shadows materialized, prompting a nod for them to proceed. “There seems to be some trouble in the lobby between the guests. What would you like us to do?” it inquired. A grimace crossed your face, hoping the disturbance wouldn’t mar your night. “Let me handle it,” you declared, snapping your fingers, causing the script to vanish. The shadow nodded, blending back into a wall for you to step through.

Upon reappearing, you assumed the form of a taller shadow. The room surrounded by guests revealed Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla standing in the middle. Zestial, seemingly composed, stood close behind Carmilla, observing the situation. Carmilla appeared visibly upset, with Velvet in proximity, a pointed finger dropping as soon as she noticed your arrival. Alastor maintained his usual wide smile, though it bordered on the eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The scene unfolded, presenting a potential challenge to the serene atmosphere you aimed to maintain during the gala.

Everyone seemed to stop, slowly turning toward you to see your face. Except there was no expression, just the large shadow you had taken form of. In seconds the shadow disappeared, leaving you in the fog, the expression on your face anything but calm.

"Madame I-" Velvet began, but her words were halted by the sight of your lace glove, your hand rising to silence her. Approaching the overlords, you spoke with an air of cold authority.

"My quarters. Now," you commanded, and with a snap of your fingers, smoke enveloped your spot as you vanished. Shadows materialized around the overlords, guiding them to your quarters, leaving the stunned guests in the lobby.

"Well, that was interesting," Valentino remarked.

In your study, the overlords found you seated in your tall, black chair. Its ebony surface featured intricate carvings of black glass, elegant swirls, and patterns tailored to your essence, creating an atmosphere of undeniable authority and refinement.

"I hope you all had fun acting like children," you chided sternly. The overlords lined up, forming a unified front. Leaning against the right side of your chair, you crossed your legs, elbow on the armrest, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Annoyance laced your words as you questioned, "What did you feel the need to argue about now?" Before Velvet, Vox, and Carmilla could respond simultaneously, you halted them. "One at a time. I'd assume you all handle this like adults, if you even can." The tension in the room hung thick as the overlords awaited their turn to address your inquiry.

“She wants me at her table Vaggie! Me!” Charlotte said excitedly. Vagatha just smiled.

“That’s good! Now you can tell them about the hotel, and maybe someone will be interested.” Vagatha said, and Charlotte just nodded.

“Maybe they-“ Charlotte stopped, observing as people began to crowd around the center of the lobby. Charlotte and Vagatha stood from their spots at the bar to walk toward the center, where the overlords stood. Velvet and Vox were next to each other, while Carmilla, Alastor and Zestial were across. Carmilla and Velvet were face to face. “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked as Vagatha and her pushed their way through the crowds of people.

“Come on, Carmilla, always the mood-killer,” Velvet scoffed, a disrespectful tone tainting her words. Carmilla shot her a stern look, ready to assert her authority.

“Watch that tongue, Velvet. I will not let your insolence slide,” Carmilla retorted, attempting to rein in the escalating tension.

Vox, ever the smooth talker, chimed in, “Ladies, ladies, let’s not turn this into a drama fest. We’re all here for a reason.” Vox said, sternly giving a tight lipped smile to Velvet, silently telling her to keep her shit together.

Carmilla shot a glare at Velvet, who replied with a defiant smirk, “Drama or not, Vox, some of us aren’t here for the ballroom charm.”

Alastor, drawn to the brewing chaos, couldn’t resist adding his flair, “Well, well, a bit of spice never hurt a party, does it?”

Carmilla, unfazed by the chaos, spoke with a calm authority, “Velvet, your insolence is unnecessary. This is not a playground; it’s a gathering of overlords. Act accordingly.”

Velvet, seemingly undeterred, shot back with a dismissive laugh, “Poor Grandma, always trying to play the responsible one. Maybe loosen up a bit? Have a drink will you?”

Vox, ever the smooth talker, added with a slick comment, “Perhaps we can focus on the matters at hand. Save the theatrics for later ladies.”

Alastor, intrigued by the unfolding drama, simply grinned, “Oh the picture box has spoken! Quite intriguing.” The room continued to buzz with tension as each overlord, except Rosie, added their own flavor to the brewing turmoil. As the tension thickened, Vox, with a sly grin, couldn't resist adding his own slick comment to the mix.

"Ah, Alastor, the radio days were quaint, but it seems you're a bit outdated. Television is the future, perhaps you should tune in sometime," he quipped with a wink, the words delivered with a calculated smoothness. The room momentarily hung in a charged silence before the verbal sparring resumed, adding another layer to the complex interplay of personalities at the gala.

With Vox's comment about Alastor being outdated sinking in, the radio demon responded with a sly grin, sharp teeth on display, his eyes displays dials, as the rooms lights began to deepen, "Ah, Vox, your television endeavors are impressive, but remember, I'm not just audible; I'm unforgettable. A little screen time won't change that," he retorted, “This face was made for radio.” He said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, a sharp snap in his neck, his words carrying a mix of amusement and confidence. The verbal exchange between the two overlords added another layer to the already charged atmosphere, each comment becoming a piece in the intricate puzzle of conflicts and egos at the gala.

“See what you did grandma, now you’ve got the two of them fighting.” Velvet said, pointing a finger into Carmella’s chest. She scoffed, shoving her away.

“Don’t you dare get disrespectful on me you brat.” Carmilla said, beginning to heat up with anger.

That's when Madame stepped in, reappearing in the form of a taller shadow, casting a lengthened silhouette in the room brimming with guests. Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla found themselves at the center of the unfolding tableau, and Zestial, seemingly composed, lingered just behind Carmilla, quietly observing the escalating drama. Carmilla's visage betrayed a hint of distress, her pointed finger lowering as she registered your reappearance. Alastor, with his trademark grin, bordered on eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The unfolding scene disrupted the serene atmosphere you had meticulously aimed to maintain during the gala, presenting an unexpected challenge.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their gaze toward you, anticipating your reaction. However, your face remained expressionless, concealed within the depths of the large shadow you had taken form of. In mere seconds, the shadow dissipated, leaving you in a misty veil. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a storm brewed, ready to challenge the delicate balance of the evening.

Now, here you all were, sitting in the study after Carmilla had explained the situation.

“Madame, with all due respect,” Carmilla spoke, looking down. “I truly do not believe Velvet is mature enough to be at our table tonight.” Carmilla said.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” You asked sharply, to which Carmilla stiffened quickly, shaking her head then.

”No Madame, I would never-“

“Then do not say foolish things.” You said. Sighing, you shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the situation. Tonight sensitive information would be revealed and Carmilla did have some point here. Velvet clearly could not hold her tongue.

”Vox, control your associate please, or you both will be cut from the dinner tonight.” You said finally, to which he nodded nervously.

“Of course Madame.” He said, nodding to you.

“I wasn’t finished.” You said, looking to Alastor.

“I want none of this technology talk either.” You spoke, staring at Alastor who just smiled with lidded eyes. You knew he was very much upset, but you had forbidden anyone to fight in your home, anyone but you of course. “You all will act like mature adults wether you like it or not. I am not your guardian, I should not be having this conversation with overlords who should know better.” You said, standing. ”Now, all of you, out.” You said, snapping your fingers. Quickly the shadows began to move, ushering everyone out of your study. Everyone except Carmilla. “Not you.” You said to her, Zestial nodding to you and her as he stepped out, giving you both privacy.

“Madame, I didn’t mean what I said-“ Carmilla said quickly. You waved her off, straightening yourself out.

“Nonsense Carmilla, I know you meant well.” You said with a stoic expression. You sit back down, crossing your legs and snapping your fingers to form a chair in front of your desk, ushering her to sit. “I wanted to speak to you about your weapons.” You stated. At this her eyes went wide, before dropping again.

“Oh, very well then. What would you like to know?” She asked. You grinned, before standing again.

“Well, how much would I need to give you for you to make me a personal bayonet?” You asked. She went silent for a moment, before answering.

“Nothing at all Madame.” She said, standing to look at you. “May I ask what for?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“No, just to have on display. I want a new one, the old one I have is quite out of style for me.” You replied. She just nodded, before you waved to her, sitting back down and summoning a script again. “You may go now, and please, do not argue with children.” You commented. She just smiled and nodded, leaving you to your own vices.

It was half-past eleven, five minutes till the midnight bells chime. Everyone in the lobby was beginning to get excited for the entertainment you had planned for the night. Oh, you knew you would not disappoint.

“Madame would like everyone to accompany her on a journey tonight. She has sent me to retrieve you all. She would like to formally welcome you to tonight’s entertainment.” The large shadow said, standing from the topic of the stairs. Behind it was a large portal. It stepped backwards, into the portal, and nodded for the guests to start coming through.

The custom-built coliseum stands as a testament to Madame's vision, a grand fusion of opulence and dark elegance. The circular structure boasts towering columns, but instead of conventional pillars, thick chains rise, intricately linked and serving as both ornamental decor and structural support. The arches, molded in black, curve gracefully around the circumference, evoking a Victorian Gothic aesthetic that permeates the entire venue.

Two larger-than-life statues of Madame herself flank the entrance, capturing her regal poise and adding a touch of imposing authority. The statues serve not only as decorative elements but as a representation of the gala's hostess, a constant presence overseeing the proceedings, she is always watching, all seeing, perfection.

The overall ambiance is one of grandeur and mystery, with the black molding on the arches casting shadows that play into the darker undertones. Every intricate detail, from the chains to the statues, contributes to the unique Victorian Gothic feel of the coliseum, matching Madame’s home perfectly, matching her perfectly. The venue, finally being unveiled to the guests, now welcomes them who are treated to an appetizer course, surrounded by the striking architecture and entertained within the darkly enchanting atmosphere Madame has meticulously crafted.

Numerous shadows, dark and formless, line the entrance walls, extending silent greetings to the arriving guests. Their presence adds an air of mystique and intrigue as they blend seamlessly with the Gothic architecture. As attendees make their way into the coliseum, these shadowy figures create an ethereal welcome, embodying the unique atmosphere of Madame's custom-built venue.

At a separate entrance reserved for the handpicked members of Madame's esteemed dinner table, a solitary shadow stands guard. This entrance, reserved for a select few, hints at the exclusivity and importance of those who will partake in the upcoming dinner. The shadowy sentinels serve not only as silent greeters but also as guardians of the event's secrets, casting an enigmatic allure over the gala.

A singular shadows escorts Charlotte, Alastor, and the rest of the overlords to the exclusive section, leading them to an elevator to bring them to the best seats in the coliseum. The elevator’s interior is a striking display of elegance, with white and black checkered flooring lending a timeless touch. The walls, enveloped in darkness, exude an air of mystery, while black, smokey glass engravings on the ceiling add intricate detailing that dances in the ambient light. Each number on the elevator, indicating the ascending levels, glows a vibrant red, creating a vivid contrast against the monochrome palette.

“Oh I’m so excited! What do you think we’re gonna see? Gladiators? Sinners fight? Oh actually I hope not, I don’t want people to die.” Charlotte said to Alastor. Carmilla just chuckled at her antics while Zestial eyed her with curiosity. Where did Alastor find such a girl and why the princess of all people?

The elevator stops at the top floor, revealing the opening in the middle, which was surprisingly covered with water.

“What is Madame playing at?” Carmilla questioned as the overlords sat in a row at the top. From there they could see everything and everyone.

“I am quite uncertain, yet my anticipation is stirred nonetheless.” Zestial said. The lights around began to dim, and shadows began to pour glasses of water in front of all the guests. Down in the middle of the coliseum was the tallest shadow, the one that seemed to be Madame’s favorite, since it always spoke for her.

“Greetings all. It is Madame’s pleasure to invite you all to the special entertainment tonight. Madame has put together some of hell’s finest performers for your entertainment tonight. I would like to present, preforming here tonight, The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra preforming Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61.” The shadow said with a bow, before it vanished just as quick as it came. Then, other shadows appeared, but this time they were different. They were people, performers, with clear outlined silhouettes, faces and expressions, even clothes.

“Hey, Al?” Charlotte asked, leaning over in her seat to Alastor. He let out a ‘hm?’ In response.

“Does Madame own those souls down there?” Charlotte whispered, but before Alastor could answer, a shadow had already cut in.

“Yes. All the shadows here, even yours, Madame owns.” The shadow said quietly, filling Charlotte’s glass cup with water. Charlotte nervously, perked up, but said nothing as she shadow carried on with it’s catering.

The ethereal notes of the music filled the air as the performance unfolded. Around the musicians stood ballet dancers, their movements a delicate poetry in motion. Clad in all black, the performers created a stark contrast to the dancers, who emerged with an otherworldly grace akin to figures rising from the depths of water. The dancers moved with an angelic fluidity, their forms intertwining seamlessly with the haunting melody, creating a mesmerizing tableau that captivated the audience. The visual symphony of black-clad musicians and the whisky-hued ballet dancers painted a scene of enchantment and mystery within the grand coliseum. Even down to the dancers, this had Madame written all over it.

Velvet's keen eye captured the essence of the dancers' ethereal movements on paper. With each stroke of her sketch, she depicted the dancers as if emerging from a watery abyss, the fog enveloping their feet creating an illusion of water flowing upward. The intricate details on her sketch paper brought to life the dancers' graceful forms, their figures seemingly intertwined with the rising mist, evoking the enchantment of a waterspout captured in a moment of sublime artistry. Velvet's artistic interpretation added a layer of depth to the performance, transforming the ephemeral dance into a tangible and captivating visual narrative.

Water had begun to swirl, the dancers moving around it, the water getting taller and taller, similar to the way it had when you had first made your entrance at the beginning of the Gala. Now, it was water, and from Charlotte’s seat, she had struggled to make out what was going on. She turned to Alastor to see him holding a pair of opera glasses in his hand. Without you having to ask, he tapped the armrest of her seat. Charlotte turned to the side to see a pair tucked neatly against the front of the armrest. She grabbed them quickly, before looking through them and at the waterspout now forming in the middle. Her jaw flew open, as well as the loud screech of Alastor’s track playing. Vox had short circuited, and Carmilla gasped loudly. Velvet stood silent, but there was evident confusion on her face, while Zestial sunk into his seat, conflicting emotions flowing through him.

“Madame- she’s-“ Charlotte stuttered, and Alastor nodded, swallowing thickly.

“With an exorcist. I know.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #zestial hazbin hotel #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #yandere vox #yandere vox x reader #hellaverse #isuckatwritingsobenice infernal shadows #isuckatwritingsobenice

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

The Holiday Spirit

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You don't have much reason to enjoy the holidays until a generous man walks in the door.

Character: Captain Syverson

Day Thirteen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - i just can't wait until the holidays are over

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the snow gather at the corners of the large window pane with dread. The longer it falls, the more your anxiety rises. How on earth are you supposed to get home? Not too mention the more important question, how are any customers supposed to get in the store?

Your phone jingles at the very thought, your manager calling as if she could hear your silent plea for rescue. You grab your phone but don't answer until the fourth ring. You don't want her to know you've been doom scrolling the weather forecast.

Gloria greets you without formality, "what's it look like there?"

"Um, bad," you answer honestly. "Snowy."

"I mean customers. What are the numbers?"

"Oh..." you blink and look around the empty shop. "I think most people are staying home. There hasn't been anyone since I started."

"What about the walkway? Have you shoveled it?" It's as much an accusation as a question. "They won't come in if they can't get in."

You wish you had the courage to mention that it isn't just the sidewalk, you haven't seen car drive by in over an hour. Those you can see are parked and not going anywhere as the snow piles over their windows. You frown and again, look at the windows in horror.

"Go out and clear it and maybe you'll sell a few pieces. No point having the lights on if you're not doing anything," she snips.

"Meredith closed up across the street--"

"I don't care what that old crone did. Get out there. The shovel's in the back room." She commands.

"Okay," you agree meekly.

You know you shouldn't be such a pushover but you need this job. Even if it isn't much. It's a small independent shop that sells candles, lotions, and random nicknacks. You're not really sure what to call it.

You hang up and go into the backroom and grab your coat. It's not the best. A sherpa thing you go used at the Good Will. Your boots are a couple years old and you can tell. You wear three pairs of socks just to keep your toes from hurting as bad.

You pull on your thin gloves and grab the shovel. You approach the front door and gaze through the glass. Look at it! You'll be lucky if you don't get lost.

You go to push through the door. You have to shove your shoulder into it just to get outside as the wind blows angrily. The door slams behind you and you plant the shovel into the thick snow as you look around. Ugh, where do you even begin?

This time of year is always too much. Who decided the holidays needed to be in the middle of winter? It's not fair, but life just isn't.

You scoop up the snow bit by bit. Your muscles ache as you try to heave into out of the way but as the powder builds, it's only more and more difficult to do so. As you final get clear of the door, you look back and see a new blanket of white. It doesn't matter, you'll be outside all night if you try to keep it clean.

You work your way across the store front as the sky continues to dim. It never really got light as the sun stayed hidden in the clouds. You put your head down against the swirling flakes and you grip the shovel tight. You groan and grunt each time you lift it.

"Now what they got you out here doing all this for?" A grizzly voice draws your head up and you bat your lashes as snow catches in them. You stare up at the burly man in his heavy brown coat and black toque. His beard is sparkling with flakes.

"Um, I... work in there," you nod to the store. "Gotta make sure people can get in."

"Y'all should be at home," he tuts.

"It's just me," you shrug.

"That's a shame. Damn big shame," he shakes his head, "lady like you shouldn't be out here in the cold."

"Well, it's my job, I guess," you say.

"Here," he puts his hand on the handle of the shovel, "you go in. Get warm."

"Oh, no, I couldn't--"

"Do you know what my mother would do if she knew I just walked on by a little lady like you struggling in the snow?" He argues.

"I... thank you, that's too kind. But, you probably have somewhere to be."

"I'm just walking," he assures you. "I like the snow."

"Oh, right, uh..." you let go of the shovel reluctantly. "Thanks, I... I feel bad."

"Don't. I feel bad seein' ya shiver your nose off. Go on."

You scrunch up your mouth guiltily and push your shoulders up. You back away step by step as you stare at him. It's been a while since you met a single person who wasn't demanding or just downright rude. Maybe holiday cheer isn't dead.

You retreat inside with a sheepish smile and let out a brr as the door swings shut behind you. You rub your hands together then peel of the wet gloves. You tuck them into your pocket and unzip your jacket. You go to the back room and chew your lip.

You're not the Christmassy type or whatever other special occasions are going on. You hate it all. It's too shiny and loud. Too greedy the way people will argue over something as simple as a three-wick candle or face scrub.

What family you do have aren't very cozy. You haven't talked to either of your parents in two years and your sister never really answers your texts. It's just you and it isn't so bad. Other people just make things complicated. Without them, you have the control.

You put your things away and tramp back out to the till. You can see the snow flying through the windows. The man effortlessly throws chunks of it out of his way. Somehow, he looks even bigger from there.

You feel awkward, especially with no one else around. You go to a shelf to distract yourself, turning the jarred candles label out to appear busy. The bell above the door jingles and you look over your shoulder at the man. He pauses before he enters to shake the shovel off then leans it against the wall.

He looks around as you retreat from the candle display and watch him. There’s not much for him here. You’re sure he’ll be off soon enough. He rubs his hands together then strips off his mitts. He slips them into his pockets and gives a curious glance over the table of bath bombs and salts.

“You know,” he brushes his fingers over his beard so some of the melting snow falls away, “I’m looking for a gift.”

“Oh? Well, we have lots here,” you keep your distance. You’re not sure you believe him. He’s probably just humouring you. “Thanks again for shoveling. You know, you don’t have to stick around. Actually...” you peer through the windows again, “should probably head out sooner than later.”

“I got time,” he argues. “She’s real pretty. Girl I’m buyin’ for. So she probably wants somethin’ smells pretty too.”

“Right, uh...” you twist your fist around a finger. You might as well get a single sale. It’s more than you hoped for. “We have some nice seasonal candles. Apple crisp, or candy cane, oh, the fruitcake is kind nice.”

“You like candles?” He asks.

“Sometimes. I don’t get the big ones.”

“Ah,” he comes closer and you make room for him to browse. He picks up a smaller one and sniffs it. It looks tiny in his beefy hand. All of him sticks out among the dainty aesthetic of the boutique. “Mm, caramel brulee.”

He reads the side and his eyes scan the shelves again, “what else do you like? Think maybe you know best.”

“Oh, um, I...” you have to stop yourself from saying you don’t shop here. It’s too expensive. You get the discounts on dupes down at the mall. “Bath bombs are popular right now. Especially these snowflake ones. Oh and, we sell hot chocolate bombs. Those are edibles, these ones aren’t.”

You point to the table as you pass him. He follows. You laugh nervously at your own lame joke.

“Makes sense. I like hot chocolate. It’s the perfect weather for it, huh?”

“Yeah, it is,” you agree.

He comes to stand beside you as you gesture to the merchandise. You’re not used to that. The rare customer is a bit oblivious to physical space but more often they stay around the other side of the table. He’s right there.

“Face masks too. It could be a little self-care kit if you wanted,” you suggest.

“Mm, it does sound nice,” he says. “You think it’s a good present?”

“Well, I get paid to sell this stuff,” you shrug, “but yeah, it’s hot bath season.”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

You step back and give him space. He hums and circles the table as you go back to the counter. You check your phone. *Extreme Weather Warning*. You should call Gloria back and let her know. If the county says you should go home, you’ll insist on doing so.

“Cherry blossom or... vanilla coconut?” The man asks.

“Hm, vanilla,” you smile at him then quickly look at your phone again. You type out a text to Gloria.

He surprises you as he approaches and puts down a selection of items. The candle, a few bombs, some face masks, a shampoo bar, one of the little lotion and balm kits, and a spa headband. It’s a lot and it’s all very cute.

“Think that’s good, don’t you?” He asks.

“I think so,” you scan each item. “A very special lady indeed.”

“Sure is,” he taps his fingers on the counter as his eyes bore into you. “I’m Sy, by the way...” he reads your name tag aloud and you’re surprised until you remember you’re wearing it.

“Sy,” you repeat back. “Need a bag? Sorry, we’re all out of wrap or I’d offer that.”

“Bag is just fine, think my girl’s easy to please. She appreciates the simple things,” he grins and grips the edge of the counter.

“Alright,” you unfold a paper bag and gently place the items inside. “I hope likes it all. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Me too,” he takes out his card and swipes.

The machine dings and the receipt prints. You tear it off and hand it over, sliding the bag across the counter. He takes the slip of paper but leaves the purchase as it is.

“Um, did I forget something?” You search the countertop, worried something rolled away.

“It’s for my lady,” he gently nudges the bag back across the counter.

“What?” You frown, confused.

“S’for you, sugar. So you can warm up tonight.”

“Tonight? Sir--”

“Sy,” he insists, “best get home before the storm gets worse.” He turns to look out the windows. “No one coming out in this. Might as well close down.”

“Sy, this is very nice of you but I’m fine. My boss wants the store open--”

“Your boss?” He turns back to you and tilts his head, “ain’t a good one if they aren’t thinking about you gettin’ home safe.” He stares you down and looms over the counter, “’sides, a lady’s only boss is her man. So you go get your coat and things and we’ll be off.”

“Sy, that’s... that’s not—I'm not your lady--”

“Not?” He narrows his eyes. “I know you ain’t got another man, you wouldn’t be here if ya did.”

“I-- no—but--”

“You come with me or I stay,” he crosses his arms and leans his elbows on the counter. He plumes a snarl out of his nose, “up to you, but you’re not goin’ out in this alone, sweet thing. Need me there to dig ya out, don’t you?”

You flinch and shake your head, “I don’t-- I don’t know you--”

“Sure ya do, I’m Sy,” he grins. “And I know you. You’re the most pretty girl I ever seen.”

You stare at him. He’s as formidable as the heaps of snow building outside the shop. As dangerous as the patches of ice forming on the road. He is a storm in man’s clothes. He’ll bowl you over just as easily as those winds.

Just like the blizzard blowing in the street, you can’t escape him.

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x readaer #sand castle #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover

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azzifuddslover · 2 months ago

Text

UNRAVEL — chapter two

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

tw: minimal swearing

themes: fluff, angst, little jealousy

word count: 6.1k

a/n: oh my goodness i’m in love with this chapter! i’m obsessed with this concept and them in general, so so cute my babies fr 🫶 please lemme know how u like it, feedback, etc. also if u wanna be on the tag list, tell me please! enjoy reading my lovelies 𝜗𝜚

the familiar ringtone echoes in azzi’s quiet room, pulling her from her consuming thoughts. she swipes to answer the facetime, and there was paige, her face glowing on the screen. her blonde hair was thrown in a messy ponytail, with a couple strands left loose, framing her face.

“hey!” azzi smiles in the phone, “i was wondering if you’d call.”

“sorry, practice ran longer than usual,” paige explains, her heart quickening at the sight of the brunette.

“typical. you need a break, p,” azzi says, voice laced with concern.

“nah, it’s all good. coach just wants to push me ‘til i reach my ‘full potential,’” she quotes with her fingers, rolling her eyes playfully.

“you’re already the best, though,” azzi notes, scrunching her eyebrows downward.

paige tries furiously to fight off her blush, quickly covering her cheeks with her palms. “you’re the best, az.”

azzi simply rolls her eyes at the comment— she attempts to ignore the swirling feeling erupting in her stomach, unsure what they mean.

“i miss hanging out so much,” azzi whispers, leaning herself back against her bed. “i miss you.”

“i miss you more,” paige replies, sharing a similar look of longing.

“how long has it been since we’ve seen each other? like, seven months?” azzi asks, prompting her elbows up.

paige nods as she pulls her lips into a straight line. she doesn’t let azzi know how much she thinks about her, how much she desperately wishes she was near every moment of every day. god, she would do anything to be close to her favorite person right about now.

the two girls continue their conversation, filled with collective laughter and buzzing energy radiating off them. amy, paige’s mother, peaks her head in her daughter’s room, observing paige throw her head back, chuckling at something azzi had said moments prior. she silently smiles to herself— she’s never seen paige like this before, being so consumed by a person, let alone her so called best friend. she automatically knew there was something more, something paige wouldn’t allow herself to admit.

when paige and azzi eventually end the facetime, after talking for about three hours back and forth, paige immediately knows what she needs to do. she pushes herself up off her bed, rushing out of her dark room, jogging until she reaches her mother’s room, where amy is sitting peacefully, with a book in her hands.

“mom,” paige says, “i need to ask you something.”

amy adverts her eyes to her daughter, who’s practically bubbling with anticipation. “what is it, paige?”

“before you say no, please just know it’ll make me the happiest girl in the world,” the blonde pleads, “i was wondering if maybe.. i could go visit azzi.”

amy turns her knowing smirk away from her daughter with her book, which she eventually closes and sets down in her lap. “and when would you do that?”

“i don’t know, preferably really soon.”

amy takes a moment to carefully consider paige’s words, yet she already knows her answer. for months, all paige would talk about is azzi. how talented she is at basketball, stories she shared on facetime, how much she misses hanging out with her— how much she misses her, in general.

the corner of amy’s lips tug into a small grin, already anticipating her daughter’s reaction. “i guess that’s fine.”

the young girl lets out a squeal before running up to her mother, pulling her into a tight embrace. “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“we need to discuss the details first,” amy reminds her while she pats her back.

“of course! but i don’t wanna tell azzi— i was thinking kinda like a surprise visit,” paige replies, eyes sparkling with excitement.

as she pulls away, amy catches the light in her daughter’s eyes— an unmistakable blend of pure joy and determination. “that sounds fun. when do you want to go?”

“maybe next weekend, if that’s okay with you? and azzi’s parents, duh,” paige suggests, eagerly.

the lingering smirk on amy’s face widens, the warmth of paige’s enthusiasm wrapping around her. “alright, that’s fine by me. i’ll give katie a text.”

paige plops a kiss on her mother’s cheek to indicate how grateful she is. “thank you so much, mom. i’m so excited.”

“i know you are,” amy glances at the blonde.

as paige walks out of the room, amy watches her with a mix of affection and a touch of nostalgia, realizing how important this trip is for her daughter. how important azzi is to her. she knows it’s more than just a visit; it’s filled with friendship, growth, and a chance for something deeper to blossom.

several days pass, yet paige’s excitement to visit azzi only heightens. she can hardly believe she’s going to be with azzi in a matter of days, counting down the hours like a child waiting for a holiday.

every minute feels charged with anticipation. she’s been spending her evenings planning out the trip, jotting down all the things her and azzi could do together— basketball drills, movie nights, anything, really, as long as they’re by each other’s sides.

luckily, days prior, azzi’s parents were kind enough to agree, allowing paige into their home for a couple of days.

as the day of her departure approaches, paige packs up her bag, triple-checking to avoid leaving anything behind she might need. she grabs her bathroom necessitates— skincare products, toothbrush, floss, toothpaste— as well as a couple of causal, cozy outfits. she also stuffs in some smaller items, like her phone charger, deodorant, wallet, body spray.

once paige is all packed and ready to go, amy grabs her car keys, preparing to make the drive to the airport. no matter how many times amy suggested she comes with her, paige insisted she goes by herself— wanting to experience traveling alone for the first time.

paige slugs her duffel over her shoulder, slowly making her way out of the house and into the car. she pulls on her seatbelt, eager to feel the thrill of independence, but also eager to see her best friend for the first time in months.

the drive to the airport feels like it lasts forever, her anticipation growing beyond limits. however, she relishes every moment, imagining azzi’s face when she sees her.

“are you positive you don’t want me to go with you?” amy questions her daughter, throwing a swift glance her way.

paige nods lightly, “yeah, mom, i’m sure. i need to travel alone eventually.”

“i understand that, but you’re only 16, paige. it’s dangerous,” amy notes, concern laced in her tone.

“people my age fly by themselves all the time— it’s no big deal.”

amy lets out a soft sigh, “alright, if you say so. but please be careful, and stay with them the entire time— no funny business.”

paige rolls her eyes, “mom, i’m literally going there just for azzi. why would i leave?”

amy shrugs, “i don’t know, but you’re a teenager, who knows what y’all do.”

paige chuckles, a grin appearing on her face, “it’ll be good, trust me.”

the two grow silent, listening to the rhythmic beat of the music playing from the radio. paige’s gaze lingers on the window as her imagination runs free. she can’t wait to be close to azzi— to hug her, feel her warmth against her own frame. more importantly, she can’t wait to simply talk with her, in person. azzi seems to get paige, to understand her, better than anyone else in her life. she understands how she’s feeling— she even lets her rant on and on, listening to every word of her nonsense. paige and azzi’s friendship made them think so similarly, basically the same people at this point. the two practically live in each other’s skin with how well they know one another.

regardless of being long distance, paige and azzi’s friendship has remained well in tact. they facetime everyday, talking for hours on end, or until one of them falls asleep on call. each conversation they have feels like a lifeline, bridging the gap between their separate lives.

as the car finally rolls closer to the destination, paige feels a rush of energy and nerves. she can’t help but think what if things are different? she shakes her head, dismissing her doubts. deep down, she’s confident their bond will remain strong even after not seeing each other for months.

“are you ready to go?” amy asks, glancing over at her daughter once she parks the car.

“more than ready,” paige smiles, voice filled with determination.

the mother and daughter pair stroll into the airport, paige with her duffel bag loosely in her grip, and amy walking alongside her.

paige’s mother helps her get through security and everything she might require help for, and before she knows it, it’s time to board the plane.

“remember to call me as soon as you land,” amy squints her eyes, a hint of motherly concern in her tone.

paige playfully rolls her eyes back, “you know i will,” she assures her, “thanks, mom.”

with a final hug, paige steps out of her mother’s tight hold, gathers her belongings and begins walking over to the appropriate gate. the airport is bustling with activity, people going in and out at a rapid pace. yet, all paige can think about is azzi.

she boards the plane with no issues and eventually gets situated and comfortable in her seat. luckily, she has a window spot with nobody sitting directly next to her.

as the aircraft takes off, she gazes out the window, watching the ground fade away beneath her. she tries her best to contain her excitement, but the thought of being with azzi only fuels it further.

the few hours paige is on the plane, she takes the time to relax, watch a movie or two, and eventually heads to sleep peacefully. however, shortly after falling asleep, she stirs awake at a sudden shake of the plane.

she takes a deep, steady breath as the plane carefully lands at its designated runway. she feels a rush of relief crash over her once she realizes she’s made it safely to virginia. the sound of seatbelts unbuckling and the conversations of passengers fills the previous silence of the plane. she takes a moment to gather her things, heart racing as she is getting closer and closer to seeing her best friend.

paige takes the time to give a quick call to her mother, assuring her she’s alright and has made it to virginia safely.

with her heavy duffel thrown over the shoulder of the blonde, she scans the crowd, looking for the familiar faces of azzi’s parents, katie and tim. just as she spots tim, he waves enthusiastically, a wide smile plastered on his face. they previously agreed to come pick her up, which made paige feel much more welcomed.

“hey paige,” katie tilts her head, observing the young girl who continues to radiate eagerness.

“hello mrs. fudd,” paige lips turn up, nerves still swirling in her stomach.

katie gives her a soft, fast hug around her shoulders, “please call me katie, you know this.”

paige lets out a small laugh, “right, sorry.”

tim and paige exchange a quick hug as well, welcoming one another. “how’ve you been, kiddo?”

paige shrugs, “pretty good. basketball is really crazy right now.”

“ah, same for azzi. poor girl barely has any time for anything outside of basketball,” katie notes.

“i know, she’s told me like a thousand times,” paige chuckles at the memory of azzi ranting on and on about her practices.

tim and katie share a knowing look, subtle smiles on their lips. the three walk through security, then off to their parked car outside. tim takes the drivers seat, while katie positions herself in the passenger spot. jose, azzi’s brother, is seated on the right side in the back, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, clearly bored out of his mind. paige takes the seat next to him on the left, and gently setting her bag at her feet.

“hey jose,” she says.

“what’s up,” jose looks up, a smile on his face.

a comfortable silence hangs in the car as they travel down the road. finally, katie speaks up. “azzi’s going to be so happy about this.”

“i sure hope so,” paige says, “i know i am.”

azzi’s parents laugh, glancing at one another once more. “she’s been talking about wanting to see you so much, i’m glad it’s finally happening.”

paige’s eyebrows shoot up, “she talks about me?”

katie looks at the blonde in the rear view mirror, “practically everyday, paige.”

“it’s so annoying— always going on and on about paige this, and paige that. she’s like, obsessed with you, i swear,” jose adds, breaking his silence.

katie gives her son a look as paige’s eyes widen. she figures he’s kidding— there’s no way azzi is obsessed with her, even though paige definitely is.

“actually?” paige whispers, eyeing the young boy.

jose nods rapidly, a flick of annoyance on his face. paige feels her cheeks redden at the thought, although she is still unbelieving.

the car comes to stop, indicating they’ve arrived at the fudd home. paige’s heart pounds in her heart, her purse quickening at an abnormal rate. she swings open the car door, flinging her stuffed bag over her shoulders once more.

“i’m so excited for her reaction,” tim laughs, eyes crinkling.

“me too,” paige says through her wide grin.

katie unlocks and opens the front door, revealing an unusual silence. paige scans the room, looking for her favorite curly headed brunette. she gently sets down her duffel next to the empty couch, still questioning where azzi is.

“she’s probably in her room,” katie speaks up.

paige nods, slowly inching down the hallway before reaching a door labeled ‘azzi.’ she smiles, because it’s just so azzi.

she opens the door quietly, heart racing once again. inside, the room is dimly lit, fairy lights casting a warm glow. paige takes a moment to admire the chaos— books piled high, notes scattered across her desk.

looking to the left, her eyes finally lock on the familiar face of her best friend, who’s currently engrossed in a novel with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, not bothering to look up. paige smirks at the sight of azzi like this.

“you’re such a nerd,” paige says, eventually announcing her presence.

azzi looks up and is immediately taken aback. her lips part as shock washes over here, not quite understanding how paige is here, in her house, in her room.

not wasting a moment, azzi throws her book down, allowing her blanket to flow to the ground. she rushes paige, yanking her into her embrace— her arms wrap tightly around her back, squeezing the life out of her, trying to convince herself this isn’t some sort of sick dream.

“how are you here?” azzi murmurs against the blonde’s frame, who’s holding her equally as tight.

“my mom agreed to let me come here, after i practically begged,” paige laughs, casually adjusting her hand to be placed on the small of azzi’s back, “your parents picked me up from the airport.”

azzi nuzzles her face against the crook of paige’s neck, “i missed you so bad.”

paige’s smile only grows, stepping back until both she and azzi are sitting on her bed, still wrapped in each others warmth. azzi couldn’t get enough of paige, her best friend, being so close like they haven’t seen one another in months.

“i missed you, az.”

the two girls finally pull away, settling in a comfortable silence, the weight of being separated still hanging in the air.

“i can’t believe you’re really here,” azzi whispers, eyes roaming the blonde’s face.

“me either,” paige whispers back, holding eye contact.

a moment goes by with the pair just looking at each other— paige can’t seem to find a singular flaw in the entirety of azzi’s face. she’s one of the most stunning girls she’s ever laid eyes on. the way her brown curls hang around her face perfectly, to her cute dark brown eyes full of admiration. she could stare at azzi for hours.

paige clears her throat, breaking the moment before it becomes too heavy. “so, what do you wanna do?” she asks, a look of longing still apparent on her expression.

“um..” she takes a moment to think, trying to get her mind off the blonde in front of her, “we can watch a movie?”

“that sounds nice,” paige nods, agreeing with the idea.

the two girls make themselves comfortable on azzi’s messy bed— azzi lays closer to the wall, while paige lays out besides her, not quite touching the younger girl.

paige and azzi settle on one of their favorites, the parent trap. paige lets out a soft yawn, trying to keep her exhaustion at bay— she doesn’t want to go to bed yet, considering how little she’s talked with azzi so far.

throughout the course of the movie, the girls make small talk, discussing their favorite parts of the movie and basketball related things. paige brings up an nba game, to which azzi rolls her eyes, not caring if it isn’t about steph curry.

“azzi, paige, dinner is ready!” katie yells from down the hall.

the pair is slow to get up, eventually pulling themselves from their positions on azzi’s comfortable bed. they make their way down the hall, fingers nearly brushing, but paige pulls away before any touch can occur— it’s not that she doesn’t want to, she does— it’s the fear that prevents paige from pushing for anything further.

azzi’s family, including paige, find their designated spots at the dinner table. paige naturally sits next to azzi, scooting her chair slightly closer to her best friend.

as they eat, barely any conversations develop, as they are solely focused on the food in front of them. it isn’t until tim speaks up does the silence break.

“so paige, any boyfriends we should know about?” he questions before taking another bite of food.

paige coughs, choking on her food at his sudden question. paige glances at the brunette next to her, who is shy to meet her gaze.

“um, no— no boyfriend for me,” paige politely smiles, quickly turning her attention back to her plate.

azzi shifts in her spot, adjusting her legs quietly. paige lets out a jagged breath, noticing the growing, slightly awkward silence.

“azzi has a boyfriend,” jon, one of azzi’s brother, smirks.

paige feels her heart skip a beat at his comment— she’s never thought to ask azzi about her love life, it simply was never a conversation they ever had.

“he’s not my boyfriend,” azzi defends, throwing her younger brother a look. her lips pull into a line as she squirms in her seat.

paige’s gaze drag over azzi’s frame, her curiosity growing to an excessive amount. azzi briefly meets the blonde’s line of sight, a flash of vulnerability passing between them.

“really?” paige whispers, trying to keep her tone light despite the sudden tightness in her chest. “i didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

azzi fidgets, a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness swirling in her face. “it’s not serious or anything… we’re just hanging out,” she explains, her voice a bit quieter than usual.

as the meal wraps up, and the conversation flows between azzi and her family, paige can’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling in her chest. azzi has a boyfriend— well, a boy she’s hanging out with. she watches azzi laugh with her brothers, only intensifying the longing in her chest.

eventually, paige and azzi head back into azzi’s room; paige makes sure to widen their distance as the feeling from earlier still suffocates her. once inside, the familiar comfort settles around them again, but it feels different now, filled with unspoken words.

azzi flops on her bed, pulling a blanket, one of many, around her shoulders. “i’m so glad you’re here,” she says softly.

“me too,” paige murmurs, avoiding any sort of eye contact with the brunette.

a moment of silence stretches between them, the conversation from the dining table still making an impact. eventually, azzi breaks it, looking more serious than before. “is something wrong?”

paige looks at the ground, feeling embarrassed to be so upset over such a small thing. why is this having an effect on her? they’re best friends, not anything more.

“why didn’t you tell me about your boyfriend?” paige looks up, a hint of sadness in her tone.

“he’s not my boyfriend,” azzi repeats, but continues, “i don’t know, though. it’s nothing serious, so i figured it wasn’t really important.”

paige takes some time to digest azzi’s words. not long after does she reply, “i understand. i don’t think i’d tell you if i was seeing someone either.”

azzi’s lips scrunch, although she understands where the older girl is coming from. relationships, dating, any kind of love talk was unusual for them.

“what’s his name?” paige asks, trying to avoid anymore silence between them.

“jayden,” azzi smirks, eyes twinkling in the glow of light.

paige hums, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “jayden, huh? sounds… nice.”

azzi notices the slight tremor in paige’s voice, “yeah, he’s cool, i guess. we just hang out, like i said.”

“just hang out,” paige echoes, her mind racing with what that could entail. she bites her lip, trying to suppress the wave of emotion swelling within her. “what does that mean?”

azzi breaks eye contact, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “we talk, go to the mall, things like that,” she replies, her voice trailing off.

paige swallows hard, the weight of azzi’s words settling in, “but you like him?”

azzi hesitates, her fingers twist the fabric of the blanket that’s wrapped around her. “i mean.. maybe a little? i’m not in love with him, or anything.”

paige nods slowly, but the pit in her stomach doesn’t ease. “i see.”

more silence stretches between the two girls, unsure what to say next.

“are you… okay?” azzi asks, noticing paige’s change in mood.

paige flicks her head to look at azzi, “yeah, sorry— it just caught me off guard, y’know.”

azzi nods, understanding where she’s coming from. “i get that,” she whispers.

azzi turns back on the movie they were previously watching before getting interrupted for dinner, making herself more comfortable on her bed. paige lays out on a beanbag, not bothering to share the bed with the younger girl.

they watch the parent trap quietly, not wanting to force any conversation. eventually, night rolls around and the movie ends, the soft glow of the screen flickering out. azzi yawns and stretches, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“wanna call it a night?” she says, glancing at the clock.

paige nods, though she feels a pang of reluctance at the thought of leaving the comfort of their time together. “yeah, that sounds good.”

azzi smiles gently before gesturing to the empty space next to her on the bed. “you can come over here. there’s plenty of room, and much more comfortable than the beanbag.”

paige hesitates, wondering if the tension from their previous conversation still hangs. “you sure?”

“of course,” azzi assures her, her voice light and genuine.

with a sigh of relief, paige moves off the beanbag and shuffles over to the bed, where azzi lays fully under the covers. she settles in besides azzi, the warmth of her friend’s presence instantly soothing her. they lie side by side, yet the distance between the girls is evident.

paige adjusts her position, allowing herself to face azzi, although she’s turned towards the wall. she stares at the back of azzi’s head, thoughts still consuming her. her mind goes back and forth, wondering why it matters that azzi’s talking to a boy. she’s her friend, why does she care?

she tries to convince herself it’s something else, a reason that doesn’t involve any sort of feelings towards the girl in front of her. she takes a deep breath, focusing on the rise and fall of azzi’s shoulders instead. yet the truth lingers, unacknowledged and nagging.

paige stirs away, eyes pulling apart ever so slightly, just enough to glimpse at the brunette laying peacefully asleep next to her. it remains dark, telling paige it’s the middle of the night.

the older girl realizes the distance between them has shortened, making azzi only inches apart from herself. their legs are twisted together, while her hand is loosely on her forearm.

feeling bold, trying to ignore the speed of her pulse, paige gently intertwines her fingers with azzi’s. an innocent act of affection that feels natural— considering they’ve done it countless times before— yet it’s filled with more tension than before.

azzi shifts slightly, a light sigh escaping her lips, but she doesn’t fully wake. instead, she instinctively squeezes paige’s hand, a sleepy smile on her face.

paige swears she feels her heart skip a beat. “az,” she whispers, but azzi only moves closer, nuzzling deeper in her pillow.

with a gentle smirk, paige rubs her thumbs against azzi’s hand, feeling a comforting warmth spread between them. it feels perfect, their shared moment— paige tries desperately to ignore how much she enjoys touching azzi, regardless of how little holding her hand is.

as the world outside fades away, nothing but the sound of azzi’s soft breathing in the air, paige allows herself to relax, drifting off to sleep with a new sense of peace, knowing that they’re connected, even in the dark.

two days pass with paige staying with azzi, enjoying her company and wishing she could stay with her, forever. the laughter they share throughout the day and the quiet moments spent talking about whatever comes to mind, each day filled with a new layer of intimacy and admiration for the other. they walk hand in hand, convincing themselves every pair of friends casually do it, while they steal glances at each other, lingering just a minute too long.

as the third and final day of paige’s stay settles in, paige curls up in a blanket, positioned on azzi’s bed— the soft glow of the moon casting a silver light through the window. azzi has been unusually quiet the entire day, lost in her own consuming thoughts. paige sensed it ever since earlier, but hasn’t questioned her about it— as she drifts asleep, she silently hopes her best friend is doing alright.

around midnight, the soft sound of rustling pulls paige from her dreams. she painfully opens her eyes to see azzi crawling through the window, eyes red with tear stained cheeks. “azzi?” she whispers, her heart racing as she sits up, becoming highly alert.

azzi looks up, her eyes wide and glistening with fresh tears, “i’m sorry—“ she begins, voice shaky, “sorry for waking you.”

paige quickly moves until she reaches the brunette, pulling her down to sit on the bed, facing her. “what’s wrong, az? where were you?”

“i went to see jayden… he said he wanted to see me,” azzi whispers, shame laced in her voice, “he tried to kiss me and i panicked, so i pulled away. after that he kept saying mean things, like how he never liked me, how i’m not even pretty…”

paige swears she hears her own heart crack at the vulnerability of azzi’s words. without hesitation, she wraps her arms around azzi, pulling her close in a comforting manner. “i’m so sorry, az,” she mutters softly, feeling her friend’s body against hers, “you deserve to be treated so much better than that.”

azzi’s shoulders tremble as she leans further into paige’s grip, already feeling better with paige’s presence near. “i don’t know why i’m crying, i didn’t even like him that much. it’s just the things he kept saying…” she continues, letting out a small hiccup.

paige rubs her hand back and forth on azzi’s back, trying to soothe the girl. with this doing, azzi grows too consumed in how good it feels to be in the arms of paige.

paige pulls back slightly, just enough to view her face. “you are so special, azzi. please don’t let some boy make you feel any different.” with that, she leans in and kisses azzi’s forehead, her hands coming up to cradle her face. she drags her lips down to her cheeks, covering every inch of her face with soft, featherlike kisses. azzi’s heart lunges in her chest, feeling her pulse heighten with every kiss paige plants on her tear-stained face. when she places a final, longer kiss along her jaw, she looks up, “and for the record, he’s wrong for saying you’re not pretty. you’re fucking perfect, az.”

she sniffles, a small smile breaking through her now fading sadness.

when paige pulls away, azzi’s lips apart, wearing a hint of shock in her expression. her eyes roam the familiar blue ones that she loves all too much as tension hangs between them.

“please don’t leave tomorrow,” azzi shuts her eyes, dread of paige’s departure now overpowering her thoughts. she leans her head to touch paige’s shoulder, as her hands find their way to the blonde’s waist.

paige leans into the touch of the younger girl, not willing to admit how much she loves the feel of azzi’s hands on her body. “trust me, i don’t want to,” she replies quietly, her pulse racing at their closeness.

“then stay,” azzi attempts a smile, “stay here, with me. stay forever if you want.”

“you know i want to,” paige whispers, her voice thick with raw emotion.

azzi searches paige’s eyes, lost in her bright blue irises. her gaze drops to her lips for a brief moment, before meeting her eyes once more. paige shallows, feeling the tension fuel between them. before the blonde has time to react, azzi leans forward, connecting their lips in a soft, tender kiss. paige kisses her back, soaking up and savoring every second azzi’s lips are on hers.

the kiss dies out when azzi slowly, hesitantly pulls away, regardless of her brain screaming to continue. she takes her grip off paige’s waist, looking down nervously— did she screw everything up?

paige notices azzi’s face, clearly racked with anxiety. “it’s okay, az.” she gives her arm one last squeeze before the two girls crawl back into bed, creating some distance to avoid any further tension.

azzi soon drifts off, sleep overtaking her body after wearing herself out from all her crying. paige, however, lets her mind run free, questioning and worrying if something as little as a kiss they shared has the potential to ruin their friendship. will things change between them?

paige forces her eyes shut, trying to focus her energy on getting some rest. those attempts are useless, though— paige barely gets any sleep that night.

the morning arrives slowly for paige, considering the little amount of sleep she got throughout the night. sunlight creeps through the window, casting a gentle glow in the room. she blinks, adjusting her eyes to the light. realization that today is the day— the day she leaves azzi— sets in, making her breath hitch in her throat.

sitting up, paige glances at azzi, still soundlessly sleeping, her hair tousled in a such a perfect way. for a moment, paige allows herself to savor the sight, the way her best friend looks so serene, completely at ease.

with a heavy heart, paige gently nudges azzi. “hey, sleepyhead,” she whispers, keeping her voice light.

azzi stirs, blinking sleepily at paige. “what time is it?” she mumbles.

“eight in the morning,” paige replies, forcing a smile despite the tightening in her chest. “i have to pack.”

azzi eventually sits up, the remnants of last night’s emotions washing over her. she shifts, feeling the awkward tension arrive in the air. “you’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

“yeah. i wish i didn’t have to,” paige nods, shallowing hard.

azzi bites her lip, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “me too, p.”

paige lets out a quiet sigh, trying to hold her heart from crushing in her chest.

paige spends the next few minutes silently packing up her duffel, wishing to god for one more day, here— with azzi, her azzi. she stuffs her toiletries into the pockets, alongside the outfits she previously packed. azzi watches, mentally preparing herself to watch her best friend leave, again.

“do you want help?” azzi asks.

paige shakes her head, trying to maintain her focus and continue packing. “no, i’ve got it. thanks though,” she answers.

as paige zips up her bag, the room feels suffocatingly quiet with all the unspoken words around them. “i hate this,” azzi whispers, voice thick. “i really don’t want you to go.”

paige turns to face her, the sight of azzi’s vulnerable side striking a chord deep within her. “neither do i,” she says, stepping closer, “it’s alright— i’ll come back eventually.”

“promise?” azzi’s eyes search paige’s, looking for the reassurance she so desperately needs.

“i promise, az,” paige says firmly, tone full of sincerity.

paige finishes up packing her bag, trying to drag her thoughts from overwhelming her brain completely. katie starts up the car as paige throws her duffel in, reality crashing down on her hard. azzi decides to join her for the car ride to the airport, wanting to stay with paige as long as she possibly can. the two girls climb into the backseat together, the tension in the air palpable.

as they drive towards the airport, the city flashing by, yet paige feels as if the time has slowed. her gaze trails azzi’s figure, who’s staring out the window, lost in thought. “you okay?” paige nudges her softly.

azzi shrugs, “it feels too real now,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

“i know,” paige sighs, equally as quiet. she reaches for azzi’s hand, giving it a squeeze, capturing everything she wishes she could say.

they arrive at the airport— paige’s stomach curls just looking at the large doors, awaiting her entrance.

katie parks the car and the three step out into the chilling air, not bothering to make discussion. they roam into the airport; the sound of travelers and announcements fill the atmosphere, but all paige can focus on is azzi— azzi, who she’ll be leaving in a matter of minutes.

“let’s get you checked in,” katie suggests.

as they walk towards the terminal area of the airport, paige keeps the brunette closer, grabbing onto her arm to avoid loosing her in the crowd of people.

after successfully checking in, the moments of paige and azzi are limited. paige glances at her, her heart beating faster and faster. “i wish i could take you with me.”

“me too,” azzi whispers, attempting to smile at the blonde.

a couple of minutes pass with paige and azzi remaining close in distance, dreading the announcement of her broading. when it later comes, paige arises from her seat, as does azzi.

paige doesn’t wait to pull her friend into her arms, wrapping them around her frame. azzi clutches onto paige as if she’ll never see her again, squeezing her eyes closed, wishing she could stay like this forever— in paige’s arms, surrounded by her warmth.

they pull back, hands continuing to explore each others bodies in a friendly manner. paige’s blue eyes meet azzi’s brown ones, sharing a look of unspoken affection— fear, love, and an undeniable connection.

“i’ll miss you so much,” azzi reminds her, eyebrows pinching down.

“i’ll miss you more,” paige smiles, ignoring the knot in her stomach. “love you, az.”

azzi’s breath hitches in her throat, “i love you too,” she mutters, leaning in to place a long kiss on her cheek, cupping the back of her head for support.

paige turns, eyes finally tearing away from azzi as she begins walking to her gate. she glances back, finding azzi still watching her leave, looking as sad as she feels. she offers a wave and a small smile, in a way to let her know she’ll be back, when the time is right.

paige immediately pulls out her phone, not waiting a moment to text azzi.

just landed. i miss you already. can’t wait to see you again, she texts.

the response is quick: missing you loads more. facetime when you get home?

the corners of paige’s lips quirk up— obviously, she replies, excitement bubbling through her.

with a smile, paige tucks her phone away, feeling the familiar warmth spread through her. she knows she won’t be seeing azzi for a while— months, maybe more— but she knows their connection, their friendship can withstand the distance between them.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #basketball #uconn huskies #fanfic #fan fiction #best friends #lovers #cuteness

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neowinestainedress · 1 year ago

Text

between us — johnny suh

title: between us

pairing: professor!johnny x lawyer!oc x fem!reader | husband!johnny x wife!oc x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself tangled in the life of the Suhs after Mr. Suh starts working as an English professor at your father’s university. You don’t understand why they float around you so much, but soon enough, you can’t get enough of that secret, dirty game anymore.

genre: smut, fluff, plot, mxfxf, married couple, established relationship, age gap, bisexual characters, aged up johnny (to his early 30)

warnings: age gap, daddy/mommy issues, smut, sexual tension, 3some, mxfxf, dom/sub dynamics, mdom, fdom(oc), fsub(reader), mentions of s*x toys, unprotected s*x, pet names (honey, babe, doll...), or*l s*x (reader receiving and fem giving), fing*ring (reader receiving and fem giving), n!pple play, dirty talk, praise, minor degradation, size k!nk, 1 face slap, 1 *ss slap, 1 cl!t slap, hair pulling, talks of face f*cking, dp and face sitting, sub space, overstimulation, reader goes non-verbal at the end, aftercare | inclusivity notes: reader’s hair can be grabbed bc i’m degenerated and needed to write hair pulling during or*l, there are no descriptions of the texture and type tho, reader wears hair in different hairstyles (not specified), reader feels small because she’s shorter than them and in general feels ‘intimidated’ (body type is not specified), no use of y/n

visuals

wc: 16.590k

a/n: i’m sure this isn’t what people were expecting when i talked about writing mxfxf, but what can i say, this idea came to me and i had to write it. at first, it was supposed to be less complicated, just hot steamy sex with two hot almost-dilf-and-milf but you know me by now, if it’s not deep and complicated we don’t write it here. disclaimer: they are all bi and this is not just a straight couple using a bisexual person to spice up their s*xual life, i can’t say more because i don’t want to spoil anything but i just wanted to make this clear. i hope you’ll enjoy, if you do please leave feedback with asks or reblog (so the story reaches more people) also this is the first time i write smut between two women so please let me know if it’s good!! love u ♡

The Suhs are by now a known presence in your life. Since Mr. Suh started teaching at your father’s university, it became almost impossible to not see him for more than two days straight.

You don’t feel like blaming your father. Actually, you get it. Mr. Suh is a charming, brilliant man in his early thirties. After years of studying and being an assistant, he started teaching English literature at another prestigious university, the one your father is president of. And in his free time —and you wonder how he did that— he even wrote a few books, the first ones being analyses of writers’ works, and then a successful mystery novel.

You like him, even if he intimidates you a bit. He’s a person you can have interesting conversations with, maybe too interesting. You can’t understand what hides behind his elegant attire; either suits and ties or brown pants and polos or vests, his brown hair is always pulled back, only occasionally some loose strands fall on his forehead and make him appear less put together. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him dressed casually, or crack a joke, but then again, it’s not really your place to know.

But Mr. Suh, also known as Johnny, is never alone when he comes to your parents’ house, or tags along at dinners, parties, and more, anything that your father likes to organize with his academic clique.

His wife, Aaliyah Taylor Suh, is always with him. She’s not less interesting or intimidating than him. Mrs. Suh is a drop-dead gorgeous woman in her early thirties like her husband. She’s an amazing lawyer, working at one of the top firms in the city, and probably that’s also why she comes off as piercing to you, it’s like she always knows what to say and do, and you struggle to keep up. And just like her husband, it’s also in the way she presents herself; she’s always perfect with her long goddess braids that reach her waist which is always perfectly hugged by the beautiful, expensive suits or dresses she wears.

This should pretty much sum up why you don’t talk much with them, even if they’re nice —at least it seems from the few conversations you had— you don’t feel at their level. Not only do they look like gods in your eyes, but they also fit the perfect stereotype of the rich, powerful couple that makes heads turn around every time they walk into a room —yours included— and the small, yet significant, age gap only makes it worse.

It would be easier to talk with them if your father wouldn’t constantly remind you that. He always had a passion to turn you and your dreams down, but since they are part of your life, it only worsened. Your father never misses the occasion to point your flaws out; how clumsy you are, walking around and stumbling on your own feet, dropping things every now and then, and messing up your words during speeches. Instead, he’s amazed by their brains and how quickly they became successful, they spent years on books and still never lost each other and found time to get married, they accomplished everything you haven’t, and it seems impossible for him to not slam it in your face.

And you agree, partially. You envy them. They seem to always be at the right place, at the right time, never saying a word wrong, and always looking straight out of Vogue. You’re also jealous of their love, you don’t know what a stable relationship looks like —not that you care to know, nobody your age seems to be doing it for you— unlike their stable, lasting marriage that is the deal closing off a just as long period of dating. They were high-school sweethearts, and you envy the way they still look at each other. Nobody ever looked at you like that, as if you meant the world to them. And you don’t understand how they survived all these years, you almost went insane during college, the two relationships you tried to have failed like a ship sinking in a storm. And now that you’re free, you’re still suffering the aftermath of all the stress you’ve been through.

So you struggle to understand why they circle around you like moths to a flame.

It all started months ago. At first, it was only longing gazes, you could always feel them on you, and you always thought that there was something wrong with you; your make-up smudged, your hair out of place, your clothes dirty or crumpled up, but, even if you weren’t like them, there was nothing wrong with you.

Then, one night, things started to make more sense.

It was late, around 10 pm. As much as you couldn’t stand your father, you tried to tag along as much as possible to find some connections career-wise. You could’ve asked him a favour —doubting he would do it— but you had no intention of making him take credit for your future. You preferred talking with his academic friends or critics on your own, it hadn’t been successful yet, but you won’t give up.

You were standing in the kitchen, a glass in hand as you tried to drown in the alcohol and forget every word you had heard from your father when Mr. Suh approached you first.

“Tiring, isn’t it?” Mr. Suh’s voice brought you back to reality. His build, tall form leaning against the fridge as he stared at you with a small smirk on his face, his hair was falling a bit more freely since the gel had given up after the whole night —day, you’d dare to say, you’re not so sure he had time to go back home and get ready for this dinner again.

You tried not to get lost in his beauty and swiftly hummed, nodding. “Yeah, but at least the wine is good.”

Mr. Suh snickered, starting to walk over to you, a hand in his hair as he shook it back. “Pinot?”

Your eyes moved up in his, he was standing so close you could feel his breath hit your face, and you struggled to find the words. Throat dry and hands so sweaty you were sure you would’ve dropped the glass on the ground. “Yeah, Pinot, or at least, I think so,” you mumbled, giggling awkwardly as you looked down and took a step back, trying to put some distance between you two.

“Can I have a taste?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, his piercing gaze staring right into your soul.

You should’ve told him that surely there were some glasses left outside, or maybe opted to take a look in the wine rack behind him, but you didn’t, and your hand moved to his almost right away.

You watched him smile in a ‘thank you,’ before his lips met the glass, alcohol pouring down his throat, a bit too messily for his usual put-together act, a drop dripping on his chin against his tan skin.

Mr. Suh smiled, humming happily as he handed the —almost empty— glass back to you. “As imagined, my favourite,” he winked.

“Oh, good — good. I — I like it too,” you slurred, panicking and feeling so small. And guilty because something about all of this felt so wrong and dirty and you immediately thought of Mrs. Taylor. Was Johnny flirting or were you too horny to think straight? They were a perfect couple, they couldn’t be cheating, right?

So, you scrolled your head, and said goodbye to him, quickly walking out of the room with the excuse ‘you were sure your father was looking for you’ but in reality, you just needed a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. You would find yourself alone with Mr. Suh more than you wished to, and he was always so subtle with everything that you started to think you were going insane. He couldn’t have possibly brushed his hand against yours as he walked by your side to go to his wife, right? And he couldn’t have willingly rested a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you, trying to make way to get to your father? And why would he call you ‘honey’ with that sweet, intoxicating, slightly condescending tone, and only when you two were alone? His voice was always sensual, but you could swear it would drop even lower when he had you alone in the kitchen or in the library you spent some much time in, lecturing you about some poem or book, watching as you hung from his lips.

Anyway, you thought you could deal with it, you would only see him when your dad invited them, and even if it was a lot, you could stick with your mother —a slightly more likeable presence to you that wasn’t best friend with the Suhs.

Things worsened when Mrs. Suh started talking to you. The first, serious, conversation was about a pretty boring thing, some case she was working on. But there was something in the way she talked to you, laughing as she dismissed the conversation and simply stared into your eyes before asking to talk about yourself. Unlike her husband, she was curious, almost as if she wanted to get deep into you and discover things you probably didn’t even know about yourself.

And you froze. You had nothing to say. Everything that came to your mind was either too boring or too wild to be known to her.

“So? Too many secrets to hide?” She joked, showing you her pearly white teeth before winking.

“No, uhm,” you mumbled, trying to find the words, but losing them again when your eyes fell on her hands, golden jewellery shining on her fingers as they wrapped around the flute so delicately and yet sensually before she brought the glass to her full lips tinted with dark purple. Your head snapped up, trying to control your breath and not show the erratic movements of your chest, and squeezing your thighs together for some reason. “I’m working. Yes, busy working and trying to survive my dad.” Busy. You wrote for a small magazine online that paid you dust; reason why you were back living with your parents and kept writing your book, hoping to finish it and publish it one day and get the chance to be as far as possible from that house.

She smirked, and you could see it wasn’t because she was happy with your answer but almost as if she was having the time of her life at the way you were acting. “So, work and dad make you, you?”

“No,” you replied right away, slightly offended too. “I thought we were talking about… about things… happening now.”

A low chuckle rolled out of her lips, “I’d love to get to know you better, you know? Your family is so outgoing, they can’t keep anything in, but you…” she paused, eyes looking at you up and down, “you’re so secretive, reserved, like a candy to unwrap.”

You gulped, fearing she had the wrong idea about you and her husband and was planning a way to kill you. Aaliyah wasn’t stupid, of course she had seen the way Johnny talked to you and, worse, the way you reacted. She was also a lawyer, a brilliant one, you doubt some of her clients were even innocent and yet they got away with everything, she could stand up for herself in court, and Johnny would find a poetic way to get rid of your body and turn this into the plot of his next success.

“I… I…”

“You should spend some time with us,” she said, smiling, crossing her legs and moving her braids behind, showing her cleavage, “you know, at our place, alone. No family getting in the way, no father painting you bad. Just adults having fun.”

“Oh,” you gasped, gulping as you felt the air in your lungs disappear. “Sure, I’d love to.” But the truth is, you wouldn’t survive being alone with them.

“Beautiful dress, by the way,” she complimented, getting up and walking past you, “shows all the right curves.”

That was the start of everything. Unfortunately, she had no intention of killing you. Instead, she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you better, saving you from your father by engaging in conversations with you when you were all at the same table, asking what you liked, and mostly, complimenting you. At first, it could’ve been mistaken for a ‘girls support girls’ kind of moment, but quickly you started to perceive something else. Her looks, her touches and her words weren’t any different than Mr. Suh’s ones, so lingering, so secretive, and teasing, feeling like a breeze that taunts your skin with a sense of relief that’s never meant to come.

Two months have passed since that moment, and your plans of keeping the distance crumble apart when you find yourself alone with them.

It’s not the first time, but you feel today might be more difficult to deal with. Your father is stuck with an idea of you from when you were five years old and in constant need of supervision, or else you can’t explain why he almost treats them as your babysitters.

‘We’ll be out today, look after her,’ these are the words your father exclaims before walking out of the Villa he owned on this lake abandoned by God, your mother already at the car parked in the driveway.

You’re not a child but you surely act like one, rolling your eyes and letting out a loud grunt before puffing out air.

Mr. Suh laughs, humming lowly before turning to you. “You’re still a child in his eyes, aren’t you? His sweet, innocent, little baby.”

That comment shouldn’t have had any effect on you, yet, it does. It feels like he is implying something else, it’s clear in his tone and especially his eyes. But you shake it off, laughing before replying ‘yes,’ and then running up the stairs with a faint goodbye. You hear Mrs. Taylor say something, probably asking you to stay, but you pretend you don’t hear and disappear into your room.

You can avoid them only for so long before you don’t know what to do anymore and decide to go downstairs —terrible decision.

You think they left, so you walk outside to read a book under the porch and enjoy a cold lemonade, but when you step into the garden you see them by the pool.

Aaliyah is laughing tenderly at Johnny who’s dancing on the trampoline, winking at her before jumping in the pool, splashing water around, making her turn around and cover her face more with the large floppy hat she’s wearing.

You feel like dying, this is not how you want to see them, and you have to force your eyes up, not making them fall on her ass. You’re still in time to go back, just one step behind and you can go upstairs as if nothing happened, but you’re not quick enough.

“Hey,” Mr. Suh greets you. “We were hoping you would join us,” he smiles at you, walking out of the pool by the stairs, scrolling the water out of his hair before pushing it behind.

You gulp, which is the only thing you can do to try to water your throat —and more embarrassingly, don’t moan at the sight of his sculpted body. And then you smile, a tight forced smile as you still stand like a statue. “Oh, I won’t join you, I just wanted to read.”

Mrs. Suh snickers and you watch her turn around to stand out of the pool, strong arms lifting her body up —and only now you realize that she’s pretty ripped too, the soft curves complimented by the signed abs, toned arms, and thighs.

“You go to the gym together?” Dumbly slips out of your mouth and by the time you cover it with your hands it’s already too late, but the comment makes them smile.

“You pay attention to details, don’t you?” She asks, clicking her tongue and smirking. She then takes the hat off, letting the braids fall on her back before she sits on the round table, pulling a chair out to gesture you to take a seat. “And I don’t train as much as he does, prefer pilates actually.”

“Oh,” you reply, momentarily bringing your attention to Johnny who’s now sitting on the other chair, leaving you the seat in the middle. “Heard is good for the body, nice choice.”

“Are you going to sit, or do we have to drag you here?” Mr. Suh jokes, head pointing at the empty space between them.

You shake your head, looking down as you take a deep breath and force your legs to work. You can do that, you just have to sit in the middle of the hottest couple you’ve ever laid eyes on and that for some reason loves to tease you, you’ll be fine.

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” she says when your ass touches the chair, book and lemonade resting in front of you on the round table.

“So, enjoying your break?” Johnny asks and then throws his hair back to scroll some more water out, but that makes you lose your focus and gulp nervously.

“Yeah, needed a vacation. Would be better if it wasn’t with my father,” you add, looking down.

She chuckles. “You two really don’t get along. Poor thing, he doesn’t get you, does he?”

You hesitate to reply, 1) you don’t get if she’s mocking you and 2) you wouldn’t care because the way she called you poor thing makes you feel things.

“He thinks I’m a child. I mean, he treats you like babysitters, I’m an adult,” you reply when your brain starts working again, and sadness fills your expression.

“Sure you are,” Johnny adds, chuckling, and you frown. “Sorry, it’s just funny that when you get mad at him, you act a bit childlike. Teenagers-like, if it makes you feel better.”

You sigh, frowning as you stare at him. “You think I’m stupid?”

“What?” He asks, brows raising.

“You think I’m as stupid as he thinks I am? Because the way he talks about me would make anybody think I’m this clueless, hopeless, dumb woman who has no idea what she’s doing with her life.”

Aaliyah chuckles tenderly, “Honey, you’re smart. Johnny can’t quite shut up about you after you two talk. He loves your takes on authors and the way you write, says he would love to have you work with him somehow.”

You almost stop breathing. He talks about you to his wife? He remembers what you say during your conversation or when you talk about what you write? Damn, you doubt people even listen to you.

“Oh, thanks,” yet, this is the only thing you mumble, and it’s fine like this. Anything else coming from your mouth could dangerously be a squeal.

“Anyway,” she says, leaning closer, making you move back and hold your breath, only to damn yourself when her fingers brush on your skin to wipe away something that dropped on you with the wind, “your dad’s not here now, why don’t you join us by the pool and stop stressing about him?”

You smile but shake your head. “No, it’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

“Are you sure? The water is perfect,” Johnny adds, standing up and towering over you. “Couldn’t convince my sweet wife to jump in but maybe you’re braver than her,” he winks, and you don’t have the courage to turn around and see if she saw.

“Oh…” you whisper and then look at the pool. If only he knew the problem wasn’t the water, you wouldn’t think twice about jumping in.

“Oh, come on,” Mrs. Suh pleads, and before you can realize it, her hands are wrapped around your wrist. This is the first time she touches you, not a caress, not a tease, but a firm hold on you, and it shouldn’t send shivers down your spine, but it does. Her fingers are slim and soft, and you find yourself wishing you could feel them more, preferably somewhere else on your body.

“Wait,” you try to retort, but you have no choice. She’s dragging you to the edge of the pool and Johnny is walking right behind you, you’d be trapped either way.

“Here,” she says, coming to a stop when you reach the border of the pool. “Much better than sipping lemonade while reading a book all alone, right?”

“I don’t have a bikini,” you say, only now realizing you didn’t go downstairs for that.

“Are you wearing lace?” Johnny asks, walking so close that you can feel the heat of his body.

“Wh-why do you care?”

“Dummy,” he chuckles, “if you’re not, you can jump in anyway, it won’t ruin the lingerie.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, of course,” you mumble, looking away to don’t show how embarrassed you are. But their laughs —even if lighthearted— don’t help you at all, and you still feel trapped between them. “No, by the way, I have no reason to wear lace,” you add, trying to fill the silence.

“Really?” Aaliyah asks, tilting her head to the side. You turn around, facing the pool so you can look at them both —and fool yourself you have a way out now that your back is free.

“Well, yes… I’m… I’m not really people’s type,” you mutter, torturing the inside of your cheeks and your fingers.

Johnny snickers, “Weird, you look exactly like —” he doesn’t finish though, and you barely see the glance his wife gives him to stop him. “I’m sure you are someone’s type.”

You nod, but your brain is slowly melting, from the weather, from their closeness, and now because you can’t understand why she stopped him and what he truly wanted to say.

“Undress,” she says resolutely, and you’re brought back to earth, staring at her with wide eyes. “To swim… remember?” she finishes, head tilted to the side and a mocking smirk on her face. You know she’s having the time of her life watching you panic, you’re giving it all way, from the way your breath falters to the way your chest heavies.

“Sure, to swim,” you repeat but it’s more to ground yourself. You hope the water is freezing cold, so maybe your body can cool down, and so can your thoughts. You quickly lift your dress over your shoulders and by the time you can see again, you see them in the water, standing right in front of you, leaning against the other side of the pool.

“Are you coming?” Johnny asks, voice raspy but clear.

You hum, kneeling down, feeling the water with your hand. It’s not cold enough to calm you down and to make you take time, you have to jump in. So, you do. It’s not too deep and you can walk to them.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Aaliyah voices out, deeply breathing in the air and moving her fingers in abstract figures on the surface.

“Yeah. I…” you look down, watching your bra and how little it covers, the damp fabric highlighting your hard nipples even more.

“Shy?” It rolls from her tongue like venom, so sweet yet poisonous as her eyes lock in yours.

“No, no,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why would I?”

“We wouldn’t blame you, we can come off as quite intimidating at times,” Johnny says, the corner of his lips twitching in a smirk before it relaxes.

“You don’t intimidate me,” you lie, chuckling and crossing your arms on your chest.

She laughs. “My nipples are hard too, babe. It’s the cold,” she reassures you with a smile, but you don’t feel better. You’re not so sure it’s only the cold, you think they became this hard a few minutes ago when you were practically sandwiched between them.

“Why did you come here?” You ask out of nowhere, and their expressions change. “I’m sorry, it’s not like I don’t want you here,” you explain, “but you could do vacations on your own and don’t have to suffer through my father, so I don’t understand.”

“Thought we said not to talk about him?” She says, raising a brow.

“Well, I want to talk about you. You two have it all, you’re rich, powerful, smart, in love, and yet, you…” you float around me, always, constantly, “...you spend so little time together.”

Mr. Suh laughs, his head rolling back for a second. “We’re always together. I come home to her, not your father,” he jokes and she laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Also, this might not be the only vacation we will do this year. We always go to Santorini in September before Uni starts,” she adds.

You hum, biting the inside of your cheek.

“But let’s talk about you,” she says. “Why are you here? Your brothers didn’t come.”

“My brothers can do whatever they want, I can’t.”

“Why?” This time Johnny is the one asking.

“I’d let him down,” you add, lowering your gaze because you don’t like the look of pity behind their eyes. “But I don’t want to think about him. You’re good at diving,” you change the subject, addressing Johnny, hoping it will be enough to move the focus from you.

“Thanks,” he replies, a proud smirk on his face.

“Don’t stroke his ego, he’s going to jump again and splash around,” she jokes, rolling her eyes.

“You’re already wet, so why would it be a problem?” He smirks, and then turns to you and winks, making you choke on your own saliva, but you try to cover it up with a fit of cough, something that makes the couple giggle under their breath more.

Aaliyah swims to you, pushing you back so Johnny can have space and maybe don’t drown you with his jump. Your skin is on fire as her hands place on your back as she guides you and you’re thankful your feet can touch because you can barely walk, so imagine swimming.

“He was in the swimming team in high school,” Aaliyah explains, covering her eyes from the sun with a hand and squeezing them so she can watch Johnny. You mimic her, humming at her words. “He was so good, I think I fell in love on the bleachers watching him swim.”

You chuckle tenderly and try to imagine a younger version of them, and you can almost see them. You wonder if their personalities were the same more than ten years ago, you wonder how they looked, you wonder if they would’ve ever imagined to still be here after so many years. But in any version you come up with, you still don’t fit. Actually, it makes you look like a stain even more.

“Your love is… strong,” you whisper when Johnny finally dives in and she cheers before bringing her attention to you.

“It is,” she agrees, a sweet smile showing her straight, white teeth, “even though weird things happen sometimes.”

You giggle, frowning. “Weird things?” Your voice is shaking, and you don’t want to connect the two dots that are so vivid in your head.

“What are you talking about? Praising me?” Mr. Suh asks, grinning, running a hand in his wet hair before hugging his wife from the back and kissing her cheek.

“Not about you, nothing impressive about that jump,” she jokes. “About us.”

“Us?”

She hums. “I was telling her how I fell in love with you, and she said our love is strong.”

You want to ask about the weird things, you want to ask so much more, but you don’t. And you simply stand there, watching Mr. Suh’s hands wrap around her body, feeling jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

The whole thing gets more intense as time passes by. You’re curious about them, as individuals and as a couple, and you can’t deny the tension anymore. Not tonight.

The three of you haven’t really spoken, mostly because you slipped away as soon as you crossed ways, and after a few tries, they stopped trying to approach you. But the buzzing chemistry is strong across the room.

You try not to look at them, you even try to engage in conversation with your father —when he’s not attached to Mr. Suh’s ass— and some of his other friends, but it’s useless. Your head always turns in their direction, it’s almost like a voice is luring you in.

You guess you look dumb from the outside, and you’re sure that if you looked at yourself in the mirror you would tell yourself to work on the way you stare at —almost strangers— with eyes filled with lust. You don’t want to, you don’t want to look at them, even less with that wide-eyed gaze and agape mouth, but you can’t help it.

“Honey,” your mother’s voice scoffs, “what are you doing?”

You perceive her scolding —disgusted— gaze on you and you cough, looking at her to be met with her judging eyes. Typical of your mother, usually you only get her looks with no need for words to be added.

“Sorry, I was zoned out,” you justify, chuckling awkwardly, but it only makes her frown more and sigh. “I’m a bit tired,” you lie, trying to fool her.

“Just don’t look weird,” she dismisses you with a wave of hand. “Not more than the usual,” she adds, leaving you alone.

You roll your eyes, scoffing loudly once you’re sure she’s out of sight and then start walking to the table with the drinks. You’re not sure adding alcohol to the picture will make it better but who knows, maybe ending up passed out next to a toilet is better than lusting over a married couple that is probably just messing with you.

It doesn’t work.

You blame it on the hard drinks your friends make you drink when you go out, your alcohol tolerance must be out of the roof by now, but it doesn’t matter because your biggest problem still stands.

Your problem is standing on the other side of the room now that you’re sitting on some couches with the fourth drink in hand. You shouldn’t feel like this, stomach upside down and a frown hardening your beautiful features while you look at them. But you can’t help it. Mr. Suh’s hand sitting at the side of Aaliyah’s waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles over the maroon dress she’s wearing. You can’t hear her laugh as her head rolls back before falling on his shoulder at something the person they are talking to is saying, but your brain replays the sound anyway, and you smile.

The beam on your face drops quickly when her eyes lock into yours, Johnny is not looking, busy paying attention to the person in front of them, but her gaze is on you. It’s piercing even with the distance between you and it takes your breath away. You should make this look normal, raise a hand and wave with a small smile before turning away, but you don’t. You’re stuck, like you always are around them, and the only thing that moves is your heart, pounding fast and violently in your chest as you watch her every move, one hand bringing a glass to her lips and the other meeting Johnny’s on her waist. You’d love to roll your eyes and huff ‘he’s yours, we get it,’ but you only feel a stinging pain in your heart, and a less painful one, well… somewhere else.

The spell breaks when she turns around, eyes on her husband and laughing again as if nothing happened, almost as if you’re not even in the room anymore.

Your shoulders drop, your breath gets normal again, and your head lowers. It’s not normal to feel like this, especially when it all feels like a mockery at times. You know there’s no space for you. You can’t be her and run your fingers in his hair without getting scowled at for ruining it. You can’t be her and kiss him on the lips and chuckle when he rubs your nose against yours. You can’t be her and see him in the comfort of when he wakes up or goes to bed.

But you play and play, and fool yourself you can, getting lost in those fantasies. You need a breath of fresh air.

Just like the alcohol, the minutes spent outside to cool your body and mind don’t work. When you go back to sit at your spot, you realize they’re sitting opposite to you. You’d leave again but you have no excuse, and it would become even more awkward now that your father sits next to you. But it’s fine, they’re talking again with someone else and you can focus on what your father is saying. Or maybe not, his conversation with another one of his intellectual friends is boring, nothing interesting comes from his mouth, just old, recurrent, wrong takes. You’d get in the conversation, just to feel something else that night and end up in a discussion with your dad because you need to prove him wrong, but your brain is somewhere else.

Once again, in front of you. Mrs. Suh is sitting on Johnny’s lap, somehow her back manages to stay straight even if she’s not resting against anything, her long legs are elegantly crossed by the ankle and one of her arms is wrapped around his shoulder. You recognize the person in front of them, Mr. Kim Doyoung, a math professor, and you question how they know each other but it gets swiped from your mind quickly.

You hate how close they are. Their touches so subtle and yet so loud making it feel like they’re rubbing it in your face. You hate how people look at them, with so much awe and affection, you feel like only you can look at them like that. And you feel stupid, it is stupid.

But then it happens again, this time it’s Mr. Suh the one looking at you. All the anger and jealousy fly away. Thousands of eyes on them, and he’s still looking at you. His wife is in his arms, and he’s still looking at you. Your father is at your side, and he’s still looking at you.

You gulp, shifting on the spot to try to get comfortable and stop the painful throbbing between your legs, but it’s impossible.

Mr. Suh’s lips flicker in a small smirk, and then his brow rises, there’s also a small raise of the cup he’s holding, and you immediately turn around, just to make sure your father is not looking. You can’t believe he’s so bold, flirting —or whatever he is doing— not only in a full room but with your dad by your side.

You should hate it, you should leave, maybe even confront him, but you don’t. You’re actually quite ashamed the whole thing turns you on. It’s hot, and taboo, and taboo but hot. And come on, you’ve been subtly flirting with a married couple, this shouldn’t be the worst thing, but it feels like it. Because your father worships them, everybody in that room praises them, wants to be like them, and thinks they only have eyes for each other, but they don’t, even if it’s only a naughty game, their eyes are on you.

It’s you.

Their eyes skim around the room playing hide and seek with yours. Their hands tickle your skin in secret. Their bodies speak to you.

The whole room fades in the background, all the tension, all the problems, gone.

It’s only you and them.

Eventually, you start spending more and more time at their place. You tell yourself it’s because they’re easygoing and you can easily escape from your house —to be more precise, from your father. But the truth is, you’re starting to enjoy them more and more.

You still feel out of place sometimes, but it quickly fades away when they notice their conversation push you out by quickly pulling you back in, making light jokes you can understand, or asking about your day. You realize Mrs. Taylor tends to pick up on you quicker than Mr. Suh, while he prefers to ease you with tender touches, and you wonder if he knows the effect they have on you.

You still don’t open up to them much, fearing that if they discovered more, they’d quickly stop giving you attention.

Attention.

That’s another thing you enjoy about being with them. You feel seen. Even if their chemistry is over the roof, they never leave you out, you’re not a tapestry with them. They listen to you, even if you don’t say much, even if you stumble on your words and only give them a small peek. They look at you with sweet smiles on their faces and hum interested, holding conversation with ease.

And shamefully, the thing you love the most, they pamper you. It’s not like you’re poor —even if you have decided to don’t ask for money from your father, some privileges from your wealthy family come anyway— but they still spoil you. Expensive dinners in places you honestly never even wanted to set foot inside. Expensive clothes you doubt you even have the occasion to wear. They even gifted you a Cartier necklace that you keep stored away as your most treasured possession.

But their attentions aren’t only economical, they spoil you with homemade dinners at their place, movie night on their couch, and something more…

You lost count by now of how many times they get you alone and flirt with you, teasing you, watching you get flustered, chuckling at the way your breath falters when their fingers brush your skin or hair. It’s like a dirty game, you are their dirty game. But you don’t hate it. You know they both know what they’re doing, but you love this secrecy, the way you’re their trophy in plain sight and yet a dirty secret they have to hide from each other. It makes you feel wanted, desperately wanted.

And soon enough, you find yourself playing that game, too.

You wear your best outfits when you pass by the University, skin-tight skirts or pants, and just as skimpy blouses or tops with the excuse to borrow books from the library and say hi. Your lips are tinted red for Mr. Suh when he asks you if you want to pass in his office to help him with some lectures, and brown for Mrs. Suh when you casually pass by her firm for lunch or after work. Your hair is always in different hairstyles until you start to stick with the ones you see they like the most. And slowly, you gain some confidence to flirt back.

Your remarks are subtle, and your gaze shies away when they hold eye contact and only giggle or smirk teasingly. But it’s something.

Or so you think.

One second, you’re confident, and the other you feel like you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. You start wondering if you’re pathetic in their eyes and are nothing more but a plaything for them to toy with and discharge when they’ll get tired of you. But nobody ever complimented you this much, calling you beautiful, caressing your face, loving the outfits you put together, and, most importantly, didn’t make you feel dumb. So it feels impossible to pull away from them. Even when your father starts getting mad at you about it.

He’s not dumb, and he has seen the way you and Mr. Suh sit in a corner and talk, he has seen that he greets you before anybody else —even before him— and he doesn’t like it.

“Johnny and Aaliyah have a beautiful relationship,” he starts, scolding you, “don’t try to screw it up, you’re not half of her worth.”

And that’s the first time you cry at night about it. You don’t want to listen to him, but you can’t help but question why they would choose you. Even if it’s just a game, even if it means nothing, you can’t find a reason why. You don’t know who started this first, but it’s not like it would be any different, they’re both hot, smart, talented and successful, and your father is right, you’re not half of her, or his, worth.

Yet, you can’t let it go.

If you know their townhouse by heart, you can’t say the same for their holiday house. It’s your first time being there after they invited you to their getaway weekend. You didn’t hesitate to say yes, pack your best things and leave.

You didn’t want to wander around but they left you all alone and didn’t show much of the house, so you took this opportunity to see a bit more.

The place is big; in the spacious hall, you’re met with the stairs once you enter, the big living room and on the right there’s the kitchen with a grand island in the middle and the table in front of the wide window. Farther down the corridor there’s a small bathroom and a room you couldn’t open. You’d like to go outside in the garden and chill next to the pool or under the porch, but it’s like upstairs is calling you.

On the first floor, there are the bedrooms and a studio. Your room —well, the guest room— is at the end of the corridor with a big bathroom next to it, while their room is at the end of the stairs, or so you guess.

You don’t want to pry, but curiosity’s got the best of you, especially after trying to open that room downstairs that won’t open. But you know you don’t want to find the keys to that room when you enter their bedroom —yes, you do, but that’s not the main thing.

Your lips part when you enter. It’s bigger than yours, with white walls and wide windows that let the light shine in making it seem even bigger. The big bed is against the wall that faces the door, and right next to the windows, there’s a small sitting room with a two-seat couch and two armchairs.

You should stop and don’t step further but you don’t listen to your brain.

On the wall in front of the bed, there’s a fireplace and on top of it there’s a television that takes half of the wall. At the sides, there are recessed shelves in the wall with books and elegant boxes, a lamp in front of it, and a lounge chair.

There are other lamps, all seem to be design pieces. Two long bedside tables that seem to be vanity desks of marble black. Some beautiful paintings are on the walls and you frown when you can’t recognize the artist, but they picture women and nature and you find them mesmerizing.

Then your eyes are caught by a rectangular red box placed against the wall at the side of the bed, it’s bigger than the bench at the end of the bed, and something about it screams at you to open it.

You shouldn’t, you feel like you’re invading their privacy —and well, you are— but you don’t stop.

You kneel in front of it, and a part of you hopes it’s locked somehow so that you can walk out of there and pretend nothing happened. But there’s no lock or key, you just have to lift the lid to see what’s inside.

Your lips part and a gasp comes out of your mouth when your eyes see what’s inside. You freeze. Close it and leave. Your brain screams, but you’re stuck, eyes blinking as you try to make sure you’re not making it all up.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hand falling from the lid to shakily touch what’s inside. There are other boxes but, for now, you don’t care to open them and only grab what you can see. Handcuffs, blindfolds, what seem to be whips but they all have different shapes and you don’t get the differences, ropes and other items you can’t name. The closed boxes have labels on them, lingerie, anal, vibrators, and dildos.

Your hands grab one, opening it, inspecting what’s inside with surprise and curiosity, and then another, and another. To be honest, you don’t know why you are so shocked, you own some toys —a vibrator and a small dildo— but you’ve seen much more than that, and it shouldn’t be surprising that a couple like the Suhs have freaky, kinky sex. Yet, it’s overwhelming you.

You are so caught up looking into the box that you don’t hear the door open and Aaliyah stand behind you with just a rope wrapped around her body.

“Looking for something?”

One of the boxes falls from your hand when Mr. Suh’s voice resonates in the room and you jump around in fear.

You mumble no sense, starting to panic while your eyes dart around the room for an escape. There would be many, the room is all windows and you could easily jump off the balcony to put an end to how embarrassed you feel right now, but you can’t.

Their gazes are piercing you and pinning you down against the floor and a feeble “I’m sorry,” is all you can say before your throat goes completely dry.

They snicker, starting to walk over you and you take a step back, but almost fall into the box. You don’t, not because your brain started to work again, but because Mrs. Suh has her arms wrapped around you to keep you from being bent in half into that.

“Careful, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” she says, a veil of genuine concern and something else, a lot of something else, that you can’t decipher.

“I told you she was curious,” Johnny says, talking to her once she lets you go after she makes sure you can stand on your feet.

“I — I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking down and torturing your hands, but the toys abandoned on the floor only make you look outside. “I thought you were out.”

“I was,” Johnny says, “went buy something sweet for you. But it looks like you’ll get something sweeter tonight.”

Your brain panics, trying to assimilate everything they said to you. “You — you were home the entire time?”

She smirks. “Didn’t hear the water running?”

You sigh defeated, pressing your lips together and shaking your head.

Johnny chuckles before kneeling and talking to you again, “You’re lucky we didn’t want to use these on you tonight, I’m not really in the mood to clean them all up,” he says as he puts the dildos back in the box and set it aside, outside of the container so he remembers to clean them.

“On — on me?” You mumble still struggling to breathe.

Aaliyah hums. “All this teasing has to go somewhere, right?”

“I — I…” You — You… you wished this so much that now that is happening you don’t know how to feel anymore.

“You don’t want us?” Johnny asks with genuine care and your eyes widen, terrified they will get the wrong idea.

“No, I do, I do, but I don’t want to — I… I promise I’m not weird, I don’t even know why I came here, or why I opened that, it’s just so eye-catching, it’s red and nothing in this room is red, and…”

Your rant gets interrupted by two lips on yours. You don’t know who it is at first, eyes closed and brain and heart going off like sirens, running around with their non-existent hands in the air. But then an arm wraps around you and pulls you close, and you realize it’s her. It’s her soft yet firm touch, it’s her body against yours.

And then you’re trapped again, Johnny is behind you, and you feel small and powerless.

“We’re not mad at you, honey,” he says, fingers running against your neck as he moves your hair back, “we’re kinda glad you snooped around, we weren’t really sure how to initiate this.”

“Oh,” you gasp. “But I’m not weird, I’m not a stalker, I promise.”

“We know,” she stops you again, chuckling, “maybe you wanted to get caught. Johnny called your name when he was downstairs, you didn’t hear him?”

Your lips spread partially as you try to remember but you’re sure you didn’t hear his voice or the shower. “No, I… I think I was too caught in… into… well…”

They snicker.

“Naughty girl,” she mocks, gently cupping your chin. “Found something interesting?”

“Uhm, no…”

“No?” Johnny asks and you feel something against your bare thighs —wearing shorts was a bad idea. It has fringes and it tickles. “Not even this?”

You look down and see the black flogger in his hands and you gulp. “I never tried any of these before… I’m not even sure how some of these things can bring pleasure.”

Aaliyah chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, babydoll, you’d be surprised.”

“You want to tie me?” You ask innocently and they laugh.

“Nah, seems a bit cruel for our first time, don’t you think?” Johnny says, hands wrapping around your stomach.

First time? There will be another one? You think but you don’t ask. You probably already look depraved enough to their eyes, you don’t want to make it worse.

“So, want to have fun with us?”

“Yeah…”

“Hesitating?” She questions, caressing your cheek to soothe you but her touch only makes your body buzz in excitation.

“No, I still don’t get why you would want me,” you whisper, diverting your gaze.

“Have you taken a look in the mirror?” He says, big hands caressing your waist and lips brushing against your neck.

You shake your head. “I still think I don’t fit between you…”

She grabs your chin, lifting your head. “Then why don’t you stop thinking tonight, mhh? We’ll give you a reason to believe why you do fit, instead?” Her hands grab yours and she places them on the tie of her robe, if your fingers move and you let it fall to the ground the whole night will bloom. The consequences could be tragic, tomorrow could be the worst day of your life, but tonight might be the best one.

You don’t hesitate anymore; you’re curious, you’re needy, and you badly want to be pressed between them and feel their skin against yours, so your fingers dance on the tie and pull the robe open.

Your lips part to let out a gasp when her naked body unreveals to your eyes, and you get lost in it. Your eyes move up and down, taking in her perky, round boobs, her darker nipples hardening at the cool air of the room, and then they go down, to her toned stomach you have already seen before until they reach her soft hips, you bite your lips when your eyes fall between her legs, perfectly trimmed black hair covering her most intimate part, and lastly on her soft thighs and long legs.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe out, feeling you could collapse just from the view, and you start wondering if you can take Johnny too.

Her lips lift in a smile and her hands wander on your body where her husband’s hands are leaving your body untouched. You press your lips together to don’t moan already, it would be so humiliating to do so, but it’s almost as if they know.

“Don’t hold back,” Johnny whispers against your ear, shivers running down your spine. “We take pride in what we do, and want to hear you.”

You hum, nodding fast before you feel dizzy when he pushes your shorts down, his body lowering to accompany them on the floor, his hot breath hitting your exposed skin before his lips leave kisses on your thighs and ass.

Aaliyah is busy taking care of your top, lifting your arms to reveal your bare chest. Your first instinct is to cover yourself, but she stops you with a stern look and a “Don’t.” Her voice is sultry, sweet like honey and intoxicating, and you can only obey. “It’s not fair when I’m so bare at your eyes, don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe out, and then turn your head to stare at Johnny, the only one who’s completely covered. You don’t say anything, but your eyes speak louder than any word. You’re basically imploring him to show himself to you, your eagerness is burning out of you, yet he mocks you with a smirk and then a scoff.

“Later, honey,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t be greedy. Too much on your plate, then you can’t chew.”

His wife snickers, pushing him back from you. “Follow me,” she says, giving you a reassuring smile before turning around and walking toward the bed.

You hesitate, looking back at Johnny, asking his permission, and when he nods, you still feel stuck there. You need a light push from him to start moving your feet and follow her on the Wyoming king bed.

“I didn’t think you would be so shy, doll,” she points out, watching you hesitantly climb on the bed and crawl to her.

“She’s not,” Johnny replies for you, “she’s just playing with us.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him, mumbling to come up with a reply. But you stop thinking when her chest presses against your back and she turns your head to kiss you. Her hand reaches out to call Johnny to join you, but you don’t think about him until you feel the bed bend with his weight and then his hands on your thighs.

“Or maybe she just needs to ease into us,” she suggests. You catch she’s telling him something, it’s a quick conversation with eyes and mouthed words; you don’t get it, but you don’t care to get it.

You trust them. And you like the thrill of being at their mercy with no idea of what they truly want to do with you.

So, you let them. You let them move you, shifting around you as their hands gently push you flat against the bed and their lips start tracing your shivering skin. You hate that Johnny is still dressed but that thought quickly leaves your mind —or better, doesn’t annoy you that much anymore— when his fingers hook on the band of your panties and pull them off.

You squirm, hiding your face against Aaliyah’s arms but they’re quick at reassuring you.

“Stop hiding away,” Johnny says, “you’re beautiful, honey.”

But your confidence it’s not the problem. You’ve never been the centre of attention, you never had two pairs of eyes, lips, and hands on you. You don’t know how to cope with all of this.

You gasp when her lips wrap around your hard nipple and she starts sucking. And you can’t control your hips when his hands brush against the apex of your thighs before lingering over your sensitive pussy.

“Can I taste you?” Johnny asks, softly caressing your skin.

“Yes, you can.” You’re already short on air as you watch him lower his head, his eyes intensely staring straight into yours, making you feel so small and yet so safe.

Your legs go weak as soon as his plump lips touch your sensitive clit, he’s only leaving delicate kisses on you and small kitten licks but that’s not the only stimulation you’re receiving, Aaliyah’s mouth and fingers lick and pinch on your sensitive nipples are not helping you calm down.

“Oh my god,” you curse, rolling your head back when he starts eating you out for real. Tongue working with precision from your leaking slit to your throbbing clit, not leaving a patch untouched. His hold on you is firm, big hands keeping you spread, massaging your skin to help you relax even more, but with no room for movement.

“Look at you,” she teases, pulling away from your boob to pay attention to your face, “so wrecked and we barely even started. You love the way my husband is eating you out?”

Your eyes open to meet hers, and you regret it right away, the intensity of her gaze making you feel something you’ve never felt before. Sure, she carried around an intimidating vibe, but that kind of aura disappeared as the months passed and you grew closer, but this, this is different. She is dominant and firm, yet somehow you can always find that veil of care that characterized her.

You try to answer, afraid not receiving a verbal response will disappoint her, but your throat lets out an embarrassing whimper followed by a broken moan.

She snickers, shaking her head, and caressing your cheeks so gently it feels like she’s mocking you. “I know, doll, I know, he’s good with his mouth.”

You cry out in embarrassment but your head rolls back when Johnny sucks harshly on your clit and his hands move down to keep your pussy spread.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles pressed against your skin, the vibrations driving you insane. “So wet for us, you wanted this so bad, didn’t you? Our desperate toy, we made you wait for so long.”

You’d love to scream that yes, this took too long, but nothing comes out of your mouth. You somehow find the strength to look up, much with the help of Aaliyah who places an arm under your head for support, and you feel your stomach tighten up at the view.

Johnny looks like a starving man, messily lapping at your aching pussy, devouring you with his face buried between your legs, nose pressed against your mound. He’s so caught up he probably doesn’t even realize he tugs you closer when his arms wrap around your thighs.

Your eyes shut down and for a moment the image of the usual him crosses your mind. There’s nothing of the composed, elegant, and polite man you know, that man that your father loves so much, the same man that if he saw him right now, would have a heart attack. But you quickly push him out of your mind. You have no other choice when Aaliyah’s fingers add to the mess between your legs, and you bite your lips so hard you almost bleed.

“Too much,” you cry out, looking for mercy in her eyes when she draws them from her husband and your cunt to your face.

“Too much?” She coos with a condescending tone. “You’re bucking your hips against his face and want me to believe it’s too much?”

You groan loudly, giving up as your head falls against the mattress again. Her arm is not there anymore as she’s using it to support her body to tease you, and your neck has no more strength to watch him have the time of his life between your thighs.

But you’re not the only one groaning; Johnny’s moaning too, getting drunk in your juices and falling into madness as he tries to ease the painful boner in his tight jeans, grinding against the mattress for comfort.

“You’re so hot you’re making him hump the mattress, babydoll,” she points out. “That’s the effect you have on him. Still doubt you’re not enough?”

You don’t, not right now, you don’t want to think about it. Still, you shake your head, earning a soft, pleased smile and a “Good girl.”

It makes your stomach tighten, your toes curl, and your hands clench around the sheets. “Johnny,” you whisper, keeping your mouth parted as you try to let more air in, it’s a beg for release but you can’t find the words to let it all out.

The way you moan his name, so shyly, so weakly, a bit for the pleasure, a bit because you feel like it doesn’t belong to you —God if he finds it endearing the way you still call them Mr. and Mrs. Suh sometimes— makes his heart pound and his dick ache. You’re so fragile in their hands, right now, in his. He had wished to have you like this for so long; since his wife first brought you up and he started to look at you in a different light. Every time you spoke your mind during dinners, coming up with something that was too smart for your father to comprehend until he proposed the same point of view, only changing a few things. You deserved to be lifted on the table and eaten out like this. And the more you two talked, or your hands brushed timidly, the more he felt addicted. He couldn’t stop thinking of you.

And that was crazy, because the only woman he ever had was his wife, and never he would’ve imagined he could feel so attracted to someone that wasn’t her. And yet, the three of you are here, in the same bed, in the same mess.

When you call out his name again, he snaps out of his thoughts and looks up at you, the eye contact makes your head spin and you hold onto Aaliyah’s wrists. You feel like the orgasm will make you fly away, but before that, Johnny will kill you with just one look.

“Please,” you cry out, begging to be spared, or maybe not, maybe begging to be ended, begging for the release, begging to reach the best orgasm of your life.

“Let go, honey, come in my mouth,” his deep, sultry voice is the final strike that sends you over the edge. Body convulsing in his hold as he keeps you down and keeps sucking and licking you, eagerly swallowing your sweet cum, and moaning vulgarly against your burning hot skin.

You feel dizzy and high, and your body slumps against the soft mattress when your first orgasm ends.

“Want to see you,” you cry out, trying to lift your body and reach for him, but your limbs quickly give up.

Aaliyah chuckles, and you turn to face her. “We need to work on your stamina.”

You pout as you justify yourself, “It was too good, and I haven’t come like this in — well, never.”

Johnny chuckles, smirking proudly before he stands up at the edge of the bed. “Want to see me, honey?”

You nod with enthusiasm, biting your lips as your heart thuds in excitement. Your eyes lock with his fingers that are moving way too slow on their way to unbutton the shirt. But after what feels like an eternity, the blouse meets the floor, leaving uncovered his toned chest, arms and beautiful tattoos adorning the skin of his shoulder. But it’s not like you haven’t seen that before.

“What?” You scream annoyed when she covers your view, standing on her knees between you and her husband, giggling at your disappointment.

“He needs a hand, baby,” she chuckles and you huff again. Of course, they would fuck with you some more.

Every sound drives you more insane; you bite the inside of your cheek when you hear the belt open, and your heels tap against the mattress when the zip comes down, lastly, you groan in disbelief when you hear his pants and belt hit the floor.

“Please,” you whine, closed fists slapping against the bed.

“Fine, greedy little thing,” Johnny chuckles, and so does she as they finally give you what you want.

Your eyes and lips widen, and you gulp. “Oh… wow…”

They laugh, it’s a soft sound that creates a beautiful harmony, and even if they’re making fun of you, it warms your heart. The next thing they do is crawl to you to kiss you.

It starts with a soft peck on your lips, their mouths on yours meeting almost shyly, and then it gets heated, teeth and tongue clashing together as all of you try to have a taste of each other.

“Don’t worry, you can take it,” she reassures, kissing your lips, hands travelling down your stomach until it reaches your throbbing clit and starts moving in circles, making you gasp against their lips.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumble, glossy eyes looking into his first and then moving to hers. “Maybe you should.”

“Oh, I do, trust me,” she replies, smirking before kissing your neck.

“Tonight is about you,” Johnny reminds you, doing the same as she’s doing but on the other side. “It will fit.”

“Mhh,” you mumble, feeling weak and overwhelmed.

“Let me make sure it will fit,” she sings happily, now taking the spot between your legs.

You moan against Johnny’s mouth when her finger pushes inside you, humming in delight as she feels how wet you are. You can’t see her, eyes closed as you get lost in the kiss, but just her presence is enough to make you tremble.

“Look at you, it’s so easy to turn you into a puddle,” she teases, watching as you can barely kiss Johnny back. Something about the kiss you and her husband are sharing makes her head spin. There’s something about you, something new, something they’ve never had before. You’re so delicate, like a flower, and your petals fall perfectly between them. Just like right now, she’s sure there’s nothing in your brain, and yet your lips follow Johnny’s, messily meeting him in that slow, yet passionate kiss.

Your body reacts so nicely to their hands running on your skin, cupping and groping at your soft boobs to stimulate you everywhere as she works the second finger inside of you. They are experts at what they’re doing, sending shivers all over your body and pushing you further down into that haze.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, you’re so eager to feel Johnny inside, aren’t you?”

You mumble a reply as you finally pull away from Johnny, a thread of spit still connecting your lips, but you don’t notice until he breaks it off. “Want to feel him.”

They snicker, and then their lips are on you; Johnny’s busy leaving pecks on your neck before he pays attention to your nipples, and Aaliyah is focused on kissing your inner thigh and tummy as her fingers still curl inside of you.

“I don’t think you’re ready, yet, pretty girl,” she hums, curling the tips up and hitting your sensitive spot. That action makes your hips buck from the mattress and causes a louder moan to slip through your tortured plump lips. “So wet, dripping all over my fingers. I bet you taste so good, maybe I’ll get a taste one day, uhm?”

You squeeze your eyes, uselessly trying to calm your breath, it’s pathetic how fast your chest is moving in erratic movements, and how your hips squirm to search for more, even if one of their hands is on your stomach to keep you in place. You don’t reply but you internally scream that yes, you want her. You want to feel her soft, full lips on you, you wonder if she’s eager like Johnny or more meticolous, if she moans loudly or keeps quiet. You don’t know, but the mere idea makes a growl roll from your lips.

“She’s good with her fingers, isn’t she?” Johnny’s deep voice hits your ear, and you feel your body melt. Your head moves quickly to agree as you turn to the side to face him. He’s staring at you with a sly smirk on his face and before you can stop him, you feel his long fingers on your clit. You bite back a moan and try to plead with your eyes but it’s useless. Neither of them wants to stop.

“What, princess? We have to make sure you’re ready to take my dick,” he whispers, shushing your senseless sounds with a kiss.

You bite his lips by mistake when she pushes a third finger inside, eyes wide both in surprise and in a silent apology to Johnny.

“Too much,” you cry out.

But she tsks, shaking her head. “You have to be all stretched out for him, doll. You don’t want to break, do you?”

You shake your head before it rolls back, and your face contorts more. You don’t want to break but you feel like you might explode from this alone. She’s incredibly skilled in what she’s doing, it’s like her fingers are pumping and curling following the rhythm of a melody only she can hear, they hit you deep and fast, not giving you time to recover from each profound push.

“Just a few pumps and then he’ll fuck you exactly like you want,” she encourages you, her dark brown eyes looking softly at you, curling up in a sweet smile.

It takes you less than a few pumps to come undone, you don’t even see the orgasm coming when it washes over you, knocking air out of your lungs. It’s her two fingers pumping into you, curling and scissoring, after she pulled the third out to move faster, it’s Johnny’s thumb on your clit, flicking it swiftly, and his lips on your nipple, sucking harshly. But mostly, it’s them, the warmth of their bodies wrapping around you, intoxicating you like a drug that takes its sweet time to kick in.

Your body shakes, trapped between the mattress and their big bodies, and you feel like the room is spinning around you.

“You come so easily,” she mocks, pulling her fingers out once she’s sure you’re done, and slapping your clit, making you hiss.

Easily. If that was nothing to her…

“Naughty girl,” Johnny scoffs, pulling away from you and you whine when their hot bodies are not on you anymore.

You sigh, thinking since when you’re so pathetic and needy? You truly can’t last more than ten seconds without having them all over you?

“If you were ours that wouldn’t have gone unpunished,” he says, settling between your legs and spreading them apart. You barely noticed them moving around, already too far gone to be aware of what is going on around you. His intense gaze makes you shiver and more cum oozes out of your already messy, wet cunt. Johnny takes a deep breath, getting lost in the sight of you, your face is wrecked, your lips parted, your eyes watery, your boobs are heaving, and your hips are moving around, pleading him to fuck you. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, honey.”

The compliment makes your heart swell and you weakly smile back at him.

“Come on, fuck her already,” Aaliyah encourages him, pushing his hips closer as she stands at his side, “she deserves it.”

You gasp under your breath when his hands wrap around the back of your knees and, with a strong tug, he pulls your body against his, the tip of his dick slapping against your core. He moves one hand down to grab the base and pushes his cock against your slit, it feels like forever as he rubs his leaking tip against your clit and every now and then pushes against your opening that’s fluttering, begging him to fill you up already.

“Johnny,” Aaliyah scolds sternly, looking at him up and down, and her dominance at the moment makes you shiver and moan, shamelessly. You try to close your legs to hide the effect it had on you but they both push them open, and somehow, the way they’re not paying attention to you, eyes locked into each others, and still have you under control, makes you whine even louder. “Stop teasing her,” she orders, cupping his chin and pulling him closer. “Don’t you see how badly she wants you? Dripping on the sheets like a kitten in heat?”

You frown at her comment even if well, she’s right. You’re sure you’ve never been this wet your entire life.

“As you wish, milady,” he jokes and in a second, he’s inside of you.

“Fuck,” you scream at the stretch, even if he didn’t bottom in, you still feel like you can barely breathe. “Oh, shit.”

“Damn, honey, I’m not even halfway in,” he comments, stopping and looking at you with a worried face.

“No, I’m fine, I was — too caught up,” too caught up in you two and I barely remember my name.

Aaliyah snickers, shaking her head. “You’re so cute, doll,” she hums, caressing your thigh, “just relax and take him all, uhm? He’s going to fuck you so well,” she says before addressing her husband, “right, Johnny?”

Johnny nods, smirking playfully before sinking further until his entire length is in.

Your head rolls back while pleasure dissipates inside your body, he fills you perfectly, stretching you so nicely. You feared it was going to be more painful, but it feels so good, and the pairs of hands soothing your skin are helping you calm down.

Johnny pulls you closer, beginning to slowly move his hips, hissing under his breath while your walls flutter around him so nicely, your wet, warm hole welcoming him with ease now that you’re not tense anymore.

And then it happens, for the first time that night, they kiss. You bite your lips with force as your eyes bore holes in them. Their lips move on their own, doing what they have been doing for a life now, and their hands pull each other close. You’ve seen them in similar circumstances before, but this, this, is different. Johnny is kissing his wife while he’s buried deep inside of you, one hand on the small of her back, the other keeping you spread, her hand tangled in his long, brown locks and the other intertwined with yours at your side.

Everything is oddly romantic and erotic at the same time. Everything makes perfect sense and no sense at all. But it’s fine. Tonight, you don’t want to think, you don’t want to worry, you want to roll around in this mess of limbs and skin and feel. Feel alive and loved. Even if it might be an illusion.

“Fuck, baby,” they moan when they pull apart, giggling at the way they’re in sinch even if for different things. Their eyes are on you again and while Johnny praises how good you feel, she praises how well you’re taking him.

And your heart jumps around while a dumb, drunk-in-love smile plasters on your face. But it swiftly drops when she moves up again to whisper something in Johnny’s ear. You try to study his expression, something flickers in his eyes, and they darken even more, you even feel his dick twitch inside of you, but you can’t make out anything of what she says.

Then Johnny’s hips come to an alt, and your throat dries.

“We were thinking you got to come two times already,” he starts, licking his lips, “and while I’m having fun with you, you will agree we kinda neglected Aaliyah, right?”

You nod quickly, eyes moving between the couple in swift motions.

“So, what do you think about turning around and eating her out while I keep fucking you?”

It’s like your brain sparks up and shuts down at the same time at his words. You nod eagerly, mumbling ‘yes’ while a small, fucked out smile creeps on your face.

“You want me, baby?” She asks, voice slurring out of her lips like velvet.

“Yes, please, want you so bad,” you reply, body buzzing in excitement as you take her body in.

You don’t have time to complain when Johnny pulls out of you, he swiftly turns you around, strong arms moving you as if you’re nothing for him, and given all the weights he lifts at the gym, it is nothing. Your body moves on its own, ass perking up while your face lowers down, close to the soft, perfumed sheets but not enough that you can’t use your lips.

And there she is, resting against the headboard with her legs spread right in front of your face. Her pussy’s dripping, clit throbbing in anticipation, and you envy how good she has been to hold it back for so long.

And even if your eyes are curious and sparkle with lust, she can sense your hesitation. “Come on, don’t be shy,” she encourages you, one hand gently cupping the back of your head, massaging your scalp, “don’t tell me it’s your first time.”

Well… not exactly, but you weren’t a pro at this either.

“Oh, you’re always on the receiving end?” She snickers, looking down at you. Eyes piercing you, pinning you down in your place. She has this thing, it’s like magic, one look and you’re right where she wants you, how she wants you.

“Mostly…” you admit shyly, looking down again.

“Well, time to change that,” she says before pushing you against her pussy.

Your lips move shily at first, it’s almost as if you’re testing the ground. Kitten licks are all you give her, licking up her sweet cum while your nose rubs against her clit. You breathe deep, getting lost in her aroma.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” she praises, hand still caressing you but not pressing you down. If it was somebody else —even Johnny— she wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, but with you, she wants to take it slow and guide you through it.

You moan against her when Johnny pushes in again, this time he doesn’t wait before his hips start slamming against you, but he’s not going too fast. And the pleasure he’s fucking into you urges you to do better. You try to do what Johnny did to you before and every other person you’ve been with, and be better than the other times you’ve eaten pussy before.

“Yes, pretty girl, focus on the clit,” she instructs you, moving her hand down to caress your neck, and when you comply, a deep guttural moan rips from her throat. She hums in delight and your heart flips with pride. “Use your tongue.”

You hesitately stick your pink muscle out and poke it at her entrance but she stops you with a click of her tongue, “No, doll, up and down, come on, you can do it.” When your tongue starts doing that, licking her from the bottom of her entrance to the top, flicking your tip right under the hood of her clit, her legs shake and she pushes down a hiss. “So, so good, babydoll.”

“Shit, you’re so hot,” Johnny moans behind you, his hands holding tightly to your waist as he fucks you on his dick. He never imagined he’d be so turned on by this, but fuck, this is the dream. Seeing his wife’s face while you pleasure her, hearing her moan because of somebody else mouth, especially yours, makes him feel something he never felt before.

“You’re so good, doll. Such a fast learner, aren’t you? So eager to please us. So eager to be a good girl for us,” she moans, her fingers inevitably clenching around the roots of your hair when you suck hard on her clit. You seem to have found your scheme, keeping her pussy spread while your tongue runs on her labia and then your lips wrap around her clit, swift flicks of your tongue and shy hands testing what’s better.

You nod against her without pulling away, you could, but you don’t want to. You want to get drunk in her juices, you want to feel her thighs clench around your head —even if she’s trying hard not to do so— you want to hear her deep, intoxicating moans, you want her to pull your hair harder.

“Yes, you are,” she coos, meeting your half-lidded eyes, pushing down a guttural moan when a lonely tear rolls down your cheek, “you’re such a greedy little thing. One person it’s not enough for you, you need more. Is this enough or do you need even more, ugh? Bet you’d love it if we both fucked you at the same time.” Her condescending tone sends your brain into a spiral, you feel empty and yet overflowing, but you can’t reply. Johnny’s fucking you mercilessly now, big dick hitting you deep, striking all the right spots, and even if you’re giving something to her, you have zero control. You’re at their mercy, small and powerless, flushed between their bodies as you somehow do something like a robot.

“Loving eating her pussy while I fuck you hard?” This time is Johnny the one teasing you, his voice deeper but he gives no sign of slowing down, even if the pleasure is getting to him, you know it from his grunts and the way his hips falter every now and then. “Bet it feels so good to be muddy in our hands and have no worries in the world, right? You’re perfect here, nobody to impress,” he moans, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear while his body presses you closer against the bed, “no father to make happy. Just us. Honestly,” he groans, pulling back, squeezing your hips before driving all the way in with a decisive thrust, sending you forward, “he’d have a heart attack if he saw you like this.”

You whine, your laments muffled by Aaliyah’s body, and you feel like you could explode. Is this why you like being with them so much? Because the fact that they like you so much proves your father wrong? The very people that he worships are busy worshipping his daughter while he trashes her around. But you don’t want to think of him, one, it could ruin your orgasm, two, you have them, and that’s all that matters. And to be honest, you love being with them so much because they value you and appreciate you for who you truly are.

You pull away, letting your fingers take the place of your mouth, rubbing on her clit while you talk, “want you, want more, please.”

“More? What’s more than this?” Johnny asks, snickering.

“Sit on my face?” You ask shily while you look up at her, cum and spit dripping down your chin, eyes glossy with tears.

She loses herself in the sight of you. You’re perfect even if you look like a mess, even if your eyes roll back and your lips part open when Johnny hits your sweet spot another time. “Oh… let’s not pull your luck too much tonight, hum?”

“But I —”

“But you, nothing,” she shushes you up, two fingers on your mouth. “You’re being so good, giving me pleasure while you take him so well. Just keep going.” She’d love to sit on your face, only being able to watch your eyes slowly blank as her hips roll against you, while your pretty hands wrap around her thighs as it slowly gets harder to breathe, but you’re not ready for that, yet.

You give up, starting where you stopped. But soon enough you’re whining again, “No, please, please, Sir,” you cry out, looking back to meet Johnny’s gaze for a split second.

He seems a bit startled by the way you address him, but he quickly shakes the surprise off to tease you with a condescending tone. “What’s wrong, honey? I thought you wanted more?” The pout that accompanies his words makes your stomach twist in a knot. You did want more, but the more was being smashed underneath them, not having his skilled fingers rub quick circles on your over-sensitive clit.

“I — I don’t want to come again,” you cry out.

“Oh, you won’t,” she speaks instead. “Don’t get too greedy and take it,” she orders, cupping your chin before pushing you between her legs again. Her patience could only last this long before she would snap.

“Right, because you can take it, right?” Johnny asks, tilting his head to get a peak of your flustered face. You’re burning up, sweat pearling your skin, the shorter hair sticking to your forehead, eyes blinking out tears of pleasure, and body squirming while you try so hard to keep focus on the only thing you have to do.

You doubt you can, but you still nod, moans getting choked up in your throat and against her cunt as you try to use your tongue and mouth the best you can even if control is slipping out of you more and more.

Fighting the orgasm is probably worse than keeping focus. Your stomach is upside down, and you feel all your nerves tense up, every single touch makes you jolt up and you know your throat will be sore by the end of the night for all the moans you’re letting out.

And you slip, eyes closing and mouth getting lazy as your body limply gets slammed between them.

“Hey,” you’re startled when her palm meets your face in quick, light slaps to wake you up, “don’t you fucking dare,” it’s the only warning that slips from her mouth, so sternly it should make you obey on the spot, but it only makes it harder for you to hold back. “Put that mouth to good use, come on.”

You don’t have a choice —not that you would want to do anything else— when she forces your face down again, this time grinding her hips against you to help you out, or honestly, to fuck herself against you because you’re not doing so much anymore.

She scoffs, “You’re being so good for Johnny, bet your pussy is sucking him in so well, dripping down to his balls and clenching tight, you can’t do one thing for me?”

You gasp for air when she yanks you back by the end of your hair, letting you breathe again, watching the tears fall freely from your pretty eyes. Your lashes are clumped together, and some mascara stained your cheeks; so, so pretty, she could stare at you forever.

“I can. I — I promise, I’ll be your good girl, I’ll give you what you want, fuck,” you mumble, words tangling on your tongue.

You’re so fucked out that spit is dripping down your chin, mixing with her cum, and she can’t fight the urge to smear it on your face.

Aaliyah could come by that sight only. To think when she first saw you were shily standing in a corner, trying to have less attention possible on you, stuttering your words at the speech your father made you hold, and almost fell down the stage. And now, you’re a mess in their bed, far away from home after you followed them blindly.

“Good, then use your fingers, come on,” she orders, biting her lips as you struggle to push your body up to finger her. This is exciting, with Johnny it had always been a fight for dominance, but with you, everything works perfectly, you fit between them with ease.

Johnny’s hands help you stand up, but he can’t deny how hot he finds the way you can’t control your body. He wishes he could see your face, you must be so pretty all messed up, but he’ll use his imagination.

“Come on, honey, fuck her, she took such good care of you,” Johnny encourages you, and that’s all you need to push two fingers inside of her. Her warm walls welcome you with ease, cum coating them until it drips down on your wrist.

Aaliyah’s face twists in an expression of pleasure as soon as you start curling your fingers. You’re definitely better with them than you are with your mouth, but it’s fine, there will be time to practice if you ever want to stick around.

“Good girl,” she praises, caressing your cheek gently before pulling you in a kiss. Doing so, Johnny slips out of you, and you whine at the loss, but soon enough he’s fucking into you again.

“Won’t — won’t last long,” you whimper, crying more as you feel heavier.

Johnny hums, pushing you down again and you lazily go back to lapping on her pussy while your fingers keep moving.

“Come here,” you hear him say, but he’s not talking to you. You can’t see, but you know they’re kissing because you feel smaller and more trapped as their bodies get closer, and then the wet sounds of their lips hit your ears. Their moans mix in their mouth, and you can feel the desperation they’re sharing as their teeth clash together.

You want to kiss them too, but you have other things to worry about, like the orgasm you can’t hold in anymore.

“Want to come, please,” you beg, tears adding to the mess between her legs as you try to gasp for more air.

They pull away from the kiss, bringing their attention to you another time.

“You want to come?” You nod swiftly. She’s sure you’re not doing it on purpose but the way your big eyes are looking up at her and your lips tremble, make her heart warm up. You’re so precious. “Then don’t stop fucking me,” she orders, voice low that causes your stomach to twist again. “Don’t stop being a perfect, little, mindless fuckdoll for us.”

Johnny growls, rolling his head back, “Fuck, stop talking to her like that, she’s squeezing me.”

Aaliyah chuckles darkly, sweetly mockingly caressing your wet cheeks. “You want me to stop talking to her because you can’t handle a sweet pussy sucking you in?”

He rolls his eyes and throws his head back, scoffing at her comment.

“It’s not my fault she likes it when I talk down to her,” she coos, looking at him but her words hit you deep. It’s so humiliating the way they’re talking about you as if you’re not here, and yet, it only makes you wetter. “I could do so much more, but I doubt she can take it.”

I can. You scream, but it stays inside your brain, no words can come out of your mouth anymore.

They both giggle at your broken moan that comes out as a reply.

“No thoughts left in that little mind of yours, uhm?” Johnny teases, his fingers playing with your nipples making you cry out more.

Your head is abandoned on her thigh, drool dripping out of the corner of your lips while your fingers pump in and out in tired, messy movements. You’re so far gone that she has to help you fuck her by guiding your wrist.

“Except how good it feels to be surrounded by us. You love it when we trap you between us and make you feel small, don’t you? Bet you’d love it even more if I fucked your mouth with a toy while he fucked your pussy, or maybe the other way around.”

You yelp when someone smacks your ass, you don’t care to figure out if it’s him or her. It doesn’t matter, it only adds to the pleasure and dizziness.

“Or maybe we could each take a hole and stuff you til you break,” Johnny giggles lowly. “Your tight ass and pussy spread by us.”

“Please,” you cry out. Please make me come and please do it. Please fuck me at the same time, from both ends and until I’m nothing between you. But it stays inside, they get it anyway, like they get all of you.

“C’mere,” Johnny chuckles as he manoeuvres you, lifting your body and pushing you closer to his wife. You’re kneeling now, body slumped against hers while he presses you flat, your fingers still moving inside of her while you moan in the crook of her neck. It feels warm, almost romantic, and you feel so small.

The hand that is not helping you fuck her, wraps around your waist and starts rubbing circles on your burning hot skin, meeting Johnny’s that doing the same.

“Look at you, doll, you’ve been so good. What do you say, John, should she come?” Aaliyah’s voice is particularly sweet, reaching your ear like a faint melody and you feel farther and farther from your body.

“I think she deserves it,” Johnny replies, kissing your neck to distract you from his hand slipping down to your clit.

Your teeth sink into her skin, making her hiss, not in pain but most in surprise, and your face wets even more while a loud sob rips from your throat.

“Come on, princess,” she whispers close to you, leaving pecks on top of your head, “be a good girl and come with us.”

You don’t let them tell you twice when their pace fastens and all the stimuli get to your head one last time. This orgasm is like an explosion that leaves you trembling between their bodies, whimpering and moaning as the violent waves shock you to the core.

“Fuck, so fucking tight,” Johnny murmurs under his breath, hips slamming messily against your ass as he chases his orgasm. He’s caught up in your face before his eyes fall on his wife’s pussy, you stopped fucking her and she’s trying to rub her fingers on her clit, if you weren’t so far gone, brain mush in your skull, she would’ve said something, but she knows is no use now.

You’re collapsed on her body when your eyes trail between her legs, watching in awe as Johnny’s fingers fuck her fast and his thumb rubs her clit as he keeps pouding into you. Their moans are louder as they approach their release and her head falls against the board of the bed while her hands clench around your waist to hold onto something.

And you come again. An unexpected fourth orgasm washes over you, ass arching up and nails sinking into her thigh as you feel as life is being sucked away from you, and that’s what pushes them over the edge, your soft, broken whimpers mixing with theirs and your low mumbles of their names, it’s not Mr. and Mrs. Suh, is Johnny and Aaliyah now, only for you.

More curses fill the air before everything comes to a stop, Johnny’s body falling on yours for a second before he forces himself to pull out and roll to the side.

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. Come here,” she whispers, soothing you as she pulls your body closer, hugging you and caressing your back and hair. You’re still shaking and crying, and your hands wrap quickly around her. “You’re fine, we’re here. It’s over.”

Soon after you feel Johnny’s hands too, and then his soothing words. “You’ve been so good, princess. Was it fun?”

His question is left unanswered, and they understand it will take you a while to start talking again. So they keep whispering sweet words to your ears while their hands calm you down with gentle touches. You don’t remember how long it takes before you fall into a deep slumber, but you know you feel a sense of peace you never felt before.

When you wake up, the clock hits midnight, you’re alone in the bed but you’re cleaned up and you’re dressed in a white shirt that reaches your thighs.

Somehow your legs carry your body out of the room and down the stairs where you take a sigh of relief seeing them laughing as they sit at the table. They’re dressed again, Johnny’s hair is brushed in its place, and her braids are pulled up in a bun again, they look as composed as usual but more familiar.

“Hey, you’re up?” Johnny is the first one who sees you and welcomes you with a sweet smile.

“We were starving. We wanted you to eat but you fell asleep, and for how intense it was we figured you were going to sleep until morning,” Aaliyah explains, moving a stool so you could sit between them, tapping on the seat to signal you to reach them.

You push your feet forward, legs wobbly and heart still racing, but this time is not the orgasm. You’re still lost in the haze, but now you’re fully aware of what happened, and you don’t know how to act in the aftermath.

“Are you alright? You stopped talking, it worried us a bit,” she says, lifting her hand to caress your nape after she tucked your hair behind your ear.

You nod, shoulders dropping as the tension disappears at her touch. “I’m fine. I guess it was a lot, it never happened before.”

Johnny comes back to you with a glass of water and some bowls with different food, leaving you a choice between fruits, something sweet, and something salty.

“Thanks,” you reply, grabbing the glass and gulping it in one go. “Honestly, I’m not really hungry,” you say, eyes diverting their gazes, there’s still a bit of worry behind them and you’re not used to people caring so much for you, especially after sex. You don’t think you ever saw a one-night-stand the morning after, but not even your exes cared much about how you felt after sex.

“No? Do you need something else?” Johnny asks, a caring tone filling his words, and the look in his eyes is different than all the other times before.

You look around, shaking your head, your throat is dry again and from the corner of your eyes, you see her filling the glass again. You smile shyly before drinking it. “I… I don’t want to sleep alone,” you confess, biting your lips and playing with the hem of the glass in your hands.

They smile, hands cupping yours before holding tight. “We had no intention of leaving you alone,” they say at the same time, making you smile.

“A bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Johnny jokes while Aaliyah leaves to put the food back in its place. You might be awake but it’s clear as daylight that you’re still tired and want to sleep.

“Mhh,” you mumble. Your eyes lift to look at Johnny and you smile. He looks beautiful, the faint silver light of the moonlight paiting his cheekbones and hair.

“And still not very talkative,” she adds when she comes back, a soft look in her eyes. “Come on, there’s no need to talk, let’s get you to bed.” She stretches a hand out and you quickly grab it, jumping off the chair but regretting it when your legs make it known they’re not back just yet.

You gasp when two arms wrap around you and lift you up, and soon you’re met with Johnny’s eyes. You smile at him before locking eyes with her who’s following behind and quickly is at your side.

“Thanks,” you whisper because he’s carrying you but mostly, for the night you spent. You decide you will worry tomorrow, for now, you feel full, they made you feel wanted, and dare to say, even loved. It’s all that matters.

“You have to be grateful, he stopped carrying me upstairs a long time ago,” she jokes and Johnny scoffs, “Liar.”

And soon the three of you are in the bed again, the dirty duvet is not on the mattress anymore and a thinner blanket covers you. You’re in the middle, pressed between their bodies while they leave kisses on your face, and whisper sweet words to you, their hands intertwined on your stomach while their thumbs rub small circles on your skin.

And as sleep takes over you again, you think that there’s no other place you’d rather be, if not between them.

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candycandy00 · 1 year ago

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The Doll House - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Covered in scars and left totally numb by your abusive previous owner, you’re considered an “unsellable doll”. That is, until the Doll House takes you in and Sukuna becomes your trainer.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Sukuna’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m not keeping the same tag list as before, since this part deals with darker themes. I will resume the tag list after Sukuna’s part is finished! So if you want to be tagged in this one, please specify!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. BDSM. Erotic Torture. Needles. Reader is covered in scars. Everything that happens between Sukuna and Reader is consensual but there is mention of abuse by a previous owner. Divider by @benkeibear!

“That’s all you’ll give me for her?”

“I think this is a generous offer, all things considered.”

You’re sitting in a plush leather chair in the office of the owner of the Doll House while your father argues with her about pricing. It’s been going on for thirty minutes now, your father growing more agitated while the owner remains calm and firm.

“Sir,” the owner begins, leaning forward slightly over her desk, “there are two major issues with your daughter. For one, she has a previous owner. Most of our clients consider that a deal breaker.”

“She was just with that guy a little over a year!” your father retorts, his face slightly red.

“I’m aware of that. But that leads us to the other issue.” The owner pauses and glances at you. “Your daughter’s scars are quite prominent. They’re very hard to ignore.”

There’s a hint of an apology in her eyes. It’s unnecessary. You know better than anyone that you’re disfigured. Scars of various types and sizes cover over half your body, including a sizable portion of your face.

Your father is sweating. “I‘ve heard some clients have weird tastes, that they actually want… people like her.”

The owner leans back in her chair. “It is true that we sometimes get unusual requests. But it doesn’t happen often. She would have to be given highly specialized training, to emphasize that unique aspect.”

Your father’s face lights up. “Then do that!”

The owner looks from him to you, then says, “I need to speak to her privately before finalizing the purchase.”

“What? Why?” your father asks.

“It’s a routine part of the interview, I assure you,” the owner replies smoothly.

Your father hesitates, but then stands up from his seat. He gives you a stern look, a warning look, and then he’s out the door.

The owner’s face seems to soften slightly. “How do you feel about this?”

You shrug. “I don’t feel anything. I haven’t in a long time.”

The owner looks at a laptop sitting open on her desk. “Let’s go over a few things in your file first. It says here you were sold on the direct market on your eighteenth birthday. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You were with your previous owner for sixteen months before being removed, during which time he breached the contract by doing permanent harm. Hence the scars.”

“Yes,” you answer again.

“And I see that your father sued your previous owner, collecting quite the hefty sum for your suffering.”

You nod.

The owner closes the laptop and looks at you again. “And I’m guessing your father already blew through that money, despite only two years passing. So he’s selling you again. How many other doll shops has he taken you to so far?”

“Three.”

“Any offers?”

“None,” you say, eyes lowering toward the floor.

The owner sighs. “If I don’t take you, he’s going to sell you on the direct market again, isn’t he?”

“He already tried,” you tell her, “but he said the offers were too low. If no shop will take me, he’ll probably go back and take a low offer.”

The owner grimaces. “He’s a real sick fuck, your father.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to take you on?”

You think for a moment, then say, “It doesn’t matter. I can’t feel anything anyway.”

“When you say that,” the owner says, “do you mean physically or emotionally?”

“Both. I’ve been numb for nearly three years now.”

The owner picks up a silk fan from her desk and lightly taps her chin with it as she regards you. After a few moments, she says, “Alright. I’ll take you. I’ll make a slightly higher offer to your father, one he would be foolish to refuse. And in light of your unique circumstances, I’m going to add two extra clauses to your contract. The first is that you will have the option to change trainers if the one I assign to you is too much for you.”

You nod. “And the second?”

“All dolls sold through the Doll House are allowed to come back within one week of being purchased by a client, if they provide sufficient reasoning. In your case, I’m extending that to two weeks, and you don’t have to provide a reason. I’ll take you back, no questions asked, if you feel like your owner isn’t right for you. However, I would advise you not to abuse this privilege.”

“I understand.”

“Alright then. Let’s get your father back in here and finalize the sale.”

******************

Sukuna grins when he sees the message on his phone: “I have a new doll for you to train.”

He’s at home, in his swanky, upscale apartment in the city. Though he enjoys his alone time, he very much enjoys his work at the Doll House as well. Unlike the other trainers, Sukuna doesn’t keep a near constant flow of new dolls. He understands why of course. His training produces a very specific sort of doll that only a specific sort of client wants. But he trains enough dolls to keep himself well paid, and the work is incredibly satisfying.

The standard training time is six weeks, which is exactly the right amount of time for Sukuna to thoroughly enjoy each doll without getting too bored with them before they’re handed over to their owners. He can’t imagine why anyone would want to keep the same doll for ten whole years. He knows he’s not alone in this thought, which is why doll rental services have been growing in popularity lately.

He packs a few things into a small duffel bag. He keeps plenty of clothes and personal items in his room at the Doll House, so he only has to pack lightly for the six week stay. He’s in a good mood as he turns off the lights and locks the door.

When he arrives at the Doll House, he finds a rather interesting young woman sitting in the welcome room. Interesting because half her pretty face is covered in scars, as well as what’s visible of her left arm. Just how far do they extend? He’s looking forward to finding out.

She glances up at him, but gives no reaction. Strange. Most new dolls look terrified, or at least nervous, when they see him for the first time. It’s probably the tattoos that frighten them. Sukuna is well aware that they make him look like a Yakuza member, or some criminal from a past era. But he so enjoys the way people instinctively shrink back away from them.

The owner meets him in the welcome room and ushers him into her office. All trainers are briefed on their new dolls, except in unusual circumstances. But the owner looks troubled today, meaning this doll has a story. But he supposes the scars made that obvious already.

Sitting in a chair across the desk from the owner, Sukuna places one elbow on the cushioned arm and props his face up with his hand. “So? What’s the deal with little Miss gloomy out there?”

The owner is tapping keys on her laptop, then he hears his phone chime from his pocket. “I’ve sent you her file. You really need to read over it. She has a complicated history.”

“Give me the short version,” he says, making a mental note to at least skim the file later.

“Previous owner who abused and tortured her, shitty father who’s sold her twice now, and… she can’t feel anything.”

That last part captures Sukuna’s attention. “What does that mean?”

“She’s completely numb, both physically and emotionally. I’ve read over her medical reports, and they’ve concluded that there’s no significant nerve damage. The scar tissue dulls her senses in those areas somewhat, but they don’t leave her totally numb like this. And she can’t feel anything in the unscarred areas either.”

“Meaning it’s psychological,” Sukuna says.

The owner nods. “It’s clearly a defense mechanism. Her body and mind simply shut off all sensation in order to cope. And that’s going to be her biggest issue as a doll. There are plenty of buyers who would find the scars exotic, but a doll who doesn’t react to anything? No one wants that. And if we don’t eventually find a buyer for her, she’s going to get passed around from one scumbag to another on the direct market for the rest of her life.”

Sukuna had little interest in the doll’s sob story, but he was intrigued by the fact that she couldn’t feel anything. “So you want me to fix her? Make her feel again?”

“Yes. I figured if anyone could, it would be you. But be careful. She’s already been shattered. I don’t need you grinding up the pieces.”

Sukuna stands up and heads for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll reforge her,” he says with a smile, “in a way that pleases me.”

***************

The man covered in strange black tattoos introduces himself as your trainer. He’s handsome, well-built, and dressed like a man far too rich to be working here. A few years ago, you might have been attracted to him. Your heart might have fluttered at the thought of him touching you. But now? Now you feel nothing as he tells you to follow him to his room.

He opens the door and walks in first, turning on the lights as he goes. You follow behind him and look around. The room looks like someone converted a fancy hotel room into a dungeon.

The deep red carpets and expensive looking furniture contrast with the various… devices around the room. There’s an X shaped table, harnesses and chains hanging from the ceiling, and a wall of leashes, whips, rods, and other such items along the left side of the room.

Ah, so he’s this type.

You’re not surprised. Actually, it makes sense. Give the girl who can’t feel pain to the trainer who tortures his dolls.

The man, who said his name is Sukuna, is watching your face, looking for a reaction. He won’t find one. But instead of seeming disappointed, he’s grinning.

“My specialty is probably obvious,” he says, to which you nod. Then he goes over to the wall of tools and toys, taking something small and shiny from it. When he returns, there’s a silver, claw-like item on his right index finger. Without a word of warning, he approaches you and quickly swipes the claw over your exposed right forearm.

You look down, curious, to see a thin red line appear on your skin, small drops of blood beading along it before sliding down. You watch the blood with no expression for a moment before looking back up at Sukuna.

His grin is wider than before. “You really didn’t feel that,” he says, not a question but a statement. He’s standing in front of you, staring at you, when he says, “Let me ask you something, and think hard about your answer. It’s going to determine how the training proceeds.”

You nod.

“Do you prefer being this way to how you were before?”

You blink as the question settles into your mind. You’ve never really thought about it before, but do you prefer being numb? It’s helped you block out the hurt you felt upon being sold off by your father, being abused by your owner, but it also blocks out any joy.

“I… I don’t know.”

He’s looming over you, looking down with an expression you can’t quite place. Is it desire? Pity? Disgust? Or have you lost the ability to distinguish them?

“Do you want to feel again?” he asks, something about his deep tone telling you to answer honestly. The sheer intensity of his presence is overwhelming you.

You can still remember when you felt things. You can remember a poor but happy childhood when your mother was still alive. Even after, when things got worse, there were still moments of happiness. Watching movies with a friend, eating cheap snacks from the convenience store down the street. A kiss from the boy you had a crush on in high school. You miss these feelings. And once you realize that, your answer is clear.

“Yes, I want to feel again.”

“Even if what you feel is pain?” he asks.

An emotion you haven’t felt in years bubbles to the surface, startling you so much that your voice cracks slightly as you reply, “Yes! I’d love to feel pain again. I’d love to feel anything!”

A smile spreads across his features, and his hands move to your shirt. “I’ll make you feel again,” he says as he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it aside. “But it will only work if you want it.”

“I… I want it,” you say, realizing with some measure of shock that you’re already feeling emotions you thought long dead.

He removes the rest of your clothes, leaving them strewn about the floor. Then he stands back to look at you. Completely bare before him, you don’t feel embarrassed. Shame is yet another emotion you can’t seem to feel anymore. But there is a strange prickling sensation on your skin as his eyes rake over you, taking in the scars that form a map of your suffering.

“It’s like a work of art,” he says, his gaze lingering on the left side of your torso. The words make you feel something else, but you’re not sure what that is. Your own emotions have become unfamiliar to you.

He leads you over to the X shaped table and lifts you onto it, then spreads you out on it like a meal. He slowly attaches the leather cuffs on each end to your ankles and wrists, still watching your face for any sign of fear.

There is none. You’re starting to feel things for the first time in three years, but fear isn’t one of them. If he can bring back the girl you once were, one who could laugh and smile and feel, then you’ll accept anything he wants to do to you.

Once you’re secured to the table, he stands back and unbuttons his shirt. When he slips it off his shoulders, you get a full view of the intricate tattoos on his body. They’re beautiful, the way they move and twist with his body’s motion.

He steps back to the table and runs one large hand over your arm, trailing it down toward your chest, where he squeezes your scarred breast. You can’t feel it, so you don’t know if he’s squeezing hard or not, but when his fingers lightly slide over your nipple, a tingling sensation blossoms there. What was that?

Did he notice that you felt something? You don’t think you visibly reacted in any way, but he’s smiling as if he knows. His fingers suddenly pinch your nipple, and you feel pressure, but little else. He maintains eye contact as he leans down and runs his tongue over that same nipple, then wraps his lips around it. You feel it again, that pleasant tingling. It reminds you of something, but you can’t remember what.

His hand moves to your other breast, where his fingers grope and pinch. You feel this a little more, and your breathing quickens slightly. That’s when he stops abruptly and goes over to the wall again. This time he returns with a rolled up velvet pouch, which he unrolls to reveal a group of very long, very thin, shiny silver needles.

He pulls one out and holds it up for you to see. “Let’s see how numb you really are,” he says. Then he grips your scarred nipple between his finger and thumb with one hand while using the other to bring the needle closer. He looks up at your face, perhaps still searching for a trace of fear. Finding none, he pushes the needle in, sliding it sideways through your flesh.

Your breath hitches as a new sensation hits you. This… this is pain! You haven’t felt it in so long, you’d almost forgotten it. When he grips the other nipple, the one with no scar tissue to dull your senses, you almost flinch. He grins up at you, as if he’s reading your mind. He leans down and licks the nipple slowly, awakening it to sensation, before plunging the needle in.

This time you gasp, your arms reflexively tugging on the restraints. You felt that! Not as keenly as a normal woman would, but far more than you’ve felt anything else in years. It hurt. It still hurts as his hand squeezes your breast, his tongue running over the needle imbedded in your skin. But you welcome the pain. It’s far more preferable to no feeling whatsoever.

Then he steps back again, and walks around the table to the bottom, where he moves in between your widely spread legs. His hand moves to your pussy, kneading it gently for a moment before his fingers slip inside your folds, finding you clit.

You draw in a sharp breath as he strokes it, feeling the pleasure so strongly that it’s almost as if you were never numb. Your previous owner had ignored your clit, having no interest in giving you pleasure, so these sensations were entirely new to you.

When Sukuna uses his fingers to spread you open and leans forward to lick your quivering clit, your body nearly jerks off the table. He rises up and looks at you. “Not so numb down here, are you?”

You can only gasp out shallow breaths.

His thumb begins stroking you again as he speaks. “I don’t care who your previous owner was.” He reaches over and pulls one more needle from the pouch, his tongue running over you again, making your nerves come alive. “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand different owners before me.” His thumb and finger pinch your clit, holding it in position. Your heart races as you wait, now holding your breath. “Because now,” he says, gliding his tongue across the glimmering needle in his hand, “you belong to me.”

He pushes the needle into your clit from the bottom and out the top, so slowly that you feel every single bit of it. Your body bucks from the table, your arms and legs jerk against the cuffs, and a loud scream erupts from your mouth as you feel excruciating pain for the first time in three years.

It’s wonderful.

Tears spring to your eyes, and you cum on the spot, weeping and shuddering. You were certain you would never experience an orgasm again for the rest of your life, but here you were, riding out the insane pleasure while Sukuna’s tongue prodded your clit, licking over the needle stuck there.

**************

Sukuna watches his doll as she sleeps peacefully in his bed. She passed out not long after the “training session” was over, just as he was unfastening the cuffs on her wrists. He carried her to his bed and laid her there, and now he’s looking over her scarred form once more before covering her.

He’s surprised by the progress they’d already made, but he can’t get too comfortable.

Because he noticed it. When he pulled the needles out of her, which should have hurt, she didn’t even flinch. He’d squeezed one nipple afterwards, before beginning to uncuff her, just to test it. This should have made her scream, given how sore she should be, but she had no reaction at all.

Meaning she’s numb again. The awakening of her senses was only temporary, and wore off after she came down from the high of her orgasm.

Sukuna smiles. He certainly enjoys a challenge, and it’s clear to him that his job is far from over.

Tag List:

@akaotv

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #x reader #jjk smut

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innorogers · 4 months ago

Text

Hypnagogia

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: How could you ever think, for a second, that he’d want to be with anyone else?

Warning: Fluff / He had an ex / Strategic mastermind Steve

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

The room was painted gold and white, sunlight penetrating through the glass wall, leaving a trace on the table, drawing a clear line between shadow and light. The air was cold—the AC was so strong that anyone who entered the room would feel a chill.

Steve’s fingers tapped on the desk as he observed the dust dancing in the air, making nonsensical but beautiful twirls and circles, driven by the movement of the air.

The ray of sunlight moved slowly but eventually settled on his finger, causing a sparkle to reflect off the walls from the simple silver ring he was wearing. The reflection hit the wall like a starlight, and that made him smile.

He was relaxed, confident, and content. His body still echoed with the sensations from your night together, and a barely visible curve appeared on his lips as his eyes caught the ring’s reflection.

No one else in the room noticed, except for Commander Hill, who was sitting in front of him. And she felt so sorry for General Ross, the UN Secretary, projected on the screen and connected to this meeting.

Everyone could tell that Steve was in a good mood. His polite smiles and gentle diplomatic words suggested a calm, serene, and approachable Captain.

But Maria knew better.

When Steve was relaxed and calm, he became even more dangerous. That state allowed him to assess threats, predict outcomes, and shift the momentum of any confrontation with a single command.

He’d become a master symphony conductor of chaos, orchestrating every maneuver with grace and confidence. In that state of calm, Steve could decipher not only the strengths of his allies but also their vulnerabilities, using that knowledge like a painter, artfully blending raw power with disciplined strategy.

He could read a war room like a map—the ebb and flow of combat were as clear to him as written instructions, allowing him to think several steps ahead of his enemies.

Just like he was doing right now. The silence that filled the room had lasted for more than three minutes. The tension was palpable, yet Steve, the one who had initiated this standoff between both sides, was staring at the wall, following the reflection of his own ring like an idiot.

Maria almost grinned. Steve knew exactly what he wanted, and wasn’t going to back down. He was still, unwavering. Like a panther poised to strike, he waited, while the UN Secretary-General on the screen was losing his shit.

Thaddeus Ross looked just as Maria remembered him before the Civil War—probably because he hadn’t aged during the Blip. He wore that familiar expression of pain, frustration, and anger, the same one he always had whenever he had to meet with Steve. He would have much preferred having this conversation with Tony, but Tony would sooner lick a rusty nail than be present in this meeting.

“Captain Rogers, we appreciate the Avengers’ cooperation and all that you’ve done for the world… for the universe.” Ross sighed, rubbing his temples.

Maria looked down, suppressing a smile.

Here we go.

“But let’s be clear. Agent Frazer is a trusted MI6 operative and a respected diplomat. Accusations like this require hard evidence, not speculation. We need to know exactly what happened on your end and why he’s being held.”

“I understand your concerns, Secretary, but this isn’t a simple matter of diplomacy gone wrong. Agent Frazer isn’t who you think he is anymore. Something changed when he entered our compound.” Steve replied, rubbing his thumb along the ring, his tone slipping into full Captain America mode.

“Changed?” Secretary Ross was losing his patience. “Like… a chameleon? Look, you’re holding an international agent without concrete proof. I need more than your word to justify this to our affiliate nations.”

“Well, you didn’t seem to need evidence when half the people in this room disappeared because a purple raisin snapped his fingers, did you?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid our word is actually the one thing you can rely on.”

Maria spoke up before Ross lost his shit over that comment: “He was fitted with a retinal device that was transmitting data. Whatever was sent, it wasn’t the actions of a regular agent. We traced it to a secure hub that's heavily encrypted. We’re not accusing without reason.”

“Oh…A retinal device?” Ross’s face was straightforward ‘are you kidding me’: “And do you really believe that the Brit Intel possesses this kind of tech? Who does this stuff besides you or Wakanda? Ok…” He put a hand on his forehead: “Where is it? This retinal device?”

“We can’t share it yet.” Steve responded. “There are elements of this that go beyond a single agent. Frazer might not have been acting on his own, and he might not even be fully aware of what’s been done to him.”

“Oh…Oh…You can’t share it?” Ross nodded sarcastically, feigning understanding.

“Sure, I’ll just go and tell the 216 representatives that you’re not ready yet. We should just sit and wait until you feel prepared. You’re holding and interrogating a UN Special Unit agent and accusing him of espionage and treason—those are serious claims, Rogers! And you’re still not providing actual evidence!” He nearly slammed the table in frustration.

But Steve remained immovable, now resting his hand on his jaw, his lips grazing the ring as if observing Ross’s imminent meltdown with mild amusement. He waited for Ross to calm down before speaking again, his tone patient.

“We’ve seen this kind of manipulation before. This technology—it’s something we’ve encountered from organizations that use people like Frazer as pawns. If we give you the full picture, we risk exposing more than we can afford right now.”

That’s a nice way of saying: I’m not revealing my girlfriend’s information to you, assholes. Maria tried to suppress her smile, keeping her expression serious.

“That sounds suspiciously like speculation.” Ross countered, his temper barely under control. He couldn't believe how difficult it was to reason with Steve and was amazed Stark ever put up with it.

“It’s not.”

Of course it is.

“Well, Captain, you’re implying this goes beyond Frazer, but without solid evidence or a proper investigation, you’re asking us to take this on faith. That’s a dangerous request, and we can’t accept that.”

You say that, but you’re exactly where Steve wants you. Maria thought, watching with awe. She had worked with some of the greatest tactical minds, but Steve’s natural ability to manipulate the flow of situations still amazed her.

“It’s not an act of faith.” Steve replied diplomatically. “I understand the difficulties of your position, Secretary. I’m asking you to trust our judgment. You know the Avengers don’t act without cause. We’re not holding Frazer out of suspicion alone. Something’s been compromised—maybe even within your own ranks. If you push too hard for full disclosure, we might end up tipping off whoever’s behind this.”

Ross’s expression shifted.

There it is. Maria noted. The bait was set.

“Are you suggesting there’s been a breach within the UN itself? That’s a serious accusation, Captain.”

Steve sighed. “It’s not an accusation—it’s a possibility. This is bigger than Frazer. If we’re wrong, we’ll take the heat. But if we’re right and this gets out before we can stop it, more than just Frazer’s life will be at risk.”

Ross sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Maria held her breath.

Everything was unfolding exactly how Steve wanted.

“Look, Rogers, I’m bending over backward here. I could escalate this to the Security Council, or worse, handle it diplomatically—which wouldn’t end well for the Avengers. But I’m offering a compromise, and you should think about it carefully.”

Steve remained impassive, his gaze steady on the screen, waiting for Ross to continue.

“You bring Agent Frazer to the UN Headquarters.” Ross leaned forward, as if offering something generous. “And we’ll conduct a joint interrogation. Your people, our people—all present. We’ll see everything firsthand, no secrets, no games. It’s a big concession on my part, but I’m willing to do it for the sake of transparency.” Ross crossed his arms, clearly expecting Steve to appreciate the ‘favor.’

Maria raised an eyebrow.

Checkmate.

It was exactly what Steve had wanted—moving Frazer to a controlled environment, where they could monitor both him and the UN’s reactions.

“That’s a reasonable compromise, Secretary.” Steve replied after a long pause, offering a diplomatic nod, his expression neutral, his voice steady. “We’ll escort Frazer to the UN HQ and work with your team. But remember, once that interrogation starts, what comes out might not be something anyone’s ready for.”

Ross exhaled heavily, convinced he had won.

“Good. I’ll notify the necessary parties. The UN appreciates your cooperation, Captain.”

“Sure.” Steve responded calmly, watching as Ross disconnected from the meeting.

As soon as the screen went dark, Maria couldn’t help but smile. “Finally, something went as expected.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. He pulled out his phone, ready to text you, but paused for a moment, sighing.

“Just hope I don’t regret this mission.” he murmured, referring to bringing you to the UN HQ with the team.

“Oh, come on, she’ll be fine.” Maria said, rolling her eyes as she began organizing the documents scattered across the table. “Don’t make me go over this again.”

“What are you worrying about?” Sam called from the other side of the room. “I think it’s a great idea. She goes undercover, uses her powers to check for secret passages, weapons, surveillance—anything shady. And if someone’s controlling Frazer, maybe she can pick up on it, and we can trace it from there.”

“Thank you, that’s exactly what I said.” Maria agreed, gathering the last of the files and opening the door for them. “And Ross is right, you know. Every piece of tech we have? She’ll be wearing it. We’ll make sure she’s fully covered. Plus, we’re all going, and you’ll be stuck to her like a fridge magnet on Bucky’s arm, so stop worrying.”

“Well, now that the mission is settled, let’s get to the important stuff.” Sam winked as they walked down the hallway, throwing an arm around Steve’s neck. “So? I see a ring on your finger. Is that… the ring? Engagement, maybe? So soon?”

Steve chuckled, walking ahead: “What else it would be?”

“Of course it’s not an engagement ring!” you protested, blushing as Dr. Lin examined your finger with far too much excitement.

“It’s a high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission, with micro-electromechanical systems that monitor and broadcast vital stats, and GPS included.” You repeated the clarification Steve had given you.

“Ew!” Robert dropped your hand like it was burning. “It’s a tracking device?!”

His eyebrows shot up with incredulity: “Honey, I thought your ‘not-my-boyfriend’ was just some fling avoiding responsibility, but now…I’m worried. Is he some kind of psycho? This thing is connected to an app, isn’t it? So he can track you? Wait… does he work here? I bet HR would love to hear about this.”

“He’s not a psycho!” You laughed, finding his conclusion hilarious. “Far from it.” You said as admiring the way the ring caught the sunlight.

“Okay, sweetie? No. Nononono. This is NOT normal.” Dr. Lin leaned back in his chair, shutting down your screen and rearranging the desk so you were facing him.

“Listen, I think we’re walking on thin ice here. Now, give me his name. No more secrecy. If I know him, I’ll tell you everything. If I don’t…I’ll hack into the employee system and dig up all his dirty little secrets. Come on, chop chop. This is serious—how did you even agree to this?”

Too caught up in his horror, Dr. Lin didn’t notice the whispers in the back of the lab or your co-workers discreetly pulling out their phones to take pictures. Neither did you.

“It’s just for a short period…” You explained. “It’s for my safety, so he knows I’m okay.”

“That’s what all manipulative stalkers say!”

“Aww, Robert.” You were touched by his genuine concern. “You’re so sweet for worrying about me.” You rubbed his shoulder. “But really, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, he is fine.”

“Says the girl who only interacts with plants and has zero social life.” Robert shook his head.

“Look sweetie, I don’t want to see you on the news, floating in the Hudson in a garbage bag, okay? Now give me his name.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the employee database. “Is he an agent? Because that seems like something an angry agent would do… Here, let me do some background checks…” His voice trailed off when he looked up to see Steve standing beside him.

“Good afternoon.” Steve greeted, smiling politely.

“C-Captain.” Robert blinked, glancing around to make sure he was in the right place. “Um, this is the R&D lab, Cap.” What are you doing here? Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are regulars, but you?

“I know,” Steve replied with a polite nod and leaned down pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Hey you ready? The car’s waiting.” He naturally picked up your bag and took your hand, nodding again to Dr. Lin. “Robert.”

You know my name?!

Dr. Lin was jaw dropped as you were held by Steve and left with a wave and a smiling ‘I’ll see you later’, he also had to squeeze down a scream like a fangirl when Steve put his arm around your shoulder and gave you another kiss.

“That was… dramatic.” You laughed as Steve pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“More dramatic than your ‘Revelio’ moment?” Steve chuckled. “No, I think we’re fine.” He took a deep breath. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. At least now, whoever’s after you might think twice before making a move.” His grip on your hand tightened as you walked toward the car. “Come on. Let’s go over the plan one more time before we enter the lion’s den.”

“Ugh…” you groaned. “Again?”

The cars pulled up to the United Nations Headquarters in New York, the convoy blending seamlessly into the pulse of flashing lights and bustling streets. Sleek black vehicles came to a smooth stop in front of the ionic compound, its towering glass façade reflecting the late afternoon sun as flags from every nation fluttered in the breeze.

You couldn't help but smile.

Ever since Natasha had pulled you out of Siberia and Tony had done everything in his power to ensure your freedom, walking these streets –or any streets– still felt like a gift. You never missed a chance to take it all in, but every time the city’s buzz—the constant hum of people, the soft melody of urban life—hit you, it was like this invisible symphony that no one else could quite detect. It was overwhelming and yet comforting at once, as though the very chaos of the outside world was an affirmation that you were part of it.

You stepped out of the car with Steve, Sam, and Maria close behind, as normal as always, if it weren’t for the human shield they were forming around you.

You were equipped with the latest Stark technology: retinal lenses calibrated to detect even the smallest anomalies, neuro-memory transmission implants capable of syncing with your mind (and Jarvis plus Friday), and discreet sensors were embedded into your gear, capturing and relaying data on anything that might emerge from the shadows. Everything Bruce and Tony had invented, inspired by your unique abilities, had been utilized, enhancing its powers.

And of course, Steve had insisted you wear the latest in protective gear, woven with advanced fibers that could withstand almost any physical impact. It was sleek, lightweight, and practically invisible—more like a second skin than armor.

But the reassurance in Steve’s eyes when he saw you wearing it was unmistakable. You’d sharpened your powers over time, and this was far from your first mission, but nothing made him worry less. He hated unpredictable situations, especially when it came to you.

You began to scan the surroundings. The heightened senses kicked in, eyes sharpening as you observed the compound. Your gaze fixed on the walls, seeing beyond the layers of concrete and steel, into corridors filled with armed security, advanced surveillance systems, and hidden passageways. Your mind – and everything Tony put on you– cataloged every detail: a vault hidden below the west wing, an array of weapons stored in an underground chamber, a strange device tucked behind a sealed door you couldn’t quite identify, but it wasn't a threat, just something heavy. Ew, was someone having sex in the basement? Well…who are you to judge?

As you reached the delegation, Steve stood tall, projecting calm authority as he greeted Thaddeus Ross.

“Secretary Ross, we appreciate your cooperation in handling this situation together. Agent Frazer is in your custody now.” He nodded as the car that held Agent Frazer with maximum care entered the building.

“Good to see everything went smoothly, Rogers.” Ross said, his eyes sweeping over the group. “Let’s hope this brings us closer to the truth.” Whatever the fuck that is.

“I’m sure it will.” Steve affirmed, his tone steady. “Commander Hill and I will be part of the joint interrogation. Captain Wilson and Dr. Lancaster are here specifically for the New Era Project.” He glanced at you and Sam, who both nodded in silent acknowledgment. “I believe Tony mentioned it before our arrival.”

Secretary Ross scowled, but Steve’s logic was irrefutable. The New Era Project was a groundbreaking collaboration between the Avengers and the UN, designed to bridge the gap between their efforts and resources.

Both sides would exchange personnel—scientists, strategists, and field agents—to oversee, analyze, and integrate their respective strengths. It was more than just oversight; it was a mutual exchange of knowledge and expertise, aimed at building something greater together. Although fraught with tension, the project promised mutual benefit—Stark Industries’ cutting-edge tech paired with the UN’s global infrastructure.

But right now? Steve was doing what Steve does magnificently —controlling the situation like a puppeteer with his invisible strings of strategy.

Secretary Ross also knew through Tony how Steve was resisting this initiative, and Stark wasn’t going to risk starting Civil War 2.0 over any UN proposal, even though this time they were actually really considering humanity’s future and peaceful, technological solutions.

But yet, here was Captain Rogers, offering two agents himself for cooperation on this project.

How could he say no?

“Fine.” F-You Rogers, F-You. Ross said with a forced smile: “But since Agent Frazer’s mission had been…a failure, I’m sure there will be no opposition from you if we send other agents, right?”

“As long as they aren’t brainwashed before coming in, I think we’ll be fine.” Steve patted the Secretary’s shoulder, joking a bit to ease the situation and ignoring the “Fuck you is not funny” face Ross just made.

“C’mon, let’s keep the wheel moving,” Secretary Ross growled.

You were walking a few steps behind him, both of your rings hidden in your pockets. Wearing them at the Avenger’s Facility? That was fine, where everything was under control and not a fly would pass by unnoticed, but here, neither you nor Steve wanted to be the spotlight of distractions or gossip that could lead to unanticipated events.

As the entire delegation began to move inside. The Secretary started the introductions of their side: “Dr. Yamato, head of Criminal Minds and War Behavior Analysis.” Ross gestured toward a sharp-eyed woman with a composed demeanor. “She’s one of the best in psychological warfare and behavioral profiling.”

“Colonel Marcus Bryant, specialist in Military Strategy and Hostage Negotiation.” He said as the Colonel gave a brief nod.

“And finally, Agent Elena Vasquez, cybersecurity and intelligence expert.” Ross introduced a woman with a sharp gaze and quick reflexes. “She’ll be handling the tech side of this, tracking any potential data leaks or anomalies.”

There were a few more nods exchanged, each member of the delegation poised for the task ahead.

As they reached the main entrance, another figure approached with confident strides. Ross turned to introduce her.

“And this is Agent Sharon Carter, head of Diplomatic Security.” Sharon, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, extended a hand with a polite smile.

“Captain.” She greeted Steve with professional ease. Her voice was polite, and nothing in her demeanor was out of line, but the familiarity between them didn’t escape your notice. There was a warmth in her eyes—a brief flicker of something that hadn’t entirely faded.

There was history there, subtle but unmistakable.

“Sharon. It’s good to see you.” Steve shook her hand with a warm smile. “You look great.” Though his focus never wavered from the mission at hand, a hint of something unspoken passed between them.

Your stomach tightened for just a moment, a flash of curiosity and unease passing through you, but you quickly refocused as Ross motioned everyone toward the compound for the formal debriefing. Sharon and Steve moved on, her interaction flawlessly professional, but that brief moment still lingered with you.

The UN HQ was as imposing as expected, but a day inside the building wasn’t enough to scan the entire place. You had superpowers, but is not like you are a machine, duh. And even with Stark’s enhanced tech, nothing new came up on your radar. Of course, you'd discreetly planted a tracking device for Tony to hack into their systems, but that was child’s play for him—he’d hacked SHIELD years ago, and the UN wasn’t much more of a challenge.

You frowned as you walked alongside Sam for what felt like the fifteenth lap through the hallways, waiting for the interrogation to wrap up.

Oh…this is so unfortunate. This building had the new edgy architecture style, encouraging horizontal workspaces and transparency through their walls of glass. So you could see… Steve and this gorgeous, agile, fierce, super-intelligent, attractive-as-hell Agent Carter chatting, sometimes chuckling, patting his shoulder.

What could they be talking about? “Oh, you’re so beautiful, like a golden rose in a summer garden. Look at you with that sexy-as-hell black suit and fine stilettos. Would you have dinner with me? Oh what? No, I’m not in a relationship, just with some weirdo that talks to plants and has x-rays in her eyes.”

“You know…” Sam was observing how your fingers were tapping on the desk over and over, maybe mumbling some unhearable words in a language he couldn’t understand. So he said in a very low voice, “That’s way in the past, okay? Things just didn’t work out for them. I think they didn’t even try… It was chaotic during the Sokovia Accords, running away, homeless, going from here to there, hiding in Europe… And then, the Blip. No one had the mood to be in a relationship… Well, not that I know, I was out in a limbo. But still, I think that’s like…so over.”

“WHAT?” It took you like 30 seconds to actually process what he was talking about. “They were…? They were…dating? In a relationship?”

Sam opened his mouth. And then closed it. And then he stood up.

“I’m gonna get some coffee. You want some? You look like you could use some coffee…yeah, so I’m just gonna…alright.”

And he was out. Leaving you with your jaw dropped. But then you looked back to the interrogation room and everything just made sense.

Oh my God. These two would have beautiful and incredibly blonde kids with that perfect silky skin, tall silhouette, gracious walk. If it’s a boy, it would be like Steve Rogers 2.0, and a girl would totally be Miss Americana. They’d be like this perfect cliché advertisement poster with the house in the countryside, white fences, a backyard full of roses, Sunday barbecues, a golden retriever, and kids playing baseball.

And what would you do? Well…if you survive this dark hidden organization that’s highly likely to use, torture, and experiment on you, maybe you could ask for a transfer to Wakanda. You never met Princess Shuri, but Tony speaks so well about her, and the projects they have over there are so amazing.

You wouldn’t have to see Steve’s wedding of the century if you were in a cage in the woods, right? And the weather there is so good for the plants, oh you could finally have the Epiphyllum oxypetalum you’ve always wanted. And if anything, you could talk to it until you are old.

And Bucky is in Wakanda too! You’ve never met him, but hey, you could always bond over “remember those days we got two shots of electrowave in our bodies so we could get those injections that made us recover faster? Old times, huh?”

Yeah, that sounds okay. You could live with a broken heart; people do that all the time, right? Your body and mind were already quite shattered, so it wouldn’t matter if your soul and heart was a fucking mess too. You nodded as you decided and looked up at Sam, who was approaching with two coffees in his hands.

“Do you think Tony would allow me to take my plants to Wakanda?”

“What?” The Falcon hesitated for a moment, then he switched the coffee he was handing you: “Okay, girl, take the decaf.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts as he approached, his hand lightly brushing your arm. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left the interrogation room. “We’re ready to go. We’ll probably have two or three more of these sessions, but we can’t keep the interrogation going forever. Maria will stay here for this shift, and Nat will take over tomorrow... hey, you alright?”

“What?” You realized you were biting your fingers. “Oh, um… yeah, it’s unusually quiet over here. Nothing’s happening, no extra readings, no signs of any… vibrations or energies in the air. We’ve covered everything we needed.” You actually had more than needed, but there were high frequencies in the air—signs of recordings—so you didn’t want to give too many details.

Steve nodded as he observed you giving a final look around the place. He knew what you were implying, so he tilted his head toward the exit. “I’ve already said my goodbyes, so we’re good. Let’s go.”

‘Your girl is concerned. You might want to talk to her.’ Sam gave Steve a look, the kind of Avenger’s sign-language they used for silent communication as they were walking out.

‘What?’ Steve didn’t get a thing what Sam was trying to say with those rolling eyes.

‘I said she seems upset, maybe talk to her… about stuff.’ Sam insisted.

‘You want me to hire more staff?’ Steve gave up, opening the door for you. “You suck at this, Sam.”

“Look, man…” Sam laughed, raising his hands. “You know what? Forget it.” Oh, he was going to enjoy this later. But then his phone pinged with an incoming message, and he frowned, showing it to Steve. “Hey, I’ll take this one.”

“I seriously doubt it’ll lead us anywhere, but yeah, go ahead,” Steve nodded. It was an army contact from Sam’s, probably had something to spill about Agent Frazer’s past. “I’ll see you at home.” There was no chance he was leaving you alone.

“Tony is sending the Iron Army to escort you.” Sam said, checking another message just like Steve’s: “Y’all wait for it, alright? Keeps me chilled.”

“Yup, think that’s the best.” Steve agreed, looking up at the sky as he nodded.

It was a long drive from the UN HQ back to the compound, but you were grateful for the journey. You always enjoyed watching the view outside the window, the streetlights passing by, tracing lines along the highway at night. The smooth, steady movement of the car always calmed your mind.

Steve noticed your unusual silence. You’d been so excited on the way there, but now you were lost in your thoughts—and not in the good way he remembered. Your gaze was fixed on the traffic lights outside, your face shadowed by the night.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He lowered the AC and took your hand; you were freezing.

You sighed. You were never good at lying or hiding your thoughts from him, especially when you were pouting, sad, and... angry?

“I don’t want you to break up with me and leave me. I’ll have to go to Wakanda… and I’ll end up digging Vibranium and talking to flowers and succulents for the rest of my life.”

“What?!” Steve nearly hit the brakes, torn between looking at you and driving safely. “Wh—what are you talking about? Why would I…” Didn’t he propose just yesterday? You seemed so happy this morning, looking at the shining ring and all. What happened…? Ohh! He remembered Sam’s muted signals and connected the dots.

“Babe… no…” He reached for your hand, noticing your eyes starting to redden. “It’s not what you think, okay? Look, I... I would never...” He was surprised, a little frustrated, and also... amused.

Were you jealous? He wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t help the small smile creeping up. Did you care this much?

“But… why would you go to Wakanda?” He drove with one hand, gripping yours tightly with the other. He loved your comebacks, but he was always intrigued by your reasoning behind them.

“You’re right.” You looked down. “I wouldn’t go. I’d rather stay here and watch you fall for someone else than… than not see you at all.” The thought stung more than you expected, a pang in your chest as you almost sobbed.

“Hey… no, what are you even thinking?” Steve’s arm slid around your shoulders. “Come on, don’t say that. I’d never… that I could even look at anyone else?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you…” You grabbed a tissue and wiped your nose. “Prettier, hotter, smarter, taller, incredibly talented, agile, fierce, stunning legs, beautiful smile… impeccable résumé and…” You mumbled the most important part: “...memories.”

“I don’t live in the past.” Steve said after a pause. He almost never used your full name, and when he did, you knew he was serious. His hand gripped yours firmly, refusing to let go. Not now, not ever.

“I just want you. Don’t ever think I’d look for someone else because…” He glanced at you, smiling. “You’re…”

Before he could finish, you caught sight of a blinding light approaching behind him—fast, like a bolt of lightning.

“Brakes!” You yelled just as a fiery laser shot streaked past, slamming into the ground ahead. The explosion sent debris flying, and a smoking crater appeared in the middle of the road.

Steve reacted instinctively, throwing his arm in front of you to keep you from lunging forward as the car screeched to a halt.

The vehicle skidded wildly, barely stopping in time. He swerved hard, tires screeching again, and the car bolted down the highway at full speed.

“Was that the Iron Army?!” Steve growled, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel tighter. “I thought they were escorting us?” His words trailed off as a series of rapid beeps echoed inside the car. The HUD on the dashboard flashed red, and in an instant, the Iron Army drones, which had been circling above, descended into a tight formation, blocking the road ahead with weapons locked.

“Go! Gogogo! I’ve got the comms!” You shouted looking back, bracing yourself as the car jerked from side to side. Your fingers flew over your mobile device, checking the connections. “System’s down.” You pressed your earpiece, connecting to Jarvis through a secondary hub. “Jarvis?!”

“There’s more incoming—hold tight!” Steve warned over the growing roar of engines as he dodged fire from the drones, veered sharply to avoid incoming fire, weaving the car in zigzags as explosions rocked the pavement next to you.

“Those drones have tracking sensors!” Now why the fuck you developed them to be so damn perfect?! You cursed under your breath, ducking as another drone whizzed overhead, firing a barrage of missiles.

The impact sent the back wheels of the car into the air momentarily before Steve hit the gas, speeding through traffic.

“Comms down. We’ve been compromised.” You said as ripping out the chip from your phone and chucking it out the window. Reaching for Steve’s, you disabled it too. “These things have trackers.”

“We’re on our own.” Your eyes darted across the highway as you quickly scanned the drones’ movements.

You leaned toward Steve, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Babe, I need you to trust me and do exactly what I say…”

He shot you a sideways glance, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes despite the chaos. “Oh that’s a first…”

“Take the next exit!” you commanded, spotting a key weakness. The car swerved down the off-ramp, taking a sharp turn under the bridge. “Now, slow down.”

“Slow down? We’re being chased by killer robots!” Steve’s voice was filled with disbelief, but he followed your instruction.

“Trust me.” You said, scanning the crumbling infrastructure above. “I’m going to make them hit that column over there. It’s weak, and when it falls, the impact will throw us out onto the next street. Just take that street after, and we’ll be free. Ready?”

Steve gave you a quick, impressed nod. Fuck, he was so turned on. “Ready.”

“Now, slow down and punch it!”

The car came to an unnerving crawl before Steve slammed the gas pedal again. The drones locked onto the car, unleashing a barrage of fire at the bridge’s support column. It crumbled in an explosion of concrete and steel just as you predicted. The impact sent the car soaring forward as debris rained down around you. In a controlled swerve, Steve navigated through the chaos, landing on the next street.

“Shit, that was close…” You glanced back as the explosion faded in the distance.

Despite the situation, Steve couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head in awe. How could you ever think, for a second, that he’d want to be with anyone else?

“Drones,” You suddenly noticed, approaching from a side street. “Babe, turn left.” You were using your powers to their maximum potential. “Empty street on the right, go around it.” You clicked the back of your ear, and the lenses you wore enhanced your readings. “Iron Army on our twelve. We gotta ditch the car.”

“I don’t think…” Steve slammed the brakes as the car drifted, barely missing a wall by inches. Dark shapes of drones were closing in fast, their red targeting lights flickering ominously through the night. Then, up ahead, you saw it—the Iron Army.

Shots fired from the drones, hitting the pavement near the car. Sparks flew as explosions rocked the street around you, and the army of hacked robots was approaching by air.

“Go straight!” you shouted, just as Steve hit the gas, forcing the car into a sharp turn down a narrow alley. You braced yourself as the vehicle skidded around the corner, barely avoiding the collapsing dumpsters.

“It’s a dead end!” Steve said as the headlights illuminated a brick wall.

“Undo your seatbelt, drift at the end, and give me your hand!” you ordered, eyes fierce with determination as you watched the enemies surrounding the car.

You blinked at him and added, “Will a minute be enough to disappear?”

Inspired by your confidence, Steve sighed with a smile. “It’ll have to be.” He held his breath slightly as the end of the alley neared. The tires smoked as the car drifted, nearly lifting off the ground, and everything happened so fast, yet so slow.

The car took a side hit from the attack right as it lifted off the ground, fishtailing through the air. With his seatbelt undone, Steve was thrown from the seat. He grasped your hand tightly as you both were flung away.

The Stark Tech Tony and Bruce implanted in your palm activated, covering your hand like a second skin. A repulsor blast shot out, and with that surge of energy, you both were propelled in the opposite direction.

Steve’s instincts kicked in, and he hugged you tightly, shielding you from the impact. At the same time, you raised your other hand, shattering the glass with another blast, saving him from harm. You both tumbled through a building’s window as the car exploded behind you.

Steve landed on top of you, protecting you with his hands and body, his face covered in ash and sweat. But he laughed, even while panting heavily. His heart was racing, resting on your shoulders as he caught his breath.

“Oh…” You panted too, your heart racing. “That was close…”

“God…” Steve grinned, laying his forehead against yours, utterly relieved and impressed. “You have no idea… how much I fucking love you.” You wonderful, perfect, incredible genius. His heart was about to explode with all the pride and love he felt at the moment.

“Yup, me too. Come on. We gotta move.” You noticed the Iron Army and drones’ lights behind the smoke of the explosion. “That fire will cover our temperature scans, but not for long. Come on, over here.” You quickly got up and held his hand as you exited the building.

“Here, I need you to throw this, with all your strength, as high as you can.” You reached into your jacket, pulled out a small spherical device, and handed it to Steve. He threw it with a quick flick, hurling it high into the air. The second it reached its peak, the device burst open, releasing a thick, shimmering cloud that expanded rapidly, enveloping both you and Steve entirely.

“What’s that?”

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”

“What?”

“A nanotech cloaking device that disrupts sensors and bends light, creating a temporary optical camouflage, making everything go unnoticed by any scan detection. Even Stark Tech.” You held his hand as you moved swiftly and silently, cloaked by the swirling cloud.

Steve sighed as you slipped into an alley. “How many Harry Potter references are we having?”

TBD

Continue to:

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Is past midnight but I still managed to post it on Friday! <3 I'm actually in the car posting this, lol, but I'm not driving! So this was SUCH a fun chapter to write, i LOVE this machiavellic mastermind super strategistic Steve!! (I'm so turned on by him) So thank you for sticking with me thus far! Now I have a question, would you do the honors and complete this for me?

Just let me know! (I'm actually near finishing it, and Idk if I'm changing it but who knows!!! :D )

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian

#captain america x reader #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x reader #captain america x you #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x ofc #captain america fanfiction #marvel fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction

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pixel7777 · 12 days ago

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Editorial Prerogative - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

🪶📜Astarion, making a whole meal of his trust issues, volunteers to beta-read Gale's in-progress historical chronicle of their adventures, intending to control his image and gather intelligence on his companions. Instead, their written exchanges through margin notes and editorial comments evolve into genuine intellectual discourse and unexpected intimacy.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Reader Beware: story features massive geeks perpetrating geekery until they finally manage to get it on. And then they are still geeks. ~14K words.

Work Content Tags: During Canon, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Snark to Spark, Happy Ending, POV Astarion

This fic about beta-reading had amazing beta readers! Any remaining errors are my own 'editorial prerogative' (did you see what I did there?) at play. Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Editorial Prerogative

The wizard had been at it for hours now, pausing only to reference other texts or mutter to himself about proper phrasing. Earlier, Astarion had overheard Gale telling Tav about his 'chronicle' of their adventures.

What was the wizard scribbling about him? That first day, with a knife at Tav’s throat and Gale ready to incinerate him at the first sign of treachery? His nature, his past, his… appetites? The mere thought made his stomach twist—was Gale immortalizing his every misstep for future generations to gawk at? Or, gods forbid, leaving him out entirely, a footnote overshadowed by Tav’s heroics and Gale’s arcane bravado?

Either possibility rankled.

He could nab Gale’s manuscript easily enough for a little peek—he never slept, after all, and the wizard did. A night or two of sly observation would reveal exactly where Gale tucked it away. But Gale insisted on scribbling new pages every evening, which meant Astarion would have to spend every evening sneaking off to steal the damned thing, then sneaking it back. He wrinkled his nose just imagining the tedium. Enough nights of cloak-and-dagger espionage, and Gale was bound to wake at an inconvenient moment. Much better to manage this legitimately—or at least with minimal risk of being blasted by a startled wizard.

Gale dipped his quill again, and moonlight caught the movement. The slight furrow in his brow, the way he mouthed words as he wrote them—all screamed scholarly perfectionism.

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. Of course. The wizard wouldn't be able to resist proper academic review, would he? Every writer needed a critical eye, especially one so devoted to accuracy and detail.

He shifted position, letting his gaze drift over the camp while his mind raced. What self-respecting scholar wouldn't jump at the chance for feedback? Especially someone who could offer such... unique perspectives on current events.

The more Astarion considered it, the more perfect it seemed. He could track exactly what Gale wrote about him, suggest helpful corrections where needed, and ensure the wizard's account painted him in an appropriate light. Astarion found it difficult to think past his current list of pressing and potentially disastrous emergencies, but there was a chance he would live a very long time. If Gale's narrative could be weaponized in his favor, this chronicle could make his long future more pleasant. All while appearing helpful and scholarly himself.

Astarion settled more deeply into his cushions, considering the angles. Tav had proven frustratingly immune to his usual charms—barely responding to his most practiced lines with more than a distracted smile before turning their attention back to Wyll. Always Wyll, with his tiresome heroics and his endless stories of saving orphans or whatever nonsense occupied would-be heroes these days.

Right on cue, Wyll's booming laugh carried across the camp. Tav had just handed him some sort of trinket—a child's doll rescued from gods-knew-where—and the warlock clutched it to his chest like it was made of solid gold. "This will mean everything to her," Wyll gushed, and Tav beamed at him with such nauseating earnestness that Astarion had to look away.

He'd chosen Tav deliberately. As the group's de facto leader, having them wrapped around his finger would have provided security when—if—Cazador found him. But perhaps he had been going about this all wrong.

His gaze drifted back to Gale. The wizard was still absorbed in his writing, absently running one hand through his already-disheveled hair. And really, this could work out even better. Gale was still thoroughly shattered by Mystra's rejection—he'd probably welcome any distraction that didn't involve discussing his romantic failures.

A scholarly partnership. Much more palatable than his usual methods—which, come to think of it, were really beneath him now—and likely more effective, more predictable, more interesting, more fun, with someone like Gale.

Astarion rose and crossed the camp with calculated nonchalance. "Still burning the midnight oil, I see."

Gale barely glanced up, quill still moving. "Mhm. Just trying to capture today's events while they're fresh."

"I couldn't help but overhear your plans for this little project." Astarion leaned against the desk, automatically positioning himself where the light caught his best angles. "A proper historical chronicle, you said?"

"Yes, exactly." Gale's quill paused mid-word as something in Astarion's tone finally caught his attention. He looked up, eyes brightening with interest. "Though I must admit, the scope is rather daunting."

"I imagine so. Particularly when it comes to the more... nuanced aspects of our adventures." Astarion examined his nails. "You know, I spent two centuries observing Baldur's Gate's political landscape. The sort of context that might prove invaluable to a historian."

Gale set down his quill. "Are you offering to contribute?"

"I thought perhaps I might review your drafts. During those long hours while you're sleeping—I only need four hours of trance, after all, and hunting doesn't occupy nearly that much time." Astarion gestured at the parchment. "I could note any inaccuracies, provide an independent perspective. That sort of thing."

"That would be..." Gale's whole face lit up. "Actually, that would be incredible. I really could use a fresh eye."

"Precisely." Astarion fought to keep the triumph from his smile. "I'd be happy to leave notes in the margins. For accuracy's sake."

"Yes, absolutely." Gale was already shuffling through papers, practically vibrating with scholarly excitement. "I can leave the latest sections here each night. Just... perhaps use red ink? To distinguish your comments from my original text?"

"Of course." The eagerness in Gale's expression sent an unexpected uneasiness through Astarion's gut. The wizard clearly took his offer at face value—pure academic collaboration, no ulterior motives.

He pushed the guilt aside. This was necessary. And really, he would be helping Gale create a better historical record. The fact that he'd be controlling his own narrative—and perhaps even the way Gale saw him now—was simply... a bonus. His consulting fee. It was a win-win, really.

"I should wrap this up soon anyway," Gale said, stifling a yawn. "The first few chapters are ready for review whenever you'd like to start."

"Wonderful." Astarion kept his tone light, casual, despite the triumph zinging up his spine. "I'll fetch them once you've retired."

He waited in his tent, listening as Gale shuffled papers and packed away his other materials. Only when the wizard's breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep did Astarion slip back to the desk.

The manuscript sat neatly stacked, exactly as promised. Beside it waited a bottle of red ink and a fresh quill—thoughtful of Gale, really. Astarion didn't have a desk at his own tent, and it felt generous of the man to share his… domain with Astarion, although it was obviously sensible given their circumstances. The desk itself was organized chaos, scattered with reference texts and marked maps, all meticulously labeled in Gale's flowing script.

Astarion settled into the chair, oddly aware of occupying the same space where Gale had sat earlier. The cushion was warm. Had Gale enchanted it? For himself or for Astarion? He supposed he could enjoy it either way. He shifted, trying to ignore how strangely intimate it felt to be surrounded by Gale's books and papers, breathing in the lingering scent of ink and parchment and whatever herb the wizard used in his hair oil.

The first page bore Gale's precise handwriting, complete with numbered sections and footnotes. Astarion snorted at the dramatic opening lines describing his capture by the mindflayers.

The mindflayers struck without warning, their nautiloid vessel descending from the night sky like some terrible leviathan of legend. As a scholar of the arcane, I had of course studied accounts of these fell creatures, but no dusty tome could have prepared me for the horror of their presence. The very air seemed to congeal around them, thick with psychic malevolence that pressed against one's thoughts like a physical weight.

Trust Gale to turn even that horror into something almost poetic. The nautiloid crash wrapped up the first chapter, fairing similarly with particular attention paid to copious speculation about the mechanics of the helm.

But the next chapter fully drew him in. Here was their first meeting, when paths had coincided in the aftermath. Astarion leaned forward, dipping the quill in red ink as his eyes flew across the page. Time to see exactly how the wizard had interpreted those early days, and where his perspective might lack a certain nuance. Where it needed... adjustment.

Our peculiar fellowship formed under circumstances that could only be described as extraordinary. The crash of the nautiloid—that impossible vessel of the mind flayers' astral voyage—scattered us like seeds, each bearing our own bitter secrets alongside the parasitic passengers in our minds.

Really, darling? "scattered us like seeds"? A bit precious, don't you think?

The vampire spawn hiding among us proved particularly intriguing—a being of refined tastes and careful mannerisms that spoke to centuries of rigid self-control, yet harboring an almost desperate hunger for freedom.

I do not harbor anything "desperately," thank you very much. Though I'll grant you the "refined tastes" observation.

Astarion continued reading, his quill hovering over particularly egregious passages.

His skills at stealth and subterfuge proved invaluable during our early encounters. The precision with which he dispatched threats—silent and lethal as shadow itself—spoke of training far beyond mere noble upbringing.

Finally, someone notices. Though you might have mentioned how that "precision" saved your life at least twice.

Yet these same abilities served to conceal his true nature from us, a deception that might have proved fatal had circumstances aligned differently.

Oh, that's rich coming from the man carrying a magical bomb in his chest. At least my secret wouldn't have obliterated half the Sword Coast.

Astarion skimmed past several pages of Gale's theories about the tadpoles—all premature speculation without proper data. The wizard had filled entire pages with arcane formulae and references to obscure texts—none of which would matter once they actually understood what they were dealing with—and he noted as much.

His attention caught on a new section about their mysterious camp guest.

Withers presents an enigma worthy of deeper study. His apparent mastery over death itself suggests connections to powers beyond our current understanding. While his services prove invaluable, one must question the price of such assistance.

The skeleton's ability to maintain our camp's location across vast distances implies either incredible magical prowess or access to ancient technologies we've yet to comprehend.

Or both. Have you noticed how he always appears precisely when needed, yet never seems to actually travel with us?

Astarion sat back, tapping the feathered quill against his lips. Gale's observations about Withers were surprisingly astute—he'd clearly been paying attention to details Astarion himself had noted but hadn't shared. Perhaps the wizard's chronicle might prove more valuable than expected, beyond mere image control.

He dipped his quill again, adding one final note before finishing:

We should compare notes. Over wine, perhaps? I promise not to bite.

Astarion stared at his last note, quill hovering as he considered the impulse to strike through the words. The flirtation had slipped out—an old habit, really. He'd spent centuries using charm as armor, wielding it like he now wielded his daggers. Even now, when he'd meant to keep things purely academic...

But scratching it out would only draw attention. Questions. And truly, the prospect of discussing their observations over wine didn't sound terrible. Gale's writing showed genuine insight, even if his prose needed work. Perhaps Gale wouldn't make much of it anyway.

He set the quill aside and stretched, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of Gale's workspace. The desk had become a familiar space over the past hours—comfortable, even. Strange how the wizard's scholarly clutter felt almost welcoming.

Astarion gathered the marked pages, sliding them carefully into the protective folio Gale used. He weighted them down exactly as he'd observed the wizard doing earlier, ensuring nothing would scatter in the night breeze.

His throat tightened—he'd need to hunt soon. But first, everything had to be perfect. No carelessness that might make Gale hesitate to share future drafts.

With one last glance at the desk, Astarion slipped away toward the forest.

* * *

Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of camp, watching Gale scribble frantically. The wizard hadn't properly written in days—just hasty notes between battles, ink-stained fingers marking his urgency to capture details before they faded. Their promised wine and discussion never materialized, pushed aside by the constant demands of survival.

The past few days had been a blur of stealth, combat, and gathering intelligence. The ruins of a village crawled with goblins, their crude camps dotting the landscape like festering wounds. Each encounter brought them closer to finding Halsin, but left little time for scholarly pursuits.

He had caught glimpses of Gale's newest notes—rough sketches of goblin fortifications, hurried observations about their strange devotion to the Absolute, tactical assessments of their numbers and capabilities. All practical, nothing like the flowing prose and careful analysis of his earlier work.

The parchment Astarion had annotated sat untouched in its folio, carefully preserved despite their rushed camp relocations. He'd seen Gale glance at it occasionally, a slight smile touching his lips before duty called him away again. The wizard clearly wanted to respond to his comments—Astarion had caught him reaching for his quill more than once, only to be interrupted by some new crisis.

It was maddening, really. Here he'd crafted the perfect opening for deeper investigation into Gale's thoughts, and instead they were crawling through mud and blood, tracking a missing druid. Though he had to admit, watching Gale fling spells with precise fury was its own kind of fascinating. The wizard's academic nature masked a surprisingly vicious approach to combat. Astarion liked it.

Astarion watched Gale pull fresh parchment from his satchel, arranging his writing materials with practiced efficiency. The random goblins had been dispatched, the hag dealt with, and the blighted village seemed clear of immediate threats. Finally, a proper evening for chronicling. His fingers itched to see what observations the wizard would make about their recent skirmishes—and more importantly, about that business with the Necromancy of Thay.

He'd snatched that book right from under Gale's nose, hadn't he? The wizard's disappointment had been palpable, though he'd covered it with polite grace. No doubt that incident would warrant several footnotes and perhaps a biting observation or two about the distribution of magical artifacts within the party.

Best to give Gale space to write without hovering. The wizard composed more freely when he thought himself unobserved, and Astarion needed to feed anyway. The deer in this area were plentiful, if a bit gamey for his taste.

"Don't wait up," he called to no one in particular, though his eyes lingered on Gale's bent head. The wizard's quill was already flying across the page, completely absorbed in his work. Perfect.

Astarion slipped into the shadows beyond camp. A few hours of hunting would give Gale plenty of time to document their recent exploits. And perhaps, if he was lucky, to process his feelings about losing that book to a mere rogue with no formal magical training.

When Astarion returned to camp, he found fresh pages waiting on the desk. Gale had even left a bottle of wine. He recognized the vintage as one he'd mentioned enjoying during their last proper conversation.

Settling in the chair, he uncorked the wine and lifted the first page. Gale's familiar script flowed across the parchment, still carrying traces of sand from the hasty drying powder.

The diplomatic acumen of our leader continues to impress. When confronted with three ogres checking for brands of the Absolute, Tav opted for negotiation rather than combat. Their astute observation that the ogres were underpaid and underappreciated led to a remarkable employment negotiation.

Oh, is that what we're calling it? I distinctly recall Tav offering them "all the goblins they could eat" as a signing bonus.

The resulting arrangement has secured us formidable allies, though I confess some ethical concerns about the terms of their compensation.

Darling, they're ogres. They were going to eat someone anyway. At least now it's goblins instead of travelers, and the goblins are dead either way.

Astarion smirked at the next passage, which detailed their unfortunate timing near the windmill.

Our tactical infiltration of the ruins was somewhat compromised by an unexpected encounter with an amorous hobgoblin commander and his ogress paramour. While the resulting combat was brief, the psychological impact of interrupting such an intimate moment cannot be understated.

You've missed the best part—the look on Tav's face was priceless. Perhaps this scene could benefit from illustration?

In truth, Astarion had most enjoyed Gale's face during the hilarious encounter, and wondered if he could manage to observe Gale's expression when he read Astarion's commentary on this bit.

The rescue of Barcus Root earned several paragraphs of Gale's most precise prose, complete with footnotes about the historical significance of windmills in torture techniques.

Astarion paused, wine halfway to his lips. He was actually enjoying this—not just for the intelligence gathering, but for the genuine pleasure of adding his observations. How quaint.

Astarion turned the page, eager to see Gale's take on their exploration beneath the alchemist's shop. The account was unusually dry—just facts about the layout, details of the mechanisms they'd bypassed, and a catalog of items discovered.

The chamber contained several items of note, including a tome of necromantic magic originating from Thay. After discussion, the party determined the book's optimal allocation lay with our roguish companion rather than myself, despite my expertise in matters arcane.

The clinical tone set Astarion's teeth on edge. Where were Gale's usual meandering footnotes about Thayan magical theory? His typical asides about the historical significance of finding such a tome in a simple alchemist's shop? Most importantly, where was Gale's actual indignation at Tav's decision to give the book to Astarion? Astarion couldn't glean insights about Gale's state of mind if Gale were deliberately hiding it.

The rest of the passage continued in the same detached voice, lacking any of the wizard's usual flair for dramatic description or academic passion. No mention of the way Gale's fingers had lingered on the book's spine before passing it over, or how his scholarly mask had slipped for just a moment.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink, considering his words carefully.

My dear chronicler, your attempt at objectivity is painfully transparent. Where's that florid prose I've come to expect? The fascinating personal reactions which readers of a first-person account will expect? I do believe you're censoring yourself on my behalf.

He paused, then added:

Perhaps we should discuss this over that wine we keep postponing? Your tent or mine—I promise to bring the book.

The invitation felt dangerous somehow, more revealing than his previous notes. But he couldn't resist the opportunity to draw out Gale's true thoughts on the matter. After all, what good was reading an eyewitness historical account if the historian refused to include his actual perspective?

Astarion's invitation hung unanswered in the margins. Days passed, then weeks. Gale always had a reason—spell preparation, research, tactical planning with Tav. The excuses were perfectly reasonable, yet rang hollow.

The wizard's avoidance became a subtle dance. He'd duck into his tent whenever Astarion approached with the manuscript, leaving fresh pages or collected edits on his desk instead. Their paths crossed constantly in camp, yet somehow never quite aligned for that promised discussion.

Still, their written exchanges deepened. Astarion found himself spending hours crafting the perfect cutting remark or clever observation, just to see Gale's reaction. He'd position himself carefully in camp, pretending to sharpen his daggers while actually watching Gale read through his latest comments.

The varying sleep patterns of our group present both tactical advantages and social challenges. The distribution of watch duties must account for individual requirements and capabilities.

Your snoring presents a particularly fascinating tactical challenge. I've heard owlbears with quieter sleeping habits.

The wizard was expressive when he thought himself unobserved. His eyebrows would arch at particularly biting criticism, and sometimes he'd bite his lip to hold back laughter at Astarion's more outrageous suggestions. Once, Gale actually snorted aloud at Astarion's detailed critique of his purple prose regarding their encounter with the Myconid colony.

Our encounter with the Myconid colony presented a unique opportunity to observe a complex fungal society. Their method of communication—the release of specialized spores creating a shared consciousness—demonstrates remarkable evolutionary adaptation. The resulting telepathic rapport manifests as a symphony of thoughts, though the experience might be likened to an especially enthusiastic group hug for the mind.

A "group hug for the mind"? Darling, you were high as a cloud giant’s sky-castle on mushroom spores. The only "symphony" was your giggling while trying to pet Shadowheart's hair.

The sound of Gale's laughter had sent a rush of satisfaction through Astarion that lingered for hours.

Gale's responses appeared regularly—thoughtful rebuttals, acceptance of suggested edits, and even playful counter-arguments. But that section about the Thayan tome remained untouched, a conspicuous gap in their otherwise comprehensive collaboration. The clinical tone stood out even more now, contrasting ever so sharply with Gale's increasingly engaging writing style elsewhere.

Astarion found himself reading and re-reading their margin conversations, tracking the subtle shift from academic discourse to something more intimate. Gale's formal footnotes had evolved into personal asides, sharing opinions and observations he never voiced in camp. The wizard was far more candid on paper than in person—except about that damn book.

Astarion watched Gale set up his writing materials as they set up camp near the blighted village. Their final expedition had yielded surprising treasures—including that curious amethyst from the well. His fingers traced the spine of the Necromancy of Thay, anticipating Gale's written reaction to their discovery of its key.

The wizard had been particularly quiet during that encounter, his usual commentary conspicuously absent as Astarion declared his intention to unlock the book's secrets himself. Now that they were heading to Moonrise Towers, surely Gale would want to document this significant development in their journey—and perhaps finally address the tension around the tome.

Instead of settling into his usual writing routine at camp, though, Gale approached Astarion's tent directly. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand and wore an expression Astarion couldn't quite read.

"I believe we have an outstanding appointment to discuss certain editorial matters," Gale said, holding up the wine. "Unless you're otherwise occupied?"

Astarion's carefully prepared remarks about the amethyst scattered like startled birds. He'd imagined a dozen ways this conversation might finally happen, but none quite matched the reality of Gale standing there, waiting for his response.

"Well, this is unexpected," Astarion said, leaning against his tent post with studied carelessness. "I'd almost given up hope of collecting on that promise."

His fingers itched to reach for the book, to use it as a shield or bargaining chip—but something in Gale's direct gaze made him hesitate. Their written exchanges had shifted something between them, created a space where masks seemed less necessary.

"Your tent or mine?" Gale asked, echoing Astarion's long-ago invitation.

"Yours," Astarion said quickly. Too quickly. He covered it with a flourish toward Gale's tent. "You've the better furniture, after all."

Gale's tent welcomed them with its familiar scholarly clutter—stacks of books, scattered scrolls, and that ridiculously comfortable reading chair Astarion secretly coveted. The space smelled of ink and parchment, with undertones of arcane components.

Gale poured the wine, his movements measured yet somehow uncertain. He handed Astarion a glass, their fingers not quite touching in the exchange.

"I've been meaning to discuss—that is to say, I've observed—" Gale cleared his throat, started again. "The Necromancy of Thay."

"Ah." Astarion settled into the reading chair, feeling quite smug at the chance to try it out. "I was wondering when we'd address that rather clinical passage in your chronicle."

"Yes, well." Gale paced a tight circle, wine sloshing dangerously in his glass. "I've been researching similar texts, you see, and the contents are often... particularly unpleasant. Designed to inflict maximum suffering before giving up their knowledge. And given your previous experiences—"

Astarion's grip tightened on his glass. "My what?"

"I mean no offense," Gale said quickly. "But you've endured more than enough horror for several lifetimes. I worry that delving into such dark magic might... reopen old wounds."

The wine turned bitter on Astarion's tongue. He'd prepared arguments about his right to the book, about the tactical advantages of understanding such magic. He'd even rehearsed a few cutting remarks about Gale's obvious desire for the tome.

But concern? For him?

"I—" Astarion found himself without words, a rare and uncomfortable state. "That's why you've been avoiding this discussion? Not because you want the book?"

"Of course I want the book." Gale settled into the chair opposite, his expression earnest. "But I've had time to consider, and perhaps it would be best to set it aside. For now."

Astarion's jaw clenched. First Tav's rejection, then the others' constant suspicious glances, and now this? He'd thought at least Gale understood his need for advancement, for power. The wine glass creaked in his grip.

"How magnificently patronizing." He kept his voice light, though acid burned beneath the words. "Shall we lock it away with all the other dangerous toys? Keep the spawn from playing with sharp objects?"

"That's not—"

"No? Then what exactly are you suggesting? That I'm too fragile to handle a bit of dark magic?" The words tasted like ash. He'd worked so hard to appear strong, capable, worthy of trust. And here was Gale, trying to take away perhaps his only real advantage.

"I'm suggesting," Gale said carefully, "that I'd rather not see you suffer needlessly. These texts are notorious for extracting a terrible price from their readers. The knowledge they contain—"

"Is power. Power I need." Astarion caught himself, smoothed his voice back to silk. "Power that could benefit us all."

Gale leaned forward, his face so damnably sincere it made Astarion's teeth ache. "I wouldn't deny you power. Never that. I only..." He ran a hand through his hair, scattering loose strands. "I find myself concerned. For your wellbeing."

Astarion froze. The admission hung between them, heavy with implications he wasn't prepared to examine.

"That is to say," Gale added hastily, clearly reading something in Astarion's expression, "as my editor, naturally. Can't have my primary source of objective feedback suffering adverse magical effects. Think of the footnotes I'd miss."

The silence stretched too long. Astarion's grip on his wine glass loosened as he processed Gale's weak attempt at humor.

"I only meant—" Gale stumbled over his words. "If you're determined to unlock the book's secrets, that's your choice to make. But would you consider letting me be present? As a precaution? These texts can be... unpredictable."

Their eyes met across the cluttered space of the tent. Something unspoken passed between them—concern, understanding, perhaps more. Astarion's throat tightened with an unfamiliar sensation. He looked away first, unable to maintain contact under the weight of whatever this was becoming.

"Fine," he said, aiming for dismissive but landing closer to relieved. "If you insist on hovering."

"Now?" Gale asked.

Astarion retrieved the book and amethyst from his tent. The skin binding felt greasy against his fingers, hungry somehow. He and Gale sat on the bedroll in Gale's tent as Astarion inserted the amethyst into the cover and the book opened for him at last.

The process was excruciating. Each page fought him, magic lashing out with memories of pain and darkness. But Gale remained steady beside him, watching, occasionally steadying Astarion's hand when it shook too badly to turn a page.

The wizard's presence anchored him through the worst moments. No judgment, no criticism—just quiet support and the occasional murmured encouragement.

It was... nice. Different. Just someone watching out for him, with no agenda beyond keeping him safe.

When the third page yielded its secrets, Astarion closed the book with trembling fingers. "Well," he managed, "that was certainly an experience."

Gale's hand hovered near Astarion's shoulder. "Are you—"

"Perfectly fine." The lie came automatically, though his hands still shook and dark spots danced at the edges of his vision. Perhaps Gale had been right about the book's defenses. His back burned where phantom knives had traced familiar patterns, and his throat felt raw from screaming he hadn't actually done.

"You don't look fine." Gale's voice held no judgment, just that damnable concern again.

"Well, I am." Astarion forced his fingers to release their death grip on the tome. "And I've gained… well, something. I know how to speak with the dead now. I just know—isn't that strange? I think putting myself through that… whatever that was—I'll be stronger resisting similar attempts to overcome my will in the future."

He started to stand, but the tent tilted alarmingly. Gale's steady hand caught his elbow, keeping him from stumbling.

"At least finish your wine first." Gale pressed the forgotten glass into his hands.

Astarion accepted, using the moment to collect himself. The wine helped, washing away the taste of remembered terror. When he could trust his legs again, he rose more carefully.

"This was a gift," he said, meeting Gale's eyes. "I won't forget it."

He meant the support, not the wine, and from Gale's expression, the wizard understood. Before either of them could say something unfortunate, Astarion slipped out into the night air.

His own tent felt hollow after the warmth of Gale's. He sat the wooden plank that served as his bed, turning the necromantic tome over in his hands, unsure what to make of the evening—or the confused tangle of emotions it had stirred up.

* * *

Astarion traced his fingers over Gale's latest annotations, the wizard's precise script filling the margins of yet another chapter. Their written exchanges had grown more frequent as the landscape changed around them, the verdant wilderness giving way to twisted shadows and blighted earth.

The pages had become a refuge of sorts. Here, safely confined to ink and parchment, they could maintain their usual wit and banter without the awkward tension that now plagued their face-to-face interactions. Astarion lost himself while crafting the perfect cutting remarks about Gale's overwrought metaphors, and the wizard responded in kind with increasingly elaborate defenses of his prose style.

He shifted in Gale's chair adjusting the manuscript to catch the lamplight. A fresh comment caught his eye—Gale questioning his edits to the account of a particular skirmish with some shadow creatures. Astarion's lips curved despite himself. The wizard had a point about the improbability of that particular acrobatic maneuver, but he wasn't about to admit it.

A movement across camp drew his attention. Gale sat by the camp's central fire. The flames caught his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell forward as he put away the things from dinner. Astarion looked away quickly, focusing on the pages before him.

These... thoughts had been occurring more frequently lately. Intrusive little observations about Gale's hands, his voice, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. In the past, Astarion would have known exactly how to proceed—a carefully calculated seduction, another conquest to be manipulated and discarded. The very idea turned his stomach now.

He had no other template for desire, no framework for whatever this unsettling attraction might be. Better to ignore it entirely. Focus on the safety of their written discourse, where physical proximity couldn't muddy the waters of their intellectual sparring.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink and began composing a particularly scathing critique of Gale's latest philosophical tangent. This, at least, was familiar ground. He could lose himself in the comfortable rhythm of their literary fencing match and pretend the rest didn't exist.

Astarion flipped to the next section, where Gale's neat script filled the page:

The Last Light Inn stands as a testament to the power of Selûne's blessing, maintained through complex abjuration resonance. The metaphysical architecture of Isobel's protective wards demonstrates an intricate understanding of lunar phases and their correlation to planar barriers. Of particular note is the way the silvery radiance...

For someone who claims to write for posterity, you've managed to make sanctuary sound absolutely tedious. The contrast is what matters—a bastion of safety amid endless shadow. Save the technical treatise for your next symposium.

...The mathematical precision required to maintain such a barrier suggests years of careful study and preparation, likely drawing from ancient texts preserved by the Church of Selûne...

Oh yes, I'm certain future generations will be riveted by the arithmetic of salvation. Perhaps mention how it felt to step inside? The relief of finding light when all hope seemed lost? No? More equations then?

Astarion smirked as he turned the page, finding Gale's account of their encounter with the "surgeon" of Reithwin town:

Our investigation into the source of the Shadow Curse led us to confront one of Ketheric's agents, a deeply disturbed individual who had perverted the healing arts. While the exact nature of Ketheric's involvement remains uncertain, the evidence suggests...

Evidence suggests you've developed selective amnesia, my dear wizard. Have you forgotten how I avoided a battle for all of us by talking the man into slaying himself? Now that's the kind of detail readers want.

The theological implications of Ketheric's actions require careful consideration, particularly regarding the balance of divine power in the region...

Theological implications? The man turned an entire region into a nightmare, and you're pondering metaphysics? Sometimes I wonder if you actually experienced any of this or just read about it in one of your dusty tomes.

He dipped his quill again, adding:

Though I suppose I should be flattered that you've managed to make even my finest moment sound like a lecture at the College of Lore. Quite a gift you have there.

Astarion finished his notes on the newer pages, capping the ink with more force than necessary. He flipped back through the manuscript, searching for the section about their encounter with Elminster. Finding it, his jaw clenched.

The Sage of Shadowdale's appearance proved fortuitous, offering vital intelligence regarding the nature of our adversary. His message from Mystra herself provided clear direction for our efforts against the Absolute...

Astarion's fingers tightened on the page. Astarion had filled the margins of this section with vitriolic commentary about Mystra's manipulations, comparing her to Cazador in explicit detail. He'd outlined exactly how she groomed young wizards, used their devotion, and discarded them. He'd particularly emphasized how she'd cultivated Gale's obsession from childhood, only to send him on a suicide mission.

Yet Gale had addressed none of it. His newest draft remained unchanged—still that same reverent tone, still treating her "mission" as some grand destiny rather than the calculated disposal of an inconvenient ex-lover.

The red ink from his previous notes stood stark against the parchment, a furious indictment that Gale had simply ignored:

So the great Mystra collects pretty young mages, fills their heads with dreams of glory, beds them, then sends them off to die? And you are defending this?

Astarion's quill hovered over the page, tempted to write it all again, larger this time. But what was the point? Gale clearly preferred his delusions about divine purpose to facing the truth about his goddess's machinations.

He traced one finger over Gale's unchanged text, fighting down the urge to tear the page to shreds. The familiar rage at seeing someone else trapped in a Master's web of lies burned fiercely. But Gale couldn't—or wouldn't—see the parallel between Mystra's manipulation and Cazador's control. He'd rather die believing he'd chosen his fate than admit he'd been shaped into a willing sacrifice.

Astarion shoved the manuscript into its folio. What was he doing, getting invested in someone who'd already chosen their path to destruction? He'd spent two centuries under Cazador's thumb—he wasn't about to watch someone else march willingly toward their doom, no matter how fascinating their written exchanges had become.

Better to maintain distance. Keep things professional. Academic. After all, hadn't he originally approached this project to manage his image? When had it transformed into caring about Gale's welfare?

Across the camp, Gale finished with his tidying and stood, presumably heading to his tent to sleep. Astarion's fingers twitched with the urge shake some sense into him. To demand how someone so brilliant could be so wilfully blind about their own situation.

But Gale's tent meant privacy. Intimacy. The kind of closeness that made it harder to ignore the way Gale's presence affected him. No, that conversation would be dangerous—for multiple reasons.

Perhaps Tav could handle it instead. They'd already tried talking Gale out of his martyrdom once before. Maybe with the right leverage, the right arguments... Astarion could provide some choice phrases about divine manipulation, let Tav deliver them without the complicated baggage of whatever was developing—or not developing—between himself and Gale.

Astarion watched Gale disappear into his tent, the blue fabric swaying closed behind him. The lamp inside cast the wizard's shadow against the canvas—a dark silhouette bent over his trunk.

His throat burned. Usually, a good hunt helped clear his head of such distracting thoughts, but the Shadow-cursed lands offered no such relief. No rabbits darted between the twisted trees, no deer grazed in the blighted fields. Even the rats had abandoned this cursed place.

He checked his supplies, counting the bottles of blood tucked away in his pack. Three left. He could do without—had done so for most of his life—but it would be another irritant grating on his nerves. He would ration as best as he could while the party wasted time chasing down lost (almost certainly dead) parents and playing with creepy children.

Astarion settled onto the wooden plank that served as his bed, arranging the thin blanket around himself more from habit than necessity. The familiar discomfort of hunger gnawed at him as he closed his eyes, preparing for what would undoubtedly be another restless trance.

* * *

The party trudged back into camp, boots caked with the muck of Reithwin Town and depressed from the events of Moonrise Towers. Astarion's skin still crawled from their encounter with that insufferable drow. He needed a proper wash, fresh clothes, and most importantly, to forget the entire ordeal.

But Gale made straight for his writing desk, barely pausing to dump his pack.

"I'll take first watch," Wyll offered.

"Excellent. And dinner?" Shadowheart asked.

"Also Wyll," Gale called over his shoulder, already pulling out fresh parchment.

Wyll's protest died under Shadowheart's glare. "Fine. But tomorrow—"

"Yes, yes," Gale waved vaguely, ink already flowing.

Astarion settled on his usual perch, watching Gale's quill dance across the page with unusual urgency. Normally the wizard labored over each word, consulting references and muttering to himself. But now he wrote as if possessed, barely pausing for more ink.

Strange. Their routine typically involved Gale cooking dinner and then writing late into the night before retiring, leaving the pages for Astarion to review in privacy. This feverish pace was new. Intriguing.

Astarion had just resigned himself to wait when Gale suddenly stopped, gathered the fresh pages, and marched over.

"I need your input. Now. Before I continue."

"What, no beauty rest first? How irregular of you." Astarion tried to mask his annoyance with humor. Could the man not give him a few minutes of distance before making him relive the whole unsavory encounter?

"This can't wait." Gale thrust the pages forward. "I need to know if I've captured the, ah, nuances correctly."

"Nuances?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Of what, precisely?"

"The encounter with Araj. The political implications. The, um, historical context of drow-vampire relations in Baldur's Gate."

It was a terrible excuse. Gale knew perfectly well that Baldur's Gate's drow population was minimal, and Astarion's knowledge of them even more so.

"Historical context?" Astarion drawled. "How fascinating that you'd need that particular detail at this exact moment."

Gale shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes. Well. Will you read it or not?"

Now this was interesting. Gale was many things, but abrupt usually wasn't one of them. Whatever drove this urgency, it wasn't academic accuracy.

"Oh, very well." Astarion plucked the pages from Gale's hands. "Since you're being so charmingly mysterious about it."

Astarion settled back against the log and began to read as Gale retreated. His eyebrows rose higher with each paragraph. This wasn't Gale's usual measured prose at all—no footnotes, no academic distance, not even proper punctuation in places. Just raw, unfiltered fury poured onto the page.

He'd completely skipped their confrontation with Ketheric. Nothing about finding Minthara again. Instead, Gale had filled pages with increasingly creative invectives about Araj Oblodra.

The absolute gall of this creature, Gale had written, to demand such intimacy from someone who had clearly refused. Her presumption that Tav could simply order Astarion to perform such an act speaks volumes about her own twisted relationship with consent.

The next paragraph contained several crossed-out words that looked suspiciously like swearing in the old Thorass language.

I cannot fathom why Tav didn't simply let us dispose of her after such a display. The way she kept pressing, kept trying to manipulate the situation—disgusting. Utterly revolting.

Astarion's throat tightened as he read on. Gale had captured every micro-expression, every subtle tension in his shoulders when Araj wouldn't take no for an answer. But rather than clinical observation, the writing blazed with protective rage.

Astarion's refusal was admirably firm, Gale had written, and I find myself quite proud of how he handled the situation, though I shouldn't have expected anything less.

Something warm bloomed in Astarion's chest. He'd been ready to deflect questions about his reaction, to laugh off the whole incident. But Gale had seen. Had understood.

Had been angry on his behalf.

The writing deteriorated further into personal commentary about Araj's parentage and probable relationship with various Underdark creatures. It was messy, emotional, and completely unlike Gale's usual work.

It was perfect.

Astarion looked up from the pages to find Gale had vanished from the campfire. A quick scan revealed lamplight flickering in his tent. After a moment's consideration, he slipped over to their stores and liberated a particularly nice Sembian red—the kind Gale favored when deep in his cups. The rest of the party watched him cross to Gale's tent, but he ignored their stares.

"Knock knock," he called softly, unable to actually rap on the canvas.

"Come—" Gale cleared his throat. "Come in."

Inside, Gale perched on his bedroll, having made an absolute disaster of his hair. His fingers twisted in the ends of his sleeves as he watched Astarion enter.

Astarion settled beside him, close enough to share the wine but not so near as to crowd. He uncorked the bottle and poured generously into their cups. Gale accepted his with visible relief, taking a long swallow.

"So," Astarion said, tapping the pages. "I can see why you might want feedback before adding these particular... observations to the official record."

Gale's shoulders hunched. "I shouldn't have shown you. It was unprofessional. I'll rewrite it properly—"

"Don't you dare." The words came out sharper than intended, and Astarion took a measured sip of wine before continuing. "It's refreshing to see you write without stuffing every sentence full of footnotes and qualifiers."

Astarion traced the edge of the parchment, weighing his next words. "Perhaps this particular passage isn't suited for your grand historical chronicle. But..." He folded the pages with careful precision. "If you've no objection, I'd like to keep these."

Gale's eyes widened slightly. "You would?"

"Mm." Astarion slipped the pages into his vest pocket, next to his heart. "It's rather remarkable, isn't it? How well we've come to know each other through ink and paper."

"I was just thinking the same." Gale's fingers drummed against his cup. "Though that makes it all the more frustrating that I still—that is to say—" He took another fortifying sip of wine. "There are still considerable gaps in my understanding of, well, certain matters. Particularly regarding how to... that is, what might be welcome or unwanted in terms of..."

Gale's usual eloquence abandoned him entirely as he rambled on, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "The last thing I'd want is to make you uncomfortable with any unwanted advances or assumptions about—not that I'm making assumptions! Or advances. Unless they'd be welcome. Which I have no way of knowing, hence my current..."

Astarion felt his smile growing wider as Gale continued to tie himself in verbal knots. The wizard who could lecture for hours about the minutiae of magical theory was completely undone trying to navigate this conversation. It was, against all odds, utterly charming.

Astarion indulged a wicked impulse to let Gale continue stumbling through increasingly convoluted sentences. This brilliant, powerful man who could probably level the camp with a thought was sitting here blushing and babbling like a schoolboy, all because he was worried about making Astarion uncomfortable.

Astarion watched Gale spiral deeper into his verbal maze, now fretting about consent and boundaries and "not wanting to be anything like that presumptuous drow." The wine in Astarion's cup caught the lamplight as he swirled it, considering.

He'd surprised himself today, hadn't he? That firm "no" to Araj had felt... right. Natural. After centuries of being unable to refuse anything, he'd found his voice. Found his limits.

But knowing what he didn't want was only half the equation, wasn't it? The other half sat right here, working himself into knots trying to be considerate of Astarion's feelings.

"—and I would never presume to—"

"Gale." Astarion set his cup aside. "I need you to choose me."

Gale's mouth snapped shut, eyes wide.

"Not as some temporary distraction while you wait for your goddess to take you back." The words spilled out, sharper than intended. "And certainly not if you're still planning to martyr yourself for her at the first opportunity."

Astarion's fingers clenched. "I won't… invest in someone who's already plotting to abandon me."

Astarion's throat tightened as Gale continued to stare, mouth working silently. The silence stretched painfully, and Astarion's carefully constructed walls began to rise again.

"Though if you're worried about how… this might affect my editorial contributions—" He forced a light tone, reaching for his familiar armor of wit. "I can assure you I'll be every bit as ruthless with your purple prose if we... if certain advances were made and accepted." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "I cannot make any promises beyond trying right now, but I would like to. Try."

Gale's surprised laugh broke the tension. He set his wine aside with deliberate care, and Astarion's couldn't pull his gaze from the serious look in Gale's eyes.

"Very well then." Gale's voice was soft but certain. "I choose you. Mystra can find someone else to blow up."

The words hit Astarion like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Everyone who'd ever shown interest in him had wanted something—his body, his skills, his submission. Even Araj's recent attempt to "offer him blood" had been about using him, treating him like a toy to be passed around at her whim, rented by her alchemical prowess.

But here was Gale, casually tossing aside his divine destiny, his life-long obsession with Mystra, all for... him. Just him. No conditions, no demands, no expectations beyond what Astarion was willing to give.

Joy bubbled up, wild and unfamiliar. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything like it.

"Stay tonight?" Gale asked, voice soft. "Just to rest. Nothing more than you're comfortable with."

Astarion hesitated. The offer was tempting, but old habits died hard. "I don't sleep."

"I know. But you could trance here. If you wanted."

The earnest hope in Gale's expression melted Astarion's remaining resistance. "Well, I suppose your cushions are more comfortable than mine. Alright. After your dinner, then."

They emerged from the tent to find Wyll's attempt at dinner nearly ready. Shadowheart's knowing smirk made Astarion bristle, but Gale's steady presence at his side kept him from snapping at her.

"About time," Wyll called from the fire. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Astarion drawled, earning a quiet snort from Gale.

The stew was barely edible—Wyll had somehow managed to both burn and under-season it if the general consensus was to be believed—but Gale seemed oblivious and Astarion couldn't eat it anyway. He focused on the way Gale's knee pressed against his as they sat, the brief brushes of their hands as they reached for and passed wine and food among the party members.

Gale hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left the tent. It transformed his entire face, softening the worried lines around his eyes. Astarion caught himself staring more than once, but surprisingly didn't feel the need to hide it.

When the others began drifting toward their tents, Astarion followed Gale back to his. Inside, they faced each other awkwardly until Gale gestured around from the reading chair to his bedroll.

"Whereever you're most comfortable."

Astarion considered his options. He could maintain some distance. But Gale's warmth beckoned, and for once, Astarion allowed himself to want.

In the end, after a stupid amount of awkwardness, he settled against Gale's side, tension melting as strong arms wrapped around him. Gale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Good night, Astarion."

Astarion tilted his face up, catching Gale's lips in a soft kiss. "Good night, Gale."

The kiss lingered on Astarion's lips as Gale's breathing slowed and deepened beside him. Such a simple thing, really—just the brief press of mouths, no heat or urgency behind it. Yet his mind kept circling back to that moment, analyzing every detail. The slight roughness of Gale's beard. The way Gale's hand had cupped his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. The soft sound of contentment Gale made when they parted.

Gale shifted in his sleep, arm tightening around Astarion's waist. The wizard radiated warmth like a furnace, his heartbeat steady against Astarion's chest. The sound should have made him thirsty—it frequently did, with others—but in this moment it felt... comforting. Like a lullaby.

Astarion nestled deeper into the embrace, savoring the novel sensation of being held without ulterior motives. No demands, no expectations, just the simple happiness of closeness. When was the last time anyone had touched him like this? Had anyone ever?

The thought should have been depressing, but somehow it wasn't. Not with Gale's steady breathing in his ear and strong arms around him. Not with the memory of that kiss still lingering on his lips.

His racing thoughts gradually settled as the night deepened. The familiar patterns of meditation beckoned, and for once Astarion didn't fight them. He let his consciousness drift, secure in the knowledge that he was, perhaps for the first time in centuries, truly safe.

His last coherent thought before slipping into trance was how perfectly they fit together, like pieces of a story neither had known was incomplete.

* * *

Astarion emerged from his trance hours before dawn, finding himself thoroughly entangled with Gale. The wizard had wrapped around him like a vine, one leg thrown over his hip, face buried in Astarion's neck. Their position left no room for modesty—or denial about the way Astarion's body had responded to the intimate contact.

His erection pressed insistently against the soft curve of Gale's hip. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through him with each tiny movement, making it difficult to think clearly. When was the last time he'd felt genuine desire, untainted by calculation or necessity? Even his attempted dalliance with Tav had been strategic rather than passionate.

This was... different. Dangerous, perhaps. There were no scripts to follow here, no carefully crafted personas to hide behind. Just raw want, as honest as it was unexpected.

Gale shifted in his sleep, unconsciously pressing closer. The movement dragged a quiet gasp from Astarion's throat. Gods, but it felt good. Too good. He should extract himself, retreat to safer territory. But Gale's warmth surrounded him, tempting him to stay, to wake the wizard with kisses and see where this newfound hunger might lead.

The choice was terrifying. Exhilarating.

Astarion impulsively traced his fingers along Gale's jaw, admiring how peaceful he looked in sleep. "Gale," he whispered, voice rougher than intended. "Wake up, darling."

Gale stirred, eyes fluttering open. Astarion watched as awareness dawned, followed by a sharp intake of breath as Gale registered their entwined state. A flush spread across Gale's cheeks, and Astarion felt a corresponding press of heat growing against his own hip.

"Astarion," Gale began, voice husky with sleep and something more. "You're... we're..."

"Quite the predicament, isn't it?" Astarion murmured, trying for his usual nonchalance. But his voice was too tight, too breathless.

Gale shifted slightly, enough to look into Astarion's eyes. "What do you want, Astarion? What do you need?"

The question caught him off guard. No one asked what he wanted. Not Cazador, not the countless pawns in his games of seduction. He was a tool, a plaything, not a participant with preferences.

But Gale was asking, waiting patiently for an answer. And gods help him, Astarion wanted... something. Anything. Everything.

Gale must have seen the confusion in his eyes. He reached up, cupping Astarion's cheek. "Would you like me to leave it alone? Or would you like to explore this further?" He pressed gently against Astarion, sending another jolt of pleasure through him. "I would very much like to make you feel good, Astarion. To focus on your pleasure."

Astarion swallowed hard. "I... I want..." He trailed off, unsure how to voice the desperate need building within him.

"Tell me," Gale coaxed softly, thumb brushing Astarion's cheekbone. "My hand, my mouth, my body—what do you want, Astarion?"

The words sent a shiver down Astarion's spine. No one had ever offered him such a choice before. And he found, to his surprise, that he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Your mouth," he whispered, barely able to believe he was asking. "I want your mouth on me, Gale."

Astarion's eyes widened at his own audacity. But Gale only smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "As you wish."

Gale cast a hasty spell, and a dome of silence enveloped them. Then he leaned in, capturing Astarion's lips in a searing kiss. Any lingering hesitation dissolved under the onslaught of sensation. Gale's mouth was hot and demanding, his hands roaming boldly over Astarion's body.

Astarion moaned into the kiss, arching into Gale's touch. His sleep shirt was in the way, and he tugged at it impatiently, wanting skin-to-skin contact. Gale seemed to read his mind, breaking away just long enough to strip off his own shirt before attending to Astarion's. Soon, both shirts were discarded, forgotten on the ground as their mouths found each other again.

Astarion's hands wandered over Gale's bare back, relishing the feel of warm skin under his fingertips. He mapped the contours of Gale's spine, the subtle shifts of muscle as the wizard moved above him. Gale's lips trailed down Astarion's neck, sparking pleasure wherever they landed. He nipped gently at the juncture of Astarion's neck and shoulder, earning a sharp gasp.

Their hips rocked together, the friction sending sparks through Astarion. His control slipped, desire coiling tighter with each touch, each kiss. His breath came in ragged gasps as Gale's mouth worked its way down his chest, pausing to lavish attention on his nipples.

By the time Gale's mouth reached the waistband of his sleep pants, Astarion was already dripping with need. He could feel his desire slicking his belly. He bucked his hips involuntarily, seeking more contact.

Gale looked up, eyes dark with desire. Astarion had seen Gale's eyes narrowed in thought, sharp and fierce in the middle of combat, soft and cow-eyed when they had spoken of their feelings, but never like this. Knowing, wanting, undone with passion.

With gentle movements, Gale pushed Astarion's sleep pants down, baring him completely. Then Gale was settling between his legs, kissing Astarion's thighs and palming him gently before cupping his balls.

Gale stroked his thumb over Astarion's balls, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Astarion's breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation. Gale's hand was warm, his touch firm yet gentle. He pressed just behind Astarion's scrotum, applying a steady pressure that made Astarion's eyes roll back.

"Is this alright?" Gale asked softly, looking up at him with those dark, desire-filled eyes.

Astarion could only nod, words failing him. It was more than alright. It was overwhelming, consuming. He spread his legs wider, inviting more.

Gale smiled, a sweet, almost reverent expression. "You're incredible, Astarion," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Astarion's inner thigh. "Every part of you is perfect."

Astarion's head spun at the words. Perfect. He'd been called many things, but never that. Not like this.

Gale took his time, exploring Astarion's body with a thoroughness that left him gasping. He licked and kissed his way up Astarion's shaft, his tongue hot and wet. Astarion's hips bucked, seeking more, but Gale held him down, his hands strong and steady.

"Patience," Gale whispered against his skin.

He took Astarion into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Astarion's hands fisted in the bedroll, his body trembling with need. Gale's mouth was heaven, his touch divine.

All the while, Gale's thumb continued its steady strokes and his finger pressed rhythmically. Astarion panted, his body coiling tighter with each lick, each kiss, each sweet word murmured against his flesh.

Gale's eyes flicked up to meet Astarion's, and the raw hunger in them sent a thrill through him. This was real, raw, unscripted.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Please..."

Gale hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. He took him deeper, his head bobbing slowly, his tongue working magic.

"You taste so good," Gale murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. "Like sin and sweetness all at once."

Astarion's head fell back, his body writhing under Gale's ministrations. It was too much, too good. He could feel his control slipping, his body racing towards release.

Gale seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more focused, more intense. He took Astarion deep, his throat working around him. His finger pressed harder, the pleasure cresting.

Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing. He was close, so close. And Gale was right there with him, his eyes locked on Astarion's, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony.

"Gale," Astarion gasped again, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm going to..."

Gale hummed in encouragement, his eyes never leaving Astarion's. And that was it—that undid him. With a cry, Astarion came undone, his body shaking with the force of his release.

Astarion shuddered through the aftershocks as Gale's mouth gentled, working him through the last waves of pleasure. Even as he softened, Gale continued to place delicate kisses along his length, each touch sending tiny sparks through his oversensitive flesh.

Finally, Gale pulled back. His expression was pure self-satisfaction—that particular brand of smugness he got when successfully casting a difficult spell. He settled between Astarion's thighs, resting his cheek against Astarion's belly and looking up at him with twinkling eyes.

"Well," Gale said, grinning. "That was rather spectacular, wasn't it?"

Astarion huffed a laugh, reaching down and running his fingers through Gale's disheveled hair. "Aren't we pleased with ourselves?"

"Mmm, shouldn't I be?" Gale pressed a kiss to Astarion's hip. "The sounds you made were quite encouraging."

"Insufferable." But Astarion couldn't keep the fondness from his voice. He traced his thumb along Gale's jaw, feeling the wizard's smile against his skin. Then he noticed Gale's obvious arousal still straining against his sleep pants. "What about you, darling? What would you like?"

"Oh, don't worry about—"

"Let me take care of you," Astarion purred, running his fingers through Gale's hair and then tugging gently. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Gale's face—or at least match it with one of his own.

Gale caught his hand, bringing it to his lips. "Actually, I had something else in mind." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he shifted the tilt of Astarion's hips. "If you're amenable?"

Astarion allowed himself to be repositioned, curiosity piqued. Then Gale's hands were on his ass, spreading him open, and—oh. The quick press of lips against his hole sent a jolt through him.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Only if you like that sort of thing." A wicked grin spread across Gale's face as he darted his tongue out, the quick, teasing flick against Astarion's sensitive rim sending electric shivers up his spine. The warmth of Gale's breath ghosted over his exposed flesh as the wizard pulled back just enough to catch his eye, one dark eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and the smugness radiating from him made Astarion want to both kiss and throttle him. Instead, he found himself caught in that questioning gaze, his own body trembling with anticipation for what might come next.

Heat pooled in Astarion's belly. He absolutely did like that sort of thing, when done well—and he was deeply convinced Gale knew how to do this well—though he couldn't resist teasing. "My, my. This seems rather focused on my pleasure again."

"Trust me," Gale chuckled, the sound rich with promise. "I'll get as good as I give, in the end." He reached for his nearby bag, rummaging until he produced a vial of oil. "But first—ground rules. If I tap twice anywhere on your body, I need verbal confirmation to continue. Three taps from either of us means stop immediately, no questions asked. Understood?"

Astarion nodded, already anticipating what was to come. "Crystal clear, darling."

Gale set the vial of oil nearby and pulled off his pants before settling back between Astarion's legs, his eyes locked on Astarion's.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice low and husky.

Astarion nodded, spreading his legs wider in invitation. Gale leaned in, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. He placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then another on his inner thigh, teasingly close to where Astarion wanted him most. Then, finally, Gale's mouth was on him, his tongue circling his rim, slick and hot and perfect.

Astarion gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Gale's hands steadied him, holding him open as his tongue worked its magic. He licked and sucked, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out each sensation until Astarion thought he might scream from the pleasure of it.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Alright?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

"Gods, yes," Astarion panted, his body already craving more. "Don't stop, Gale. Please..."

Gale grinned, his eyes dark with lust. "As you wish."

He dove back in, his tongue pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's tongue slipped inside, the sensation overwhelming. He could feel his body opening, welcoming the intrusion. His cock twitched, already hardening again with need.

Gale's tongue fucked him slowly, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. Gale tapped twice against his thigh.

"More," Astarion gasped, his hands fisting in the bedroll. "Gale, I need more..."

He could feel his control slipping, his body coiling tighter with each movement. And yet, he loved this feeling of control—of directing Gale, of guiding his own pleasure.

"Like this?" Gale asked, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. Before Astarion could respond, Gale's tongue was back, pressing deeper, pushing into him faster.

Astarion's breath hitched "Yes," he gasped. "Yes, like that."

Astarion sank back and rode the waves of pleasure for some time as Gale worked him, his body opening eagerly. Astarion's hips bucked upward, seeking more contact as a desperate whine escaped his throat. When Gale paused, tapping twice against his thigh in silent question, Astarion couldn't stop himself from begging.

"More," he pleaded, voice rough with need. He could feel himself flushing, the borrowed blood in his system rushing to color his pale skin. "I need... I need more inside of me."

Gale pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire and something softer, something Astarion couldn't quite name. Gale poured the oil over his fingers.

Gale's fingers circled his entrance, slick and smooth against his heated flesh. Astarion pushed back against the touch, craving more. While his fingers stroked, Gale put his mouth back to work, sucking one of Astarion's balls into his mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue.

Astarion cried out, his body jolting at the intense sensation. Gale's finger pressed into him, slow and steady, filling him perfectly. He could feel his body stretching, accommodating the intrusion. It was intense, overwhelming, and exactly what he needed.

Gale's mouth released him, moving to place soft kisses on his inner thighs. He nipped gently at the flesh, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through Astarion. All the while, his finger moved in and out, fucking him slowly.

"You're so tight," Gale murmured, his voice rough with desire. "So perfect, Astarion."

Astarion could only moan in response, his body coiling tighter with each thrust. Gale's mouth moved back to his balls, sucking the other one into his mouth. The sensation was intense, almost too much. But Astarion craved it, craved more.

Gale tapped twice against his thigh. Astarion nodded eagerly then gasped a yes, remembering their rule about confirmation. Gale's finger slipped out, leaving him feeling empty. But then, two fingers pressed against his entrance, circling, preparing.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice husky.

"Yes," Astarion panted. "Gods, yes, Gale. More."

Gale's fingers slid in, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed the sensation, his body opening to accommodate them. Gale's mouth moved up, kissing his hip, his stomach, his chest.

Finally, Gale was above him, his fingers still moving slowly. Astarion reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. He could taste himself on Gale's lips, and it sent a thrill through him.

Gale moaned into the kiss, his fingers picking up speed. Astarion's hands roamed over Gale's body, feeling the firm muscles under smooth skin. He reached down, wrapping his hand around Gale's cock.

Gale groaned, his hips bucking into the touch. Astarion stroked him slowly, matching the rhythm of Gale's fingers. The sensation of Gale's cock in his hand, hard and hot, sent a wave of desire through him.

Gale pulled back from the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "You feel so good to me. Does this feel good? Is it good for you?"

Astarion could only moan and nod in response, his body on fire with sensation. Gale's fingers curled inside him, hitting a spot that made him see stars. He cried out, his hand tightening around Gale's cock.

Gale's hips bucked, his breath hitching. "Astarion," he gasped. "If you keep doing that, I won't last long."

Astarion grinned, a wicked curve of his lips. But he didn't stop, didn't want to. He wanted to feel Gale come undone, wanted to know he was the cause.

"Isn't that the point, darling?" he purred, his thumb circling the sensitive tip of Gale's cock.

Gale paused, his breath hitching as Astarion's thumb dipped gently into the slit. His eyes locked onto Astarion's, a hesitant, almost vulnerable look in their depths.

"Astarion," he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. He tried again, his voice soft. "Can I... Would it be alright if I... came inside you instead? I want to be inside you."

Astarion's stomach flipped at the question, at the raw need in Gale's voice. He nodded, his own voice barely a whisper. "Yes, that would be… yes."

Gale's eyes fluttered closed briefly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. When he opened them again, they were dark with desire and something softer, something that made Astarion's chest ache.

Gale's fingers began to move again, scissoring and twisting to stretch him gently. Astarion stroked Gale lightly, matching his pace, drawing out soft gasps and whispered curses from the wizard. He could feel Gale's cock twitching in his hand, could feel the way Gale's body trembled with restraint.

A third finger joined the others, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed it, his body craving more. He rolled his hips, fucking himself on Gale's fingers, his own cock leaking onto his stomach.

Gale's eyes were locked onto the sight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gods, Astarion," he murmured. "You're so beautiful like this."

Astarion preened under the praise, his body flushing with heat. He wanted more, needed more. He was about to beg, to demand that Gale fuck him properly, when Gale pulled his fingers out. Before Astarion could protest, Gale gently unwrapped Astarion's hand from Gale's cock, slicking Astarion's hand with oil and placing it instead on Astarion's own length.

Astarion stroked himself lightly, his eyes never leaving Gale's. Gale watched him while he poured out more oil and stroked himself to spread it. Astarion found himself smiling at Gale and Gale smiling back as they touched themselves and watched each other for several long moments. Then Gale leaned over him again and lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion could feel his body tensing, anticipating the intrusion. He held Gale's eyes, seeing the reflection of his own need mirrored back at him.

Gale pushed in slowly, the stretch burning, the sensation overwhelming. Astarion's breath hitched, his hand stilling on his cock. Gale paused, his eyes searching Astarion's face. "Alright?" he asked softly.

Astarion nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. More, Gale. I need more."

Gale's hips flexed, pushing him deeper. Astarion could feel his body opening, accommodating Gale's length. It was intense, almost too much, but he craved it, craved more.

His hand began to move again, stroking himself as Gale sank into him fully and began to move, slowly. Their eyes were locked, their breaths coming in sync. It was intimate, raw, real. And it was terrifyingly beautiful.

Gale shifted, adjusting the angle of his hips. Astarion gasped as Gale's cock hit a spot inside him that sent sparks shooting through his nerves. "There," he panted, his hand tightening on his own cock. "Right there, Gale."

Gale smiled, a soft, intimate curve of his lips. He shifted again, settling into a rhythm that hit that spot perfectly with each thrust. Astarion could feel his body coiling tighter, the pleasure building with each movement.

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, all tongues and shared breath. Astarion stroked himself in time with Gale's thrusts, his body trembling with need. Gale's hips moved faster, his cock fucking Astarion deeply, while he whispered to Astarion tenderly.

Astarion moaned into Gale's mouth, his free hand grasping at Gale's shoulder, his back, any part of him he could reach. Gale's skin was slick with sweat, his muscles taut under Astarion's touch.

"Gale," Astarion gasped out between kisses. "It's good. You're so good."

Gale's breath hitched, his hips stuttering. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "You feel incredible. I'm close, love. I'm so close."

Astarion's heart—or the memory of it—swelled at the endearment. He tightened his grip on his cock, his body chasing release. "Me too," he panted. "Gale, I'm right there with you."

Gale's thrusts picked up speed, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside Astarion with each movement. Astarion's body tensed, his breath coming in short gasps.

Their mouths met again, their kiss sloppy and desperate. Astarion could taste the salt of Gale's sweat, could feel the wizard's heart pounding in his chest. He stroked himself faster, his body racing towards the edge.

"Come with me, Astarion," Gale whispered against his lips. "I want to feel you come around me."

Astarion moaned, Gale's words sending a shiver through him. His body tightened, his cock pulsing in his hand. He was right there, right on the edge. And Gale was there with him, his breath hitching, his body trembling.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Astarion felt connected, truly with someone, for the first time in centuries. And it was that look, that connection, that sent him tumbling over the edge.

His orgasm hit him like a storm, his cock pulsing in his hand as he came undone, his cum painting the space between their bodies. His body clenched around Gale, his muscles tightening as waves of pleasure crashed through him and zinged up his spine.

Gale groaned, his hips stuttering as Astarion's body gripped him tightly. "Astarion," he gasped, his voice rough with need. His hips moved faster, fucking Astarion deeply as he chased his own release.

Astarion could feel it, could feel Gale's cock swelling inside him, could feel the pulse as Gale came, filling him with hot, liquid warmth. Gale's hips jerked, his body trembling as he rode out his orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Astarion watched Gale's face as he came—eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack with pleasure, all that clever wit stripped away to raw need. Beautiful. His to witness. His to have.

"Say it," Astarion demanded, voice rough. "Tell me you're mine now."

"Yours," Gale gasped, still shuddering through the aftershocks. "Only yours, Astarion."

Astarion marveled at the words, spoken with such earnest abandon. He pulled Gale down for a messy kiss, tasting the salt of sweat on his lips. Gale slumped forward, his weight pressing Astarion into the bedroll, his cock still buried deep inside him. The wizard's skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his dark hair falling in his face as he scattered feather-light kisses across Astarion's chest. Each press of his lips felt like a benediction—reverent, tender, almost innocent compared to what they'd just done. Astarion's hands found their way to Gale's shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer, just holding on as if to anchor himself in the moment.

When Gale finally withdrew, they both gasped at the same instant—a shared, breathy "ah" of loss and sensitivity. Their eyes met, and Astarion couldn't help but smirk at their synchronized response, even as his body clenched around the sudden emptiness. Gale fumbled, managing a weak gesture. The sticky mess between them vanished with a shimmer of magic.

Astarion waited for the familiar crawl of shame to surface, that centuries-old reflex of self-loathing that always followed intimacy. The edges of it whispered at his consciousness—

"So," Gale murmured against his neck, "any editorial commentary on my performance? I do value your critical analysis."

A startled laugh escaped Astarion's throat. "Are you actually asking me to grade you?"

"Well, you've been quite thorough in your other assessments." Gale's hand splayed open on Astarion's chest, stroking softly. "I'd hate to miss an opportunity for academic discourse."

"Academic discourse?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Darling, if you want me to critique your technique, we should establish proper parameters for peer review."

"Ah yes, of course." Gale propped himself up on an elbow, eyes dancing. "Shall we start with methodology?"

The creeping darkness receded further as Astarion found himself grinning. "Your approach was..." He paused dramatically. "Adequate."

"Adequate?" Gale's mock offense was delightful. "I believe I heard rather more enthusiastic feedback in the moment."

"Perhaps a practical demonstration of improvements is in order?" Astarion stretched languidly before fixing Gale with an imperious look. "But first, hold me properly. I refuse to conduct this evaluation without appropriate accommodations."

Gale's smile softened as he gathered Astarion close, arranging them so Astarion's head rested on his chest. "Better?"

"Marginally." Astarion nestled closer, feeling unexpectedly safe in the circle of Gale's arms. "Though I may require extensive testing to be certain."

Gale's chest rumbled with laughter. "Extensive testing? Well, as a dedicated scholar, I could hardly refuse a request for thorough investigation."

Astarion hummed contentedly, tracing a finger along Gale's collarbone. The wizard's skin was warm against his cooler touch, and he could feel the steady thrum of Gale's heartbeat beneath his ear.

"Though I must point out," Gale continued, his fingers carding through Astarion's hair, "that proper research requires multiple trials under varying conditions."

"Does it now?" Astarion smirked against Gale's chest. "And I suppose you've already devised a testing schedule?"

"Naturally. Though we may need to adjust for... spontaneous variables."

Dawn's first light began filtering through the tent walls, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Astarion noticed but felt no burn, protected as he was by the tadpole's gift. Still, old habits died hard, and he pressed closer to Gale's warmth.

"Spontaneous variables?" Astarion affected an academic tone. "How very unscientific of you."

"Sometimes the best discoveries come from unexpected directions." Gale's voice was growing drowsy, but his arms tightened protectively around Astarion. "Like finding love in the margins of a manuscript."

Astarion's breath caught at the casual mention of love, but Gale just pressed a sleepy kiss to his temple and continued stroking his hair. They lay there as the morning light grew stronger, trading quiet murmurs and gentle touches, neither quite ready to face the day ahead.

* * *

Later that evening, Astarion watched Gale stir the pot over the campfire, the wizard's movements mechanical after a draining day. The day's revelations about Ketheric's past had left them all subdued. Another noble life twisted by circumstance—it felt sadder than Astarion cared to dwell on.

His fangs ached. These cursed lands offered nothing to hunt, and he was tired of rationing bottled blood. He uncorked another vial, grimacing at the stale taste. At least it took the edge off.

Gale served the others before retreating to his usual spot with his writing materials. The familiar scratch of quill on parchment filled the evening air. When Gale finally set aside his writing, he approached Astarion with an endearing mix of confidence and shyness. "I thought perhaps we might retire together first? The editing can wait until later."

"Eager to continue our other research project?" Astarion smirked, but his teasing tone couldn't quite mask his pleasure at the invitation. "And here I thought you were devoted to academic pursuits."

"I'd say this qualifies as field research." Gale held out his hand.

Astarion took it, but guilt suddenly twisted in his gut. He had to come clean. "I should tell you something. About why I originally offered to review your writing."

"Let me guess—you wanted to control how you were portrayed? Perhaps gather intelligence on the rest of us?"

Astarion stiffened. "You knew?"

"I suspected." Gale's thumb traced circles on Astarion's palm. "But your feedback was genuinely helpful, and I rather enjoyed where our collaboration led. Unless you regret—"

"No," Astarion cut in quickly. "No regrets. Though I'm beginning to think you're far more cunning than you let on."

Astarion allowed Gale to tug him back to Gale's tent, and they sat on the bedroll. Astarion noticed the wizard's hands fidgeting with the edges of his robes. Fascinating—Gale hadn't shown a trace of hesitation last night. Perhaps he was one of those who needed time to warm up each encounter? Astarion found himself holding back too, uncertain how to navigate this unfamiliar territory of a second night. He'd had more first nights with someone than he could count, but no second nights, none that he could remember anyway.

"I've been thinking," Gale started, then paused to adjust a stack of books that didn't need adjusting. "That is to say, I couldn't help but notice—well, observe really, in a purely academic sense of course—that the Shadow-Cursed lands have been particularly lacking in, shall we say, sustenance options for your specific dietary requirements."

Astarion blinked, trying to parse through Gale's nervous rambling. "Are you attempting to discuss my eating habits?"

"Yes! Well, sort of." Gale's hands stilled. "I've been remiss in my duties as camp cook, haven't I? Everyone else gets hot meals, while you make do with whatever you can find or brought with you."

The academic veneer cracked, revealing genuine concern underneath. Astarion's eyes flicked away at the care in Gale's voice.

"What I'm trying to say is—" Gale touched his own neck. "I think with the orb stabilized, well… I'm offering. If you'd like."

The words hit Astarion like ice water. Fresh blood. Willing blood. His fangs ached at the mere thought. He'd been denied the blood of thinking creatures so long, trained himself to reject even the possibility...

"You don't know what you're offering," he managed.

"I believe I do." Gale scooted closer. "I trust you."

Those three words scattered Astarion's thoughts completely. Trust. From someone who knew exactly what he was, who he had been. His gaze fixed on Gale's pulse point, watching it flutter beneath tanned skin.

Two firsts in one night. The thought drifted through his mind as he struggled to form words past the hunger suddenly roaring through him.

Astarion's attention snapped back to the present as Gale produced a scroll from his robes with a flourish.

"Lesser Restoration," Gale explained, setting it carefully on the cushions beside them. "Just in case. And I've been reading about proper recovery techniques—fascinating stuff really, though the texts are woefully lacking in practical application data. But the theory suggests that proper hydration and rest afterward are crucial. Not that this is any sort of transaction, mind you. The blood isn't payment for—well, for anything we've done or might do. Or for the editing either. Which has been invaluable, truly, but this is entirely separate from that arrangement—"

A smile tugged at Astarion's lips as he watched Gale's hands wave through increasingly elaborate gestures. The wizard's nervous rambling was oddly endearing, especially given how commanding he could be in other situations.

"—and I want you to know that while I'm certainly amenable to continuing our other activities, there's absolutely no expectation or obligation tied to this offer—"

Astarion moved before he could overthink it, sliding onto Gale's lap with practiced grace. The sudden motion cut off Gale's stream of words, his eyes widening slightly.

"Darling," Astarion purred, "you're talking too much." He caught Gale's mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing whatever response the wizard had been about to make.

Astarion broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Gale's. "Tell me again that you're mine."

"I'm yours." Gale's breath ghosted across his lips.

"Not Mystra's." Astarion's fingers curled into Gale's robes. "Mine."

"Yours." Gale's hands settled on his hips. "Only yours."

"And if anyone tries to take you from me?" The words slipped out before Astarion could stop them, vulnerability raw in his voice. "If Cazador—"

"I'll incinerate them to ash." Gale's tone hardened with an edge Astarion had rarely heard. "Sixth level fireball should do it, or—" He twisted, reaching for his scroll case. "I have a disintegrate spell in here somewhere that would work even better."

Astarion caught his hand, tiny sparks tickled his throat with something that felt dangerously like joy. "That's quite alright, darling. I believe you." He pressed his lips against Gale's mouth, delighting in how eagerly the wizard responded.

He found it all deeply gratifying. Following their many shared notes, his meticulous corrections and commentary, Gale had at last mastered the art of perfect responses. Maybe his role as a critic held more rewards than he'd initially thought.

Armed with red ink and centuries of snark, Astarion had set out to control his narrative—and lost control of his heart instead. He supposed if someone had to write his story, it might as well be Gale.

Though of course, he reserved editorial prerogative. Writing romance was tricky, and Gale's prose tended to be purple even when describing the most mundane activities. Astarion smiled into Gale's kiss as Gale pulled him closer. There was no need to worry. He was sure that between the two of them, they'd manage to get the ending right.

#bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #bloodweave #myfic #bg3 fanfic

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jnnul · 7 months ago

Text

nouvelle vague

a/n: i've been in a fever dream writing this fic, honestly. i kinda just needed to write it. it means so much to me that i did though because it's something that i wish that i had learned earlier and i just love this fic so much please love her like i have. and a huge HUGE thank you to xixi and soph for beta reading! couldn't have made this fic possible without you <3 quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 13.3k

tags: college au!, confusing love, y/n who can't get her life together, self-destructive mc x perfect donghyun with a sprinkle of best boy dongmin, so many good friends and so many lessons to be learned

warnings: explicit detail of sex (oral, foreplay, angry sex, unprotected sex...) underage drinking, and general college shenanigans! also heavy detailing of unhealthy relationships with stress, and academic pressures :(

playlist: nouvelle vague - wave to earth, fairy of shampoo - dosii, she - jannabi, 0310 - yerin baek

THERE WERE LOTS OF THINGS THAT YOU KNEW NOT TO DO.

don't leave the gas on, don't let sanghyeok lee cook anything, and don't get into pointless arguments with dongmin han that he gets overly competitive about winning.

"...which is why you've got to trust me when i say that mbti is a science that you can actually trust!"

"i don't know, min, i just think mbti is stupid. it's a pseudoscience at best, and that too is a complete overstatement," you say off-handedly, more preoccupied with finding the book you needed to write your essay on. dongmin scoffs, pressing a steepled hand to his chest in offense as he pulls down the book you were look for with the other.

"that sounds like something an intj would say," he counters, withholding the book from you. you stare at him unimpressed, arms folded over your chest.

"it sounds like something a logical person would say," you retort, waiting for him to relent and return your book. this behavior (much to your dismay) was nothing new and you knew your best friend well enough to just wait out his tantrums for you to be able to move on with your life.

dongmin looks at you expectantly and you sigh, hanging your head. "alright, alright, i'm not a logical person; i've just got a stick up my ass. are you happy now?"

your best friend harrumphs proudly and touches the book to both of your shoulders, as though he were knighting you. you roll your eyes and snatch the book from him, hugging it close to your chest for fear that he might steal it from you again.

"maybe if you actually had a stick up your ass once in a while, you wouldn't be such a killjoy all the time," dongmin snorts, narrowly dodging you when you wind up to smack him with the book (read: weapon) in your hand.

"alright so now since i haven't had sex in a while, i'm a killjoy?" you say as the both of you make your way back to the study room that you'd reserved in hopes that you'd actually get some work done today. although, you should've been wise enough to give up on such nonsensical ideas the moment dongmin texted/warned you that he would be gracing you with his presence.

"i still can't believe you won't tell me who you had sex with last. and besides, i don't think you're a killjoy," dongmin clarifies, opening the door for you to walk through. "but everyone else does."

"because i'm voluntarily celibate?"

"because you never go out anymore! you used to be so much fun, y/n. you used to be the girl that would have crazy stories from when she would party until five in the morning. the one who'd have boy after boy lining up in front of her door just to see if they would get a chance with you. not to mention the fact that you used be able to drink us all to shame. i still think you're an awesome and fun person without doing any of those things but i miss you sometimes, you know? i just can't help but wonder where that girl went and that's why everyone else can't understand why a person like you and i can be best friends when they see us now. because they don't know what you used to be like."

you sigh, tucking your hood over your shoulder as you begin to analyze the work in front of you.

"i didn't go anywhere, min and you know that. i don't care what other people think as long as my best friend knows the truth. and besides, that lifestyle was never going to be a sustainable one. i just decided that i wanted more out of life than just parties and bad grades," you explain patiently, eyes never leaving the neatly organized papers in front of you.

dongmin huffs and leans backwards into the booth, but he knows it's the truth. while he'd become friends with you because of your rambunctious and adventurous spirit back in freshman year, he'd chosen to remain best friends with you even later on because you were a good person - an ambitious person who wanted to make something out of their life.

"you can have both, you know," he mumbles and you smile gently at him before looking back down at your book.

"i know. you can have both because you were smart and made sure your grades never slipped. i didn't do that and now i'm paying the price," you remind him, and you can sense dongmin's protest about your self-deprecating statement bubbling up but he's interrupted when the study room door opens and a series of people begin to file in.

"hey, so sorry to have to kick you out but we have the room reser - wait. dongmin? what are you doing in a study room, man?" one of the men who'd walked in says.

you don't pay attention to the people walking in as you begin to gather your materials, leaving the socializing to your much more extroverted best friend. you check your watch, cursing under your breath when you realize that you'd spent too much time looking for the book and dongmin’s antics. you were supposed to switch from this study room to the one next door, because that one was available for a long period of time but only opened up right as the current one was going to be occupied.

"eh, i just came to bother y/n," dongmin says with a bored tone that everyone in the room knows is a front. "what are you guys doing here? don't you have a musty basement to throw a rager in?"

this leads all of the men and women who walked in to snicker, pointing at the poor soul who'd decided to take it up with dongmin today.

"you're basically in the frat too," the man protests and you finally register him to be jeongwoo park, one of dongmin's heaps of friends in the tsr frat.

"yeah but you have to pay to drink your own alcohol with your own dues," dongmin points out, snickering at jeongwoo. "i drink your alcohol for free."

"i say we ban this kid from our parties," another voice, hyunwoo kim pipes up, and a chorus of 'yeah's' and 'shut up jeongwoo' rise up simultaneously from both sides of the conversation. you fail to keep in your giggle as you watch dongmin get banned from the tsr frat in realtime (that you know he's going to charm his way out of somehow anyway), causing some of the people to turn their attention to you.

"y/n! how are you babe? it feels like it's been a century since we've last seen you!" one of the girls, jihyo han, says warmly and you give her a shy smile.

"i'm doing alright. swamped with projects," you say, lifting your arms up to showcase the number of books and papers you were balancing and doyeon coos sympathetically.

"that's what double majoring in english literature and architecture does to you but the woman doesn't listen to me," dongmin says, jostling you jestfully. you turn to chide him for pushing you when you accidentally lose grip of all of your work, causing it to tumble to the ground in what feels like slow-motion into heaps of unorganized messes.

"dongmin!" you hear hyunwoo scold as you swoop down to gather everything into your arms once more. another figure joins you on the ground, scooping papers into a neat stack with nimble fingers and strong arms. you look up to make eye contact with donghyun kim, immediately averting your eyes when you do, afraid of what he might find in them if he kept looking at you for too long.

"thanks," you mumble when donghyun hands you the papers he's collected and he just offers you a soft smile.

"it does feel like it's been a while since we've seen you around, y/n. even sanghyeok complains that he hasn't seen you at their place lately," donghyun says gently and you're left to shrug helplessly as you adjust to grasp at the stray pages more carefully.

"ah. yeah. i haven't really gone over to dongmin and sanghyeok's place lately because i've been in the library most of the time," you say and donghyun nods, silent as he watches you with that knowing gaze that sets your every nerve on fire.

sometimes, you wonder if donghyun knows how much of an impact he has on those around him just by the way he looks at them.

you don't have feelings for donghyun - at least no feelings worth discussing with anyone and none that you were ever willing to recall - but you're sure that pretty any one with a pair of eyes and a functioning heart could acknowledge just how attractive he was.

you were almost 99.99% sure that even if what had happened between you and donghyun hadn't happened, anyone's heart would skip at least once when they talked to him.

"i'm gonna go to the other study room," you announce hurriedly to no one in particular and dongmin takes it as his cue to bid his friends farewell as the two of you make your way to the study room.

"feel free to come to our room if it gets too loud or crowded in here!" dongmin yells over his shoulder, much to your dismay and to the chagrin of the librarian sitting at her desk a few yards away.

"sorry!" he exclaims, equally as loud, and the librarian just rolls her eyes with a forgiving smirk tugging at her lips. of course dongmin had managed to charm her too. you'd be surprised if your best friend left anyone with two legs and a heartbeat on this campus without at least an attempt to get into their pants.

or vice versa. mostly vice versa.

"oh that reminds me. sanghyeok asked me if you wanted to come to movie night this friday. you've skipped out on the last three because of work and exams but you're finally gonna be submitting all the big ones by this thursday so i don't want to hear any excuses on why you can't come to movie night. alright? alright. besides, all of the guys from our - your freshman year are gonna be there. and also, sanghyeok is gonna bring his girlfriend too so you won't be the only girl," dongmin says, his words firing out of his mouth in rapid succession.

you just nod in understanding, knowing that this shouldn't be the hill that you died on when it came to dongmin's antics.

"and i also may or may not have promised that you'd come to jaehyun's party on saturday," dongmin adds sheepishly and this finally catches your attention.

"movie night is one thing but a party is another thing, dongmin! is it a frat party or a clubbing type event? how long is the event? do you need me to send a present for him or something? isn't it his birthday soon?" you interrogate and dongmin just throws a pencil at you and puts his index finger to his lips to shush you.

"woman, do you ever shut up?" he sasses, immediately raising his hands in surrender when your eyebrows lift so high, they disappear into your hairline. "what i mean is, jaehyun said that he would give me the number of that cute girl from your structural design class that you won't give me if you come to his party."

"how does he know her? and what does that have to do with my attendance at his party?" you ask and dongmin shrugs, leaning over the table.

"it's jaehyun. he knows everything about everyone," dongmin reminds you and you have to concede to that. "and i'm not kidding when i say that people miss you y/n. you're still that fun person when you're away from your work and people haven't seen that side of you in so long. you've gotta oblige jaehyun on his birthday, don't you think?"

"...i'll think about it," you say with a sigh after a few beats of contemplation. "as long it's not a 'rager in a musty basement' like jeongwoo's parties."

dongmin lifts three fingers solemnly. "scout's honor. it's not going to be a rager in a musty basement. now please. finish your work! i'm hungry and sanghyeok promised ramen from the ramen bar."

+++

to dongmin's credit, the movie night was actually a breath of fresh air from your constant cycle of work, school, and stress. sanghyeok's girlfriend, jayoon sim, was the sweetest girl you'd ever met in your life, back when you'd met her at the beginning of the year. she was very similar to sanghyeok in the fact that she was outgoing and on the louder side but it was heartwarming to see sanghyeok start to mellow out to balance her spark.

it wasn't as though sanghyeok was toning down his personality for her - if anything, the two of them were even more chaotic together - but he seemed to like riding the backseat of the conversation more often as jayoon went on some tangent or another of the plot of the movie.

which led to lots of moments where the movie was paused by one of the five boys present at movie night (more often than not, it was sungho park, who was more intrigued by jayoon's tangents than the movie itself) and lots of popcorn being eaten in those breaks.

and that was how you found yourself standing in sanghyeok's kitchen, popping another bag of popcorn - the fourth bag in the past hour. sanghyeok had offered but you knew from personal experience that sanghyeok plus any form of cooking equals fire.

you personally thought it was a talent to be that talentless at cooking but dongmin, sanghyeok's roommate and the unfortunate soul who had to put out said fires, was not nearly as amused as you were.

"do you need any help?" you hear a voice ask behind you. you turn to make eye contact with donghyun, standing in the space that separated the kitchen from the foyer where you could faintly hear jaehyun myung and dongmin get into yet another argument about the logistics of whether or not batman could feasibly buy the mona lisa.

"it's just popping a bag of popcorn," you answer. donghyun laughs, taking another step forward into the kitchen.

"and yet sanghyeok manages to destroy the bag and the popcorn every single time," donghyun reminds you and you shrug, slipping your phone into your pocket.

"it's hard to do. you have to give him that," you admit and he laughs again, shaking his head.

"touché."

there's a blanket of silence that falls over the conversation, the argument in the other room providing background noise so it doesn't grow awkward.

you knew donghyun wasn't much of a talker but at this point, you just didn't know what to say to him anymore. he wasn't a stranger to you - he was close to dongmin, and prior to that, you had been pretty close to the five boys. they'd been the boys that you'd gone out with most of the time during the second half of freshman year and the beginning of sophomore year.

donghyun had seen you in a number of embarrassing situations; granted, most of them were while you were blackout drunk, but the number of times that you were in asaid state during the first half of your college education was embarrassing enough.

and he'd seen you...he'd seen all of you. he'd seen too much of yourself and it made you want to stuff yourself deep underground so you could escape his knowing gaze.

so while donghyun kim was no stranger to you, this new version of you was a stranger to him.

it was an odd feeling: having the knowledge of a shared past that neither of you could fully relate to any longer, and having mentalities that extended in distinctly different directions in the present.

donghyun was the prime example of being able to have it all. from what you knew about him from the past three years of tentatively close friendship, you knew that he was a strong academic who would skip out on a party here and there to make sure he could study the next morning but could be convinced into having a good time pretty much anywhere.

you've heard of a good many adventures from dongmin just this year about how the five of them had found themselves in abandoned malls or parties at the college neighboring yours, which was infamous for its ability to throw a rager for pretty much any reason.

if anything, the strongest feeling that you felt towards donghyun kim was sheer, unadulterated, pure jealousy. how could one person be so well-balanced while it felt like you were fighting an uphill battle everyday just to get everything done?

that jealousy was what had landed you in the situation you were in now: filled to the brim with stress and ready to pop at any moment. it was also that envy which had led to that mistake at the beginning of sophomore year between you and donghyun.

"y/n? are you okay?" donghyun asks, waving a hand in front of your face. you blink, turning belatedly to open the microwave door, only to see that donghyun had already done it for you.

"sorry. i spaced out for a second," you mumble, and busy yourself by searching for a new bowl, seeing as the one in the foyer was still somewhat filled with popcorn.

"you really need to take breaks more often, y/n. i feel like the stress of constantly being on the go is getting you," donghyun echoes from behind you and for some reason, the concern in his voice makes you ashamed and angry more than anything else.

easy for you to say donghyun, you want to say. everything comes easy to you. you didn't fuck up like i did. you don't have to fight everyday to make sure that you actually have a future worth living for because you weren't young and stupid.

but all you actually say is, "yeah, you're definitely right."

you avoid donghyun's heavy gaze as you pour the popcorn into the bowl, silently willing him to go back to the foyer so you could simmer in your embarrassment in peace but to your dismay, he doesn't leave.

"you're incredibly intelligent and hard-working. but if you don't give yourself a break sometimes, you're just going to burn out. i wish you'd come back to us sometimes. you can't ruin your present for your future," he says softly, and suddenly everything is just too much.

his words strike a chord in your mind somewhere and you can feel your strong front start to crumble.

you want to yell at him, scream that he had no right to tell you how to live your life and that you were going to lay in the pile of sins that you'd committed. but for some reason, all you can do is try and fight back tears.

it makes you feel so incredibly embarrassed that you'd worked so hard for the past two years to ensure that you'd never slip up. that your mistakes from freshman year and the first half of sophomore year wouldn't catch up to you.

you'd worked on yourself, working on controlling your lust for going out and having fun. on not getting affected by when people would ask you to come out with them, only to reject them for fear of what would happen to your academics. you'd worked on not showing any signs of being tired or scared of your future.

just to cry. just to cry here in front of donghyun in sanghyeok's kitchen. not in the privacy of your home where no one could see you. but the exact place in front of the exact person that you didn't want to see you cry at all.

you hastily wipe at your tears, willing them to stay in the confinement of your eyes before you could let them fall in a place that would deliver such a blow to your ego or your social standing.

donghyun is taken aback, you can tell by the way that his usually impassive face has a hint of worry written into the lines of his forehead that crinkle as he watches you try to put yourself together.

"can you give this popcorn to the others? i just need to use the restroom really quickly," you whisper hoarsely, not daring to look at donghyun in the eyes as you rush out of the kitchen, trying your best to look alright and conceal the fact that you were crying in front of the five other people in the foyer.

you know you're unsuccessful though when you hear footsteps growing louder and louder as they approached the bathroom and it takes every ounce of your strength to keep from crying harder.

"y/n? you okay? you looked kinda hurried going into the bathroom." it's dongmin, and you contemplate for a moment before slowly opening the bathroom door, pulling him in and he immediately wraps you into a hug as soon as he sees your tear-streaked face.

"i'm okay. i just really need a hug right now," you manage to warble out, and dongmin's arms just get tighter around your shoulders. you try to come down, steadying your breathing as you try to keep fresh tears from falling down your cheeks when a knock sounds at the door.

"it's me," donghyun says and you want to curse him out. you want to tell him to leave you alone. that you didn't want to talk to him and that you wanted him to stop judging you and your choices. instead, you lean over, breaking away from dongmin, to click open the bathroom door.

"i'm so sorry," he says softly and you shake your head, giving him a mirthless smile.

"i've just been super high-tension for the past couple of days with all of the submissions and i just - i just kinda fell apart. sorry you had to see that."

donghyun steps forward, and dongmin steps back, letting go of where his arm was resting on your shoulder.

"i didn't mean to make you feel bad, y/n. i was just worried about you. i know what it's like to feel that kind of pressure and i just hated to see one of my...friends in that level of stress," he continues, glancing at dongmin when he says the word friend, and dongmin steps around you in the tiny bathroom to reach the door.

"i'm gonna leave you two alone. don't do anything i would do," he warns with a stupid grin and despite the situation, you find yourself laughing, threatening to throw the toothpaste at him.

"he's so dumb," you say under your breath and donghyun watches you carefully.

"he's a good friend," he remarks and you nod, pulling at the toilet paper to wipe your tears away.

"he's the best friend i could ever ask for," you agree and donghyun's expression doesn't change but his demeanor grows a little more hesitant.

"we all thought you guys were gonna start dating, you know. i mean, he's the one person who stuck by you through everything," he confesses and you immediately shake your head, the very thought of it making you want to gag.

"dongmin and i? no way. he's my best friend but i could never see him as my boyfriend. we're more like siblings than any sort of romantic relation; i'd fax his soul directly to satan if he asked me for my fries but i'd give my kidney to him," you explain and donghyun relaxes a bit, leaning against the wall behind him as he watches you clean yourself up.

"he hasn't talked to you about how much stress you're putting on yourself?"

"i'm doing fine, donghyun. i really do appreciate that you have my best interests in mind but dongmin's the one who's been there for every single step i've made. if he doesn't think that there's an extreme cause for concern, no offense, but i really don't see why you do."

donghyun has nothing to say to that, and although he probably should, he doesn't feel hurt at all. you were right. donghyun knew you as an outsider, compared to dongmin and even sanghyeok, and didn't know how much stress (or lack thereof) there really was in your life.

but he couldn't explain why he was so worried or why he missed your old troublemaking tendencies so much. or why he missed your strange ideas of a good time or unnecessary dialogues during movie nights. he couldn't explain why he missed the heat of your body on cold nights or why he replayed that fateful night in his mind over and over again.

this was the first movie night that you'd been to in a while from donghyun's knowledge but what did he know? he was only at this movie night because dongmin invited the old freshman/sophomore year gang to start their friday movie nights tradition once more instead of them just being sanghyeok, you, and dongmin.

so when you slip past him, not only does donghyun find himself at a loss for words, but he also finds himself more confused than he had been before your conversation.

at least he could figure it (whatever it was) at jaehyun's party tomorrow.

+++

the one redeeming factor of your attendance of jaehyun's party in exchange for dongmin's sexcapades, in your opinion, was that it was not in fact hosted in a musty basement.

jaehyun had taken it upon himself to host his party in the penthouse of his apartment (rich people had the strangest ways of spending their money), which was definitely a step up from what you were expected.

unfortunately, the sheer number of people in that party who were present, on top of the number of people who were surprised at your presence was more than a little bit overwhelming.

you'd forgotten just how loud these parties got, and if you weren't already over the legal drinking age, you'd be extremely worried about being caught dead near this many drunk people.

not that you hadn't done your fair share of illegal consumption of ethanol but that was something you chose not to dwell upon.

"Y/N! I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE HERE! I MISSED YOU SO MUCH SINCE YESTERDAY!" you hear someone scream over the obnoxiously loud music, and immediately, your vision goes black as jaehyun bearhugs you, clearly too drunk to be fully present in the situation at hand.

"jaehyun! happy birthday!" you manage to squeak out, hitting dongmin in the arm to pry jaehyun off of you. you'd convinced dongmin to stick with you the whole time during the party in exchange for you actually showing up and he'd declared that he'd serve as your bodyguard during jaehyun's party for times like these.

"alright bud, i don't think she's ever gonna come back to a party if you squeeze her to death," dongmin warns jaehyun, peeling the energetic boy off of you. jaehyun pouts, not looking unlike his dog (the cutest golden retriever named juno) as he shakes his head stubbornly.

"no! she has to come back! she's so much fun! she's the life of the party!" he exclaims, searching through the throng of people for a cup of whatever nasty concoction you were sure sungho had come up with.

you should've known better than to come to this party, you lament. any of jaehyun's parties always turned into ragers from the absolutely insane number of people that he knew.

but soon enough, jaehyun is shoving a cup into your hand, the suspicious liquid in it sloshing around dangerously as he teeters backward into a tall figure.

"careful, dude. you don't want to end up in the emergency room on your birthday again," the figure says, catching jaehyun's body in his arm.

you internally groan. donghyun.

"ugh no. i hated going to the emergency room last year for my birthday," jaehyun whines with a strong tone of sheer pout staining his words.

"that's what i thought. where's sungho?" donghyun asks, and you figure that sungho must've been put on jaehyun duty for the night, as the man was a total lightweight and was known for endangering himself more than anyone else whenever he had a single drop of alcohol in his system.

"sungho! OH MY GOD SUNGHO!" jaehyun yells, slipping out of donghyun's grasp in search of his more than likely tired friend.

"that guy needs a girlfriend," dongmin sighs and you roll your eyes.

"why? so some poor girl can get tasked with dealing with jaehyun's mess every time he gets drunk?"

"nah. every time jaehyun gets a girlfriend, he turns into such a clean drunk it's crazy. i think he subconsciously feels bad that his girlfriend has to take care of him so he does it on purpose," donghyun explains and you hum, examining the substance in your cup with a critical eye.

you never knew that jaehyun had had a girlfriend. or more than one girlfriend at that. you were pretty close with jaehyun once upon a time. why hadn't he told you when he started dating someone? had you really become that out of touch with your friends?

all because you decided that you didn't want to party anymore?

no. that wasn't it. your friends weren't people like that. it was probably because you declined every single invitation that they'd extended to you to hang out with them.

a guilty weight settles in your chest as you start thinking about just how many times your friends had invited you to do things with them over the past year and a half. in the moment, you'd always had something that you needed to do. something to submit, something to do for extra credit, something to do to get better grades.

but now that you looked back on the past year and a half, you could only remember the events they'd invited you to, and just a handful of truly important assignments you'd needed to submit.

"you don't need to drink that," donghyun says, extending his hand for you to deposit the drink into. dongmin looks between you and donghyun, confused by the sudden offer. donghyun never went black knight for anyone else - much less women he wasn't all that close to.

even when you were a well integrated member of their friend group, you had never been particularly close to donghyun, from what dongmin remembered. the two of you were close enough to embark on drunken adventures separate from the group maybe once or twice but definitely not close enough to mention those adventures to dongmin in explicit detail.

not close enough for donghyun to drink a drink for you.

it's clear that you think the same thing (for different reason, however) when you lift the cup to your lips, staring at donghyun straight in the eyes as you tip your head back, drinking all of the contents of the cup in one straight go.

donghyun smirks, watching you drink the whole cup, aware that you were proving a point to him.

you don't need to keep trying to worry for me. i can handle myself.

the message is clear in your eyes as you lock eyes with him, wiping the excess liquid on your lips with the back of your hand, the challenge explicit in the way you look at him.

"too much pride is no good for you," donghyun quips and you roll your eyes.

"it's not pride. i just know that i can handle my alcohol. i don't need you to worry about me or worry about whether i can or not," you retort. "you worry about me when i study too much. you worry about me when i party. when are you not worried about me donghyun? why are you even so worried in the first place?"

"because we used to be good friends," donghyun counters but his argument isn't all that strong, by the way his voice wavers when you step a step too close to him - so close that he can smell the cinnamon of your perfume.

"were we? we were friends, sure. but were we good friends, donghyun? we just went out together. we hung out with the group but we weren't all that close. not...not until... not close enough for you to be suddenly popping back into my life with advice that i don't need and i didn't ask for!" you can't help but raise your voice, searching blindly for dongmin's arm and dragging him with you, chest heaving in anger as you storm away from donghyun.

"what the hell?" dongmin is left to ponder. "has the alcohol already kicked in?"

+++

"don't talk to me right now," you seethed, pushing at donghyun's chest as you walked faster towards the rest of your friends, somewhere further up the street, laughing and shoving each other.

"i don't even know what i did!" donghyun exclaimed, using those stupidly long legs so that he was walking backwards, face to face with you. "why are you so fucking mad at me?"

"you seriously don't know?" you yelled, and you saw dongmin turn around to see what was taking the two of you so long, unaware of the bomb he'd dropped, but he's turned back around just as fast by sungho, who had an extremely drunk jaehyun on his back and clearly needed dongmin's help carrying their lightweight friend who was a heavyweight in body weight when drunk.

"i seriously don't know!" donghyun repeated, his arms flying up to show you how frustrated he was. of course he didn't know. there was no way that he could know just how upset you were with his perfection. of course dongmin had to mention that donghyun had a 4.0 gpa. of course he could come out every night with you and your friends and still maintain that gpa.

of course he didn't have to worry about whether he would even get a job in the future because he'd failed a class or two. of course he could go out every night. of course he could drink his weight in alcohol and still function the next day. of course he could get any girl he wanted just by looking at them for a second too long.

"i hate you," you whispered, almost as if the words had escaped the dark recesses of your mind against your own will.

"what?" donghyun asked incredulously, swooping down to catch the noxious words falling from your painted lips.

"i said, i hate you." your eyes were fierce, shining with a dangerous light that donghyun had never expected from you and had never seen before. you looked like the picture of peril, a knife poised at his throat, threatening to draw blood.

it was an emotion that was so raw that donghyun found himself leaning even closer, absolutely intoxicated by the reckless way that you refuse to hide the challenge in your eyes.

"are you guys coming or what?" sanghyeok call out from where the rest of your friends were, some ten yards ahead of you. donghyun waved him off, his stare never leaving yours.

"we're going back to my place. i've gotta show y/n something," donghyun yelled back and you can't help the sneer that draws upon your lips and if donghyun weren't beyond turned on, he was sure that he would find it a little concerning.

it wasn't everyday, after all, that one of your good friends mentions that she despises you. especially not a good friend that you found incredibly attractive.

the rest of them turned back around, leaving you and donghyun to simmer in this strange energy. competition, charged with something else much more primal - anger and lust.

the entire walk to donghyun's place is silent. it was just a five minute walk from where you'd split from your friends but those five minutes feel excruciating as you feel a dark sense of excitement sit deep in your core, making you feel split in two directions.

the first direction was much more logical: you were jealous of donghyun's ability to handle it all and you wanted to just yell at him and scream until your throat went hoarse.

the second direction was stronger and much less logical: you were incredibly drawn to donghyun and you wanted him to fuck your throat until it went hoarse.

same end goal, but different ways of pursuit.

the second direction ends up winning out when you found yourself pressed up against donghyun's door the second you step out of the elevator and into his studio apartment, donghyun walking you backwards so that you shut the door with the movement.

his lips stayed tantalizingly close to yours as he reached up to lock the door, his hand falling down so that it was cupping your cheek and his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of discomfort.

"look, are you going to fuck me or not?" you whispered harshly and he barks out a laugh, his other hand moving from where it was resting by his side to caress your waist.

"you've got so much anger in you, y/n. what did i do for you to hate me so much?"

"does it matter? i'm telling you to fuck me. either i leave without a heart to heart and you can jerk yourself off or i leave without a heart to heart but you cum inside a pussy tonight instead of your hand," you bit back.

donghyun's breath was shallow as he assessed you, making sure that you were in the right mind and could make decisions for yourself. if you really knew what you were asking for.

the thought of it pissed you off.

"i just don't know if this is a good idea," he admitted and you straightened up, hand reaching next to you to turn the doorknob. you didn't need someone who was going to be so apprehensive. so now you weren't even good enough to fuck?

"i'm leaving then," you said donghyun's hand immediately covered your own, pulling it back and over his shoulder so that one of your hands was resting at the nape of his neck.

you circled the other one to link your arms around his neck, forcing him to bend even further so that he was eye level with you now, lips so close that he can practically taste the flavor of your lip gloss.

"do you want me to leave donghyun? do you think this a bad idea?" you asked, purposefully letting the venom of all of your emotions drip into your voice. you're being unfair, you knew that, but it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter when he was so close and yet so far from you and you couldn't even think straight.

"fuck you." his voice ghosted over your lips, and the two of you stayed like that for a moment, equally proud and unwilling to be the one to give in and kiss in the other.

but donghyun's patience clearly wasn’t as strong as your ego when his lips pressed against yours, too gentle for your taste. you wrapped your arms a little tighter around him, letting him rest his hands low on your back, still too careful.

"i said i hated you and this is the best retaliation you've got?" you whispered, and it's like a switch turns on in donghyun's brain. his hands leave their position on your back to cup your cheeks harshly, tilting your head up so he could kiss you deeper.

you sigh against his lips, a smirk tugging at your own as you finally achieve the level of animosity you were looking for. you didn't want to have sex with donghyun. you didn't want to make love with him.

you wanted to be fucked. ruined. unable to think straight.

which was why you let him kiss you stupid, your lips swollen from the force of his own. it was as though the two of you were inseparable; his hands roamed your body freely, claiming every square inch of it for himself.

he tugged you forward harshly, lips never detaching from yours, hands reaching lower and lower until they finally settled on your ass, and you couldn't help the shallow gasp that left your mouth when he squeezed experimentally, a cocky grin melting into your kiss when he hears the soft noise.

he turned the two of you so that you were walking backwards as donghyun walked you into his bedroom, finally pulling away when your knees buckled as they hit the bed, making you fall backwards onto it.

he didn't even give you a moment to think as his lips descended on you once more, even more insistent and rough than before as he let you slip his leather jacket off his body.

his lips left yours, descending further down your body until they reached the hem of your strapless top, leaving wet kisses and blooming bruises in a heady rush.

"y/n, you have to tell me if you want me to stop." donghyun's voice came out strained and you knew that he was exercising every bit of self control to keep from fucking you stupid.

unfortunately, that was exactly what you wanted from him.

"donghyun. i'm not going to say it again. fuck me stupid."

that was all he needed before he was practically ripping at your top, pulling it off of you harshly before diving in to suck hickeys down your chest, unbuttoning your jeans at the same time.

he tugged them off in one motion, leaving you in nothing but a bandeau bra and your underwear.

"thought you were gonna get lucky tonight?" he asked with an eyebrow raised as he looked at your panties - which were fortunately, and unfortunately, the sexiest ones that you owned. lacy and thin and everything.

"yeah. thought i was gonna finally fuck sunghoon park again. that man knows how to fuck a girl into the headboard," you retorted and you could tell that you'd gotten under your skin by the way that he reached forward to pull at the strap of your panties, letting the elastic snap against your waist with a painful sting.

"you're such a little brat. you need someone to fuck that attitude out of you. didn't know you had such a fucking dirty mouth on you," donghyun growls, and you would've come up with some equally as brutal response when donghyun pulled his shirt over his head with one hand.

you'd seen donghyun shirtless before. multiple times, honestly, with the number of times dongmin tries to pull you guys into random bodies of water whenever he got drunk. but seeing him in that moment felt like your blood was made of lava that was coursing through your body, rushing to settle in your core.

"you're so pretty but you're so bitchy sometimes, you know that?" donghyun taunted, hovering over you so that his gold necklace hit the bridge of his nose as he leaned over, pushing you up the bed so that your head hit the pillows.

"heard someone was gonna fuck the attitude out of me?"

donghyun smiled a wolfish smile, and pulled your underwear down, almost painfully slow as he watched you squirm, clearly unhappy with his pace.

he threw them behind him somewhere that you knew you were going to have to search for in the morning but it didn't matter in that moment.

no. all that mattered was that donghyun's lips were on your core, licking an experimental stripe, grinning proudly when he saw you shiver. he dove back in, enthused by the groans leaving your lips.

his lips were unrelenting, his tongue darting out to dip into your pussy, leaving you at his mercy. your hands reached out to tug on donghyun's hair insistently, incredibly overwhelmed by just how good he was making you feel.

"fuck. pull harder," he groaned, his hot breath fanning over your pussy, causing goosebumps to run up your spine.

you giggle, a sound that sounds out of place in such a situation, but you didn't care and obliged, pulling on his hair even harder. he groaned, leaning in to eat you out with even more vigor, his hands on your clit and rubbing at it in just the right motion. you'd laugh at his conflict if you weren't otherwise preoccupied with the hot ball of pleasure growing in your core.

donghyun watched you carefully as he pulled away, instead replacing his tongue with just one finger, waiting to see if you'd show any signs of discomfort. when you didn't, he moved his finger in and out slowly, adding another when he noticed you started to get impatient with his ministrations.

"trust me, there's nothing i want to do more than to fuck you dumb. but i can't do that if i can't be convinced that i'm not to break you in half with my cock," he whispered.

"i don't think you're big enough for that," you snarked back and donghyun just offered you a shit-eating grin and added another finger, watching for any sign that you might tap out. holy fuck. was he actually that fucking big?

he picked up the pace, fucking you faster and rougher, his fingers slipping out for just a moment as he adjusted himself so that he was laying next to you before continuing again at an even more brutal pace.

"fuck!" you can't help but yelp, one of your hands finding one of donghyun's, as his fingers move at almost mind-numbing speeds.

"i told you someone needed to fuck the attitude out of you. now look what you've done to yourself," he crowed almost condescendingly. if you weren't so blinded by the sheer pleasure of his fingers, you'd probably cuss him out.

"fuck, fuck, fuck! fuck donghyun i think i'm gonna cum!" you cried out.donghyun simply nodded at you, and you took that as a sign to cum. but just as you start to feel yourself topple over the edge of the cliff you were standing on into the pit of pleasure, donghyun rips your pleasure away from you.

he pulled his fingers out of your pussy, watching you squirm and convulse as your hips bucked pathetically, searching for some way to taste the pleasure you were so close to attaining.

"baby doll, you should've known better than to assume that i'd let you cum for the first time on my fingers rather than my cock," donghyun preened mockingly, kicking his own jeans off in the same motion as his briefs.

"fuck you, donghyun." it was all you managed to conjure up through your tears as you tried to catch your breath, only to have to wind knocked out of you once more when you caught sight of donghyun's cock.

"oh hell no, that's not going inside my pussy," you gasped, and donghyun smiled despite himself, and ran his fingers over your hair gently.

"it's big but that's why i prepped you so much, isn't it?" his tone makes it clear that there's no real question in his words. you were the one who'd said you wanted to be fucked stupid. donghyun was the one to make good on that wish.

"just go slow," you grumbled and donghyun nodded, lining up at your entrance carefully.

"can't promise that i'll go slow for too long - fuck!" donghyun cut himself off as he slipped the tip of his dick into your hot core and immediately, both of you let out a groan.

if just his tip was enough to make you feel a stretch after he ate you out and fingered you, you had no idea how you were going to fit the rest of him inside you.

if just the entrance of your pussy was enough to have donghyun's head spinning, he had no idea how he was going to fit the rest of him inside you without immediately coming.

he slid in slowly, forearms resting on either side of your face for stability, that stupid gold chain smacking you in the face with his every slight movement.

it would feel degrading if you weren't turned on beyond belief, you were pretty sure.

"god," you let out softly and donghyun couldn't help but agree as he sheathed himself completely inside you. if donghyun would be allowed to see the pearly gates of heaven, he was vaguely sure that it would feel a lot like this.

"tell me when i can move," he grit out, exercising his self-control to the fullest he's ever had to.

"you can move," you whimpered, equally close to losing your mind.

he pulled out so that just the tip was in your pussy before snapping his hips forward, knocking the breath out of you with the motion. he continued that agonizingly slow until both of you got fed up, and finally picked up the pace.

"your pussy is perfect, you know that?" he growled, fucking into you with fluid and quick motions that make you feel as though you've established permanent residence on cloud nine.

"you're not too bad yourself," you huffed out and a short breath leaves donghyun as his movements grow harsher.

"clearly i'm not doing a good job of fucking you stupid if you can respond to me," he said.

he made good on his promise that night, fucking into you deep and rough until you both came in a symphony of moans, chests heaving as he collapsed next to you, utterly spent.

maybe if you'd said something other than what you did in that moment, things wouldn't have turned out this way. but the reality was that it was those words that ultimately dug you into your grave.

you finally spoke some ten minutes later, when your brain wasn't so fuzzy you didn't know where to pick words from.

"i wish you weren't so fucking perfect, donghyun. i just can't...just forget this happened. please. it's not like we're going to get into a relationship because of this. and i don't want to face our friends right now. so just forget any of this happened."

you'd gathered your clothes and dashed out of his apartment, the buzz from earlier in the night completely gone, along with any chance of donghyun ever figuring out why from that day onwards, you'd started completely avoiding your friends and your past, running towards a future you so desperately wanted to grasp, even if you didn't know how to.

and as he fell back against his sheets, facing the ceiling, donghyun realized just one thing: something in you had changed. but was it for the better or for the worse?

+++

dongmin lets out a low whistle, followed by a crinkle of his nose.

"you could've let out the explicit details, you know," he bemoans, pressing his hands over his ears, as though he could reverse time and delete the story you'd revealed to him from his mind by doing so.

"you said you wanted to the whole truth on why i was being so bitchy to dongmin," you point out and dongmin inclines his head towards you, pulling his knees a little closer to his chest.

"you were kinda unnecessarily bitchy, though, you have to admit. but what i really asked was why donghyun decided to go all black knight on you, to which i still haven't received a proper explanation.," dongmin corrects and you shrug, accepting the packet of gummy bears that dongmin had produced from his back pocket.

in freshman year, you'd become infamous for chasing your shots of vodka (the only alcohol you chose to drink, other than whiskey) with candy and ever since then, at least one of your friends would always carry a packet of some sort of sweet candy on them for you.

"you brought gummy bears for me?" you ask, touched as you rip the packet open, the perfect level of fuzziness buzzing through your head.

"sungho brought gummy bears for you," dongmin says softly and you look at him surprisedly. "when i told him you were coming to jaehyun's party, he told me that he needed to be prepared. they all miss hanging out with you and going out with you, you know."

"they miss hanging out with who i used to be. i don't think that they'd want to hang out with me now," you snort and dongmin immediately slaps your knee, shaking his head.

"you've gotta stop doing that."

"doing what?"

"doing the whole 'woe is me' act when you just grew up. we all grew up, y/n. maybe you haven't seen it because you've been so busy in your own world, trying to make up for the past but we've all grown up right besides you," dongmin rants, getting up from where he was sitting on your balcony, starting to pace back and forth.

"when you pulled away from us, you know how confused we all were? it was like one day, you were laughing and making jokes with us and the next day, you suddenly hated us. you stopped coming to our hangouts, stopped initiating plans, fuck, you didn't even come to sungho's birthday last year!

"we thought that we did something to piss you off. we interrogated donghyun for weeks but he was just as confused as the rest of us. and then i realized just how lonely you were by yourself. you think i didn't notice how you'd watch us hangout in the library without you? about how you left that stupid neck pillow for sanghyeok when you saw him staying up late studying? or when you paid for jaehyun's coffee when you knew he was having a bad day?

"i was the only one who saw all that. so when everyone asked me when i didn't drop you like you dropped us, i didn't know how to explain that you didn't drop us, but you were just going the wrong way about chasing after your future. i didn't want to out you and make you feel as though you needed to stop taking care of everyone behind their backs because i still wanted you to be with us.

"we all cared about you so much. that's why i've been here the whole time. i've been the only one in front of you but the same way that you've been taking care of everyone else, everyone has been taking care of you. who do you think lends me his car whenever i need to come to your place because you're having a bad day and need a shoulder to cry on? sanghyeok. who always keeps the pantry stocked with your favorite snacks in case you might come around one day? sungho.

"who always points out clothing whenever we go shopping and says 'y/n would love this shirt!', just to get upset when he realized you weren't there to respond? jaehyun. who would always nudge me to go and check on you because he was worried that you were putting too much stress on yourself? donghyun. even jihyo and jayoon ask about you and keep asking us if maybe you'd come over more often since there were more girls hanging out with us now.

"i'm not telling you all this because i want you to feel bad. i just needed to tell you because we've all been caring about you this whole time but you've just never let us in, when we've been knocking at the door, just waiting for you to finally open the door. and you just won't because you're so scared of coming back to us!" his chest is heaving at the end of his rant and you can't help it, leaping to your feet as you let your voice grow louder and louder, scratchy with emotion.

"i am scared dongmin! i'm so fucking scared, i can't even think straight! i miss all of you so much and i'm so scared that i'll fall into the trap of loving you all so much that that's all i spend my time doing and i'll neglect all of the hard work i've been putting in for so long to reverse the mistakes of my past!" you scream and dongmin steps even closer, clearly not backing down from this fight.

"and what kind of future are you going to have when you turn around and see that we've all moved on without you? i can't fucking move on without you because you're like my sister; i can't imagine a life without you but what about everyone else? how long do you think everyone's gonna be waiting for you?"

"i didn't ask them to wait for me!" you shout and dongmin runs his hand through his hair frustratedly, turning so that you wouldn't see the anger on his face.

"BUT THEY DID! THEY ALL DID! they all waited for you because they - we all love you, you stubborn piece of shit! all you had to do was tell us you were feeling this way! all you had to fucking do was talk to us and ask for help. but you pushed us away when you needed us most and now look!" dongmin points at the empty space around you, forcing himself to overlook your watery eyes. "look at who's here besides me? you know jaehyun would've wrapped you in a hug, that sungho would've immediately offered to study with you. that sanghyeok would've stayed up with you, even if he didn't need to. that i would sneak food into the library with you! that donghyun would literally sit down and tutor you if you needed him to."

he swallows when you finally break down, sobs wracking your body as your fists clench into balls at your sides, stubbornly refusing to take the one step you would need to for dongmin to wrap you into a safe hug, like the ones that jaehyun always gave you.

but it's okay, because dongmin takes that step for you, wrapping you in a tight hug that makes you finally feel like you can take a breath through the tears that feel like are choking you from inside out.

"i just wanted to be good enough for all of you. i wanted to come back when i was good enough and i thought i could be someone everyone wanted to be around if i was good enough," you sob and dongmin can feel his heart break as his embrace grows tighter.

"you're good enough the way that you are, y/n. you know how much you've inspired everyone? i've even started studying for tests the day before the test, instead of the hour before!" dongmin exclaims, feeling a little more relaxed when he hears you laugh through your sobs.

"that's not much better," you warble and dongmin just shrugs, never letting go of you.

"it's better than the hour before the test."

"dongmin? for the record, i don't think that i'm the only one who grew up. i know that everyone grew up. i just..."

"i know."

"i wish you were my actual brother."

"if i was your actual brother, i probably would've spit on you by now."

"what the hell."

+++

you wait nervously in dongmin's room as you hear people begin to file into the apartment, a jumble of familiar voices as jihyo and jaehyun begin bickering once again about something or another.

it was just a matter of time before the two of them started dating, you figured.

dongmin was betting on three weeks and you were betting on three months. something about the slow-burn of it all was appealing to you. dongmin insisted that fanfiction was just rotting your brain.

you let out a breath of air and dongmin flicks you on the side of your head, and you fix him with a mean glare as you rub the spot that he'd hit.

"they're just your friends, y/n. you don't need to be that nervous. you've been looking forward to this all week," he reminds you and you just nod, still rubbing the spot.

after the emotional conversation/argument with dongmin last week, you'd asked to come to the next movie night, wanting to start spending more time with your friends. and although you knew that it wouldn't be the exact same as it once was, it would never be and that was a good thing.

balance was a good thing.

"dongmin? where are you, motherfucker? i can't believe you made me buy you three different types of sour gummies, fatass!" you hear sanghyeok yell from the other room and dongmin takes this as his cue to drag you into the room with him.

"i only wanted one type. y/n wanted the other two. still wanna call me a fatass?"

dongmin doesn't get an answer to his question because no sooner has he said the words do jihyo and jaehyun bound over to you (not looking too much unlike juno) and wrapping you into nearly bone-crushing hugs.

"dongmin told us that you were going to be more available to hang out with us more and more and these two - " sungho cuts himself off to grab jaehyun by the scruff and jihyo by the collar of her shirt. " - have been a little too excited since he said so."

"we've missed you so much!" jihyo exclaims.

"you saw her last week," jaehyun mutters, groaning when jihyo smacks him upside the head.

"so did you but that didn't stop you either, now did it?"

"you're such a little bi - "

"alright. let's stop while we're ahead and just be happy that y/n's back with us, how about that?" dongmin proposes, the voice of reason for once in his life. jihyo and jaehyun exchange a dirty look (albeit, a very childish one) before the two of them sit down, leaving just you and dongmin standing awkwardly, as though you were about to give a presentation.

"uh. thanks for having me back guys. i kinda don't know what to say other than the fact that i'm sorry for leaving so abruptly. i struggled with hanging out with you guys and balancing a good gpa on top of that so i made some really stupid choices but i promise that i won't hide those stupid choices from you guys anymore. i just - i've just really missed you guys." your little speech clearly moves more than one person to tears but before jaehyun can try to deliver death by hug once more, sanghyeok claps his hands, pulling up some streaming platform or another on the television.

"thanks for that touching speech, y/n. now if you could get the fuck out of the way, we need to vote on a movie. your vote only counts as half a vote since you've missed more than two movie nights but you're welcome to rally for full membership after attendance of two more movie nights," sanghyeok announces and you roll your eyes, before looking for a spot.

dongmin's caught up in some conversation about that girl from your class with jayoon (undoubtedly doing some background research; as if he could find out anything that would make him actually keep it in his pants) and everyone else's spot is taken, leaving just an empty space next to donghyun.

i'm a big girl. i don't need to sit next to dongmin for everything. donghyun is still your friend at the end of the day. that you fucked. and was the last time that you had sex. and was also the best sex you'd ever had. but just a friend! haha. just a friend.

not the best dialogue to be running through one's mind during their re-debut into civil society (read: friend group) but you manage to divert your mind before it delves into dangerous territory.

"we're still friends," donghyun murmurs from beside you and you turn, despite your common sense telling you otherwise, to see him looking at you with the most genuine and twinkly eyes that you have to swallow and force yourself to turn once more to face the television set.

"yeah. friends," you repeat, softer than he'd said it and you can feel his stupidly sweet gaze on the side of your face.

+++

spending more time with your friends was nothing like how you thought it would be. for starters, it turned out that your friends themselves didn't have too much time to use as expendable time to just fuck around, like you used to in freshman year.

as juniors and seniors, most of your friends were occupied with their classes and their work, as opposed to the lighter coursework in earlier years. on top of that, many of them were either in relationships or were pursuing someone (or many someones, in dongmin's case) so there was more time eaten up by that as well.

but the time that all of you did spend together was much more domestic. equally as chaotic, as you'd discovered when you'd gone grocery shopping with just jaehyun and jihyo and no adult supervision from sungho (who'd trusted you to be the adult supervision), but less shenanigans than before.

instead of finding street signs to steal off the road to stash in dorm rooms, the friendship that had developed between your friends had gotten much more real, and there were more nights that you can count where at least one of you was staying up late to finish something so the rest of you were stuck helping them.

even staying up late to finish projects was more comforting with the presence of your friends, though, and you were so grateful that you'd come back to them. that they'd accepted you with open arms.

you'd had conversations with each of them one on one at some point or another, detailing why you'd left them so abruptly and asking for forgiveness but more often than not, you'd just gotten scolded for ever thinking that they wouldn't give you a chance to explain yourself.

"you were such a good friend to us for so long," sanghyeok had said. "you don't think we would just drop you when you're going through a rough patch, right?"

of course, that had led to another round of tears (which jayoon witnessed and went ham on sanghyeok for making you cry, which made you cry even harder because god, what country had sanghyeok saved for such an amazing girlfriend) but that was besides the point.

in fact, you'd made amends with pretty much everyone except for donghyun. you could see him waiting for you - waiting for you to reach out to him and explain yourself like you'd done so with everyone else, but for some reason, you just couldn't.

partly out of guilt, but also partly out of shame. you just couldn't help but avoid him.

it was easy to do so when it was all of you, since you could always rely on dongmin and sanghyeok to keep your attention otherwise occupied. but when it was just the two of you, after everyone has left the library to do things other than study for their innumerable tests, you can always feel the apology bubbling in your chest, threatening to break free.

but it never does. it never does and you know you're going to regret it.

you didn't have romantic feelings for donghyun, no. but he was someone that you could develop romantic feelings for and someone like that didn't deserve to think that you just hated him for no reason. because just going off of what had happened last year, donghyun really had no reason to think that you felt any emotion towards him other than hatred. and your actions prior to making amends with your friends didn't do much to dissuade that thought either.

which is why you didn't understand why he was still treating you with so much kindness. you were fairly sure that he wasn't head over heels in love with you or anything (especially since he's also had a good many girlfriends ever since your encounter) but you also couldn't come up with any other reason for his understanding.

he'd been the first one out of everyone to come and actually talk to you, four months ago in that study room, even at the risk of you pushing him away once more. he was the one that was most likely to be pushed away and he still looked after you, cared for you, and worried for you.

"you don't have feelings for me, do you?" you blurt out, immediately slapping a palm over your own mouth. donghyun looks up from the tablet his taking notes on with furrowed eyebrows.

"what?" he asks incredulously and you furiously shake your head, looking rather comical with your hand still covering your mouth.

"nothing. forget i said anything." you wince as you look back down at your book, ensuring that the references lined up with direct quotations as you mentally bash yourself. stupid, stupid, stupid. so you won't say that you're sorry but you'll do this? just be grateful no one else is here to see this catastrophe.

"i don't have feelings for you," he clarifies and you nod, unable to meet his eyes. of course he didn't have feelings for you. that would be so dumb. when you didn't have feelings for him, why should he have feelings for you? right?

so why did your heart just feel the tiniest bit tight in your chest?

"i don't have feelings for you but i used to search for you in every single party. even before we...we did whatever we did that night. i used to always look for you first. and i always used feel so happy just looking at you smile," he says. you look up, confused by his statement now. donghyun's looking right at you with those horribly confusing, glittery eyes and you feel your breath catch in your throat for a split second.

"what?"

"i said i don't have feelings for you. but when you pulled away from all of us, i just couldn't help but think if i did something wrong. if i did something to push you away. and i realized that i would rather have you hate me, i would rather have you push me away every time i come close, or even use me to vent your stress however you need rather than have you walk away once and for all," he continues and you feel that same tightness in your chest as he speaks, heat rising up your spine as it sits uncomfortably in your cheeks.

"i just wish you'd stayed that night. i could've convinced you to tell me all your fears and all your worries and i could've just gotten rid of them for you instead of you holding onto them for so long in your own mind," he finishes and you sit there in silence, unable to piece together any thoughts.

"so, uh, you don't have any feelings for me?" you confirm and donghyun rolls his eyes, and for just a split-second you see the dangerous glint that you remember from that night.

"you're an english lit major and you can't tell that i'm telling you that i have feelings for you?" donghyun teases and you just stare at him dumbly.

"i thought you said that you didn't have feelings?"

"and you said that you hated me."

"i don't hate you."

"i know."

and that's all the confirmation you need to spring forward from your seat, pressing a kiss to donghyun's lips. just as soft and as perfect as you'd remembered.

he reaches forward to cup your cheek, molding his lips against yours gently as you try to pour every single emotion you can into a single kiss.

"i don't hate you," you whisper, leaning your forehead against his, still standing up somewhat awkwardly due to the desk in between the two of you.

"i know," he repeats. "and i know that you don't feel the same way as i do. not as strongly as i do, at least. and i just want you to know that i'll wait."

"you'll wait for me?" you assure and donghyun nods, his hand reaching up to pat your head gently.

"i'll wait for you to take me back as a friend first and then we can figure out the rest."

"what if i'm never ready to put a label on our relationship?"

"then i'll just be here with you. i don't need a label for my feelings."

+++

it's not perfect. for all his perfection, donghyun kim had heaps of flaws. he was surprisingly 'needy' and felt anxious when you weren't with him for extended periods of time.

and when jaehyun, sanghyeok, and sungho graduated, you realized that it extended to far more than just you. for someone so stoic and poised, it turned out that donghyun was extremely soft-hearted and could care for nothing more than to have his loved ones around him for as long as he could hold onto them for.

it proved to be a little difficult, given that after your departure from your friend group, you'd gotten used to a certain level of independence and affinity for your own personal space that donghyun just didn't understand sometimes. but the two of you worked on it, because you loved each other even as just friends too much to not work on it.

there'd been points where you were sure that the two of you would just have to be friends and move on with life because of how hard it all was. you could never let go of donghyun fully; all of you were just too great of friends to ever be able to keep out of each other's lives completely.

but all's well that ends well, and you and donghyun learned to work through those issues. your affinity for running away when things got rough and donghyun's tendency to latch on harder every time you guys faced an issue was something that took months of serious discussion and communication to get through.

dongmin was the mediator more than once whenever the two of you got into arguments (you exploding at donghyun and donghyun just sitting quietly, making you even more upset before the two of you calmed down and worked things out) and it helped to have him around.

the one good thing was that your relationship, however imperfect it was, spurred dongmin to start to settle down and look for a girlfriend himself.

much to your happiness, and dongmin's chagrin, there weren't many girls on campus willing to date someone with such a reputation but that just meant that dongmin put in more effort to convince them that he was a changed man.

it was a good look on him, you'd told donghyun one day. dongmin suited having someone in his life that he had to work to please and someone who liked him regardless of his clumsy attempts at love and cared for him fully.

the three (four, when dongmin met his girlfriend) of you stuck together throughout the rest of college. there were still uncountable numbers of allnighters trying to make sure that you were maintaining your grades but it turns out, you could balance both having fun and being academically strong.

you could spend time with your friends and your boyfriend without having to worry about whether you'd be able to secure a job after college because of your gpa. it was nice, not feeling like there was a huge demon breathing down your neck every time you needed to sit down and study.

it'd taken you a long time to get there, but like all good things, with the help of your loved ones and with some self-work, you developed a healthy relationship with studying and a work-life balance.

oh! and you did end up getting a job. your dream job. right out of college. everyone had been so proud, just like you knew they'd be.

and just like that, years had passed by in the blink of an eye.

the five of you made it a point to reunite at least twice a year, since most of you were in the same country (other than sanghyeok and jayoon, who'd relocated back to south korea to take care of their parents after they got married). even five to six years later, when all of you were reaching the end of your twenties and entering the next phase of life, nothing changed.

"JAEHYUN MYUNG, IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME BACK THE TV REMOTE!" jihyo screams from downstairs, and you hear loud footsteps as jaehyun undoubtedly keeps the remote withheld from her.

"i can't believe they're the parents to two children," you snort, blowing on your nails to dry them quicker.

"i can. all that fighting energy has to go somewhere," donghyun retorts and you roll your eyes. he had a point.

"you've got a point. we've been on vacation for three days and they're already in their fourth argument. well. i guess it's just flirting to them," you contemplate, extending your hand to examine your handiwork.

"you thought that fighting was flirting back in college too," donghyun reminds you and you shake your head, looking at donghyun. and just like usual, he's already looking at you, head tucked into his fist as he lies on the bed that the two of you had slept in together for the past five years (vacation was hosted by your family this year).

"it clearly worked on you," you fire back and donghyun smiles a giddy smile.

"you're my weakness. anything you give me works on me," he says in a lovestruck voice and the laugh that escapes you is a real, full-bellied one.

"god. you're such a dork; i love you so much," you sigh, getting up and walking over to where he's lying, climbing onto the bed to wrap your arms around him.

"yeah? wanna channel our energy into making a few babies?" he teases with a greasy tone of voice and squiggly eyebrows.

"you're incorrigible."

"you love it."

"i love it," you agree, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his lips. you'd liked the darker sides of donghyun and there would always be a side of you that got giddy whenever you saw that side of him.

but you'd always love this more. soft, reassuring, and unconditional love. from him to you and you to him. neither of you needed perfection. you just needed each other. husband and wife. you didn't need those labels, and you'd believed donghyun when he said that he didn't need them for his love either. but it was nice, having everyone know that you had each other for life.

"ARE YOU WHORES COMING OR NOT? WE'RE GONNA START WATCHING WITHOUT YOU!" dongmin yells from downstairs, and you can vaguely hear his fiancée slapping him on the chest and knowing her, she was definitely telling him to shut up and let the two of you make her a niece or nephew.

you laugh, grabbing your husband's hand and leading him downstairs to plop down next to your friends. someone shoves a bucket of popcorn into your arms and you realize how grateful you were for all of the people in your life.

and how glad you were that you'd decided to forge a new path for yourself with your loved ones and with your newfound confidence in yourself.

love and life are always easier with friends and family, after all.

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